Trees of Peace is a haunting little film about women that outstretches its own scale and size

In a scene from Netflix’s Trees of Peace, Mutesi played by Bola Koleosho, tiring confesses at one point “I don’t want to die with this anger.” Mutesi is Tutsi and hates all Hutus, but her hate receives a jolt of perspective after the gets trapped inside an underground bunker/hole with three other women. Trees of Peace is like an apocalyptic film, with the dread and prophetic wonder of a historical revision. The fact that it is set in the civil war of Rwanda, 1994 that also resulted in a massive genocide, is probably a humbling reminder of the cyclical nature of life. We create and we destroy only to create and destroy again. Trees of Peace is confined, both literally and metaphorically by the idea of space and survival. Its achievement is that it does plenty by doing little. The film begins with four women – one Hutu, one Tutsi, one white UN peacekeeper, and a nun – all forced to share a basement bunker as violence breaks out. Hutu fundamentalists are out for the blood of Tutsi minorities and the bunkers numbers itself represents a panel – the warring factions, the outsider and the voice of god. The fact that the film largely focussed on women is to enshrine the fact that Rwanda’s resurgence as a democracy has been made possible by women who decided to forgive and forget. Women have been at the forefront of this revival and Trees of Peace is the seed that rather imaginatively visualises the genesis of this sisterhood. Peyton, Akimana, Annick and Jeannette, must stay together in this enclosed space as food and water is secretly brought to them. As challenges wear them down, the women start to see beyond petty feuds, and feudal beliefs. No one is truly at fault, and yet no one is innocent. Jeannette (the nun) has her faith questioned and must confront the suffering of those she has never really spoken to. Peyton, though the outsider, is possibly the thinnest of the four characters, almost a totem inclusion as her guilt over the participation of the white race here, is built on flimsy ground. It’s really Akimana and Annick’s animosity that shines, with what often feels like a debate that is going nowhere, until the depravity of genocide and the indignity of war begins to loom large for everyone. Trees of Peace, is a nifty little creative wonder. Possibly made on a shoestring budget, it highlights how space can be used in cinema to advance narratives, and conversations that are impossible to circulate in real life. We have seen the stuck-in-one-place format before but here it is about what is visible and what isn’t. Through a peeping window the women are regularly treated to the horrors of violence and war, and even though none of it is really filmed for us, the sound design and camerawork are clever enough to convey the tension and fragility of certain moments. In one scene where Annick’s husband (who also brings everyone groceries and supplies every now and then) is assaulted out of sight, the camera stares down her face from above. Her face tense, her eyes widening with the amount of restraint she has to exercise in the moment. It’s only the angle of a shot and yet it says so much with so little. Directed by Alanna Brown, the film turns its poverty of budget into the abundance of space. Even though it is confined to a small bunker, it never feels restricted or limited. The camera smartly captures movements, arguments and emotional turmoil that punctuates every minute of the roughly 80 days that these women spend together. Though their lack of edginess after being starved for long periods and being stuck in a bunker together for almost three months can at times feel wildly convenient, the film’s effects far outrange the film’s flaws. This is possibly not even about the Rwandan genocide but about sectarianism in general, in people constantly fighting over identities and politics. Some of which isn’t even their own but only handed down over generations. The fact that the nun witnesses the quasi-awakening of sorts, somewhat overstates the importance of divine intervention here, but there is enough doubt here to believe, nothing, not even hate is as absolute. But then again, this is a narrative driven by women. It’s a story Rwandan women have lived and displayed for real. It only makes you feel sorry for the men, who murder, maim, rape and cull in the background. Reduced to noise. Maybe that is what men are, noise to the symphony that is feminine togetherness. It’s a lovely little message, coded inside a film that though it looks limited, accomplishes limitless things. Manik Sharma writes on art and culture, cinema, books, and everything in between. Read all the  Latest News ,  Trending News ,  Cricket News ,  Bollywood News ,  India News  and  Entertainment News  here. Follow us on  Facebook,  Twitter and  Instagram.