‘Cette Maison,’ A Poignant Testament to Grief

Cette Maison film poster.

It was a pleasure to view Miryam Charles’s thought-provoking short films before Cette Maison (2022), her feature-length debut. The shorts: Towards the Colonies (2016), A Fortress (2018), Drei Atlas (2018), Second Generation (2019), and Song for the New World (2021) prepare the viewer for no physical human presence beyond haunting voices superimposed atop breathtaking, statically grained cinematography, images shedding a rare spotlight on Haiti. A vulnerable yet historically rich country where more films deserve to be made as previously told by native women filmmakers Guetty Felin and Gessica Généus. Charles brings a distinctive elegance to the table, a pensive sophistication coming to further bloom in Cette Maison (This House).

Tessa (Schelby Jean-Baptiste) rises from her mother’s flowers more like a full-bodied figure than a visiting apparition. DP: Miryam Charles and Isabelle Stachtchenko. 

Tragedy softly echoes in the life of a Haitian mother Valeska mourning the untimely loss of her fourteen-year-old daughter Tessa, channeling through quiet, jarring moments that strike the heart’s most fragile chords. Scenes shift between floral filled rooms to eerie exterior shots of a mysterious two-story house and makeshift stages that have seemingly escaped an abandoned theater. It is an otherwise intriguing take on the overall design appearance of where Valeska and Tessa find themselves situated, often alone together, almost speaking to each other in poetry. 

In this magical, startling colored realm of what-if, an inventive framing of a lost life returned, Tessa has survived, scar-free, bringing Valeska the peace she seeks.  

Valeska (Florence Blain Mbaye) sniffing flowers. DP: Miryam Charles and Isabelle Stachtchenko.

However, the horrendous unsolved crime happened in Bridgeport, Connecticut— number five on the safest U. S. states list— a crime so shockingly violent that the only context given are the words. First disclosed as suicide—a rapidly shut case demonstrating cold hard dismissal— new evidence exposes this medical negligence phenomenon of often wrongfully diagnosing Black bodies. Years later, during a pivotal scene at the morgue, the family including grandmother, Valeska, the ghost of Tessa, and the examiner speak around the body shroud beneath a sheet. As the full injuries are listed resulting in the reality that Tessa’s death is not self-inflicted, the sheet embodies a stark, brilliantly lit symbolism— the covering of a bruised, unadulterated violation. A sorrowful Tessa whispers to Valeska not to reveal it, to perhaps keep in mind a vision of joy, not the final cruelty placed upon her. Valeska has a choice to make, reminding that of Mamie Till-Mobley’s defiant decision in Till— to see or not to see the harm conducted on an innocent Black child the same age as Tessa. The sound then cuts out on Valeska’s sob— mid scream. Yet in the stilled silence, you can imagine her mouth in that piercing holler, your ears filling in the void that this tender direction evokes. 

The family learns the true extent of Tessa’s injuries. Tessa has her back facing them. DP: Miryam Charles and Isabelle Stachtchenko.

Valeska is overcome with emotion. DP: Miryam Charles and Isabelle Stachtchenko.

By prioritizing the mother/daughter relationship over the circumstances regarding Black death grants the audience a reprieve from witnessing abuse secondhand, shielding us from Tessa’s last moments in that house, in that unspoken room. This thoughtful, caring approach focuses on Valeska’s despair, her intimacy with Tessa— who is not a ghost, but an older, wiser entity comforting her bereaved mother in ways the family cannot. These tender exchanges move away from societal belief that harmful acts build stronger character arcs, especially for girls and women depicted in cinema and television. Instead of a manifested physical villain, Bridgeport operates as that particular vehicle— the phantom that spooks a family regretting the coming to America from Canada. Towards the end, a drive through the rainy city becomes a blurry haze and the house cannot be located. 

Propped against childhood photos that tell a piece of her upbringing and staring out to the viewers with her face partly shadowed, Tessa wears the same black and white dress in the morgue scene. DP: Miryam Charles and Isabelle Stachtchenko. 

Flowers and plants also metaphorically adds immense weight to this harrowing narrative that discusses the impact of migration. Valeska and Tessa are either surrounded by their glorious colors and forms or holding bouquets, framing beautifully in nature’s abundance. They are lush and watered, forever blossomed, never withering, never near death. It is the expression “giving one their flowers,” honoring their contributions with the gift of earth. Mystical of dilapidated structures near collapse in the middle of great, overwhelming trees and green grass also reveal that after fiery storms and harsh winters, nature can revive itself in ways that unfortunately almost human life cannot. 

Homes can be remade/repurposed and nature regrows after winter. Once a treasured human life is gone, the mourners must find healthy ways of coping and keeping their loved ones’ memory alive. DP: Miryam Charles and Isabelle Stachtchenko. 

By the end, you feel a nurtured peace between Valeska and Tessa despite the ugliness of their real-life circumstances. Tessa urgently conveys to Valeska that she can still find grace and dignity, not to allow grief to manifest into dangerous territory, that they will be together again someday. 

Hope remains present in the living as long as we keep the memories of our perished loved ones alive. DP: Miryam Charles and Isabelle Stachtchenko.

With its stunning cinematography, unique attention to sound, and a gorgeous cast styled exquisitely well, Cette Maison— easily one of the most powerful modern films ever rendered— reads as both a love letter to Charles’s cousin and that of a Caribbean country riddling in countless tragic aftermaths; bravely stripping grief bare and leaving behind raw hope. It received numerous accolades and honors including a place on the prestigious Sight & Sound’s Top 50 Films of 2022 alongside other brilliant works whilst traveling across the globe, premiering at various film festivals with Charles hoping to show this touching tribute in her native Haiti. And may that dream come true. 

Cette Maison is a feast for the eyes and balm to the soul. 

'Ayiti Mon Amour' Shares Triumphant & Whimsical Tales in Haiti

Ayiti Mon Amour.

Back in 2010, on a January afternoon, Haiti was hit by a ferocious earthquake, killing thousands. Global relief efforts, meant to bring aide to devastated families, were stolen and squandered, leaving the very poor, destitute and hopeless. Filmmaker Guetty Felin created Broken Stones, a documentary about the terror and turmoil left behind, showcasing great devastation brought onto a country that lost many irreplaceable lives and homes. In Ayiti Mon Amour, Felin pens and directs an imaginative collection of poignant fables that offer healing and joy after the storm.

 Orphée (Joakim Cohen) and his mother (Pascale Faublas) have trouble adjusting to the neighborhood due to colorism. 

Set five years later, Orphée is a troubled young boy often fighting at school. However, that doesn't deter unique sensibility, the supernatural elements. He is fascinating, speaking between Japanese, French, and English, playing with his friendly black dog, always pensive, brooding. His mother is worried, rightly so, for he isolates himself from others, but looks at them with fierce longing. He is dreamy eyed and thoughtful, wandering through broken parts of Haiti, still grieving a father who had died in the earthquake.

Anisia Uzeyman (The Muse) is an inspiration for a troubled writer (James Noel). 

Originally tied down to a writer’s block afflicted writer, an energetic, cheery muse hollers like a wild banshee into his tormented mind. The stylish, slender beauty is bubbling with anticipation, almost rupturing to the surface. She demands him to give her tasks, let her live more than as a silent figure. The tired, frustrated man cannot think with petulant eagerness, natural inclination to roam beyond what is permissible, but stoically promises to present ideas despite ever present fatigued mood. Days pass by, he has no story for her. Unable to wait, she packs up her little suitcase, and leaves him. Her adventurous thirst is tasted as she explores areas of dilapidated buildings and broken spirits, rides boats floating in endless sea, and joins in a parade.

Jaurès the fisherman (Jaurès Andris) shares smiles and dances with his beautiful wife.

Jaurès is concerned about his wife in a poignant love story that entails not just surviving violent storms and , but coming to terms with growing old and finding ways to stay in love. One devout way is caring for the other when that person is ill. As this sweet fisherman feeds her, gently spooning bowls of soft mushiness into her reluctant mouth, she turns her head in between, not able to eat entire serving. She is listless, worn, despaired. Her illness is more than physical, emotional and mental anxiety exists within. He is committed to healing her and searches for remedy in his personal realm/haven.

Although the solitary writer doesn't interact, it is the muse who brings needed delight into Orphée's solitary darkness. She and Jaurès both offer him a reason to feel grateful.

An official 2016 TIFF selection and winner of Black Film Festival’s Best Narrative Feature, Guetty Felin’s Ayiti Mon Amour is the first Haitian film to be directed by a Haitian woman. That significant feat is an encouraging path to follow, especially to young girls hoping to capture homeland through their own eyes. A fiction with incredible heart and nostalgic wealth, Felin filmed specifically in a region affected by the earthquake, going into village areas, using locals as actors, knowing dates imperative to her written script. The sewing of the forgotten weaves well into the picture, each scene casts spells on audience, bedazzling with quixotic images frozen in a lingering time. It is also wonderful that Mira Nair (Queen of Katwe and Mississippi Masala) produced-- great to see women of color directors celebrating other women of color directors. This must continue onward.

Director/writer Guetty Felin with her real life son, Joakim Cohen.

Ayiti Mon Amour ends the way it begins. A single finger slowly traces uneven line of a crack, carefully following each jagged mark. This deliberate action seems to metaphorically describe lineage of life and death, the impossible circumstances impact future, bring unexpected change and growth. In these layered stories, a connection forms between characters, real or imagined, in a peaceful, integral sea as serene as mesmerizing blue waters captured in most breathtaking cinematography. Felin is reminding us of Haiti. Underneath memories of a colossal tragedy, of ashes and ghosts of the dead, births new images entailing magic and hope.

Haiti is not a graveyard. It is a real, majestic home unlike any place on earth.