“This is not only a filmmaker looking towards her upbringing and ancestral roots, but also the future of Sudan.”

Nestled in the heart of Sudan we find large regions dedicated solely to the cultivation of cotton. It has become a thriving industry for the country, especially since many villages and small towns depend on its production to survive. This is where Suzannah Mirghani decides to start Cotton Queen, her fascinating feature directorial debut that is a loose extension of her short film Al-Sit. Both of them follow the story of Nafisa, a precocious and ambitious teenager who, like many of the women in her village, spends her days in the cotton fields. She is under the watchful eye of the community’s respected but feared matriarch, who refuses absolutely any attempt to bring their village into the modern age, believing it will herald the end of a centuries-long set of traditions that are beyond sacred. This comes into conflict with Nafisa’s own dreams – which do not always involve the simple pleasures that she has been taught are all she can ever aspire to – as well as conflicting with the arrival of a businessman who proposes some bold changes to their way of life. A simple, effective drama that moves in a quiet but forceful direction without needing to sacrifice its heart (the most valuable commodity in such a film), Cotton Queen has several merits, all of which can easily be attributed to the director’s sincere appreciation and profound curiosity for the subject matter.

The perpetual tug-of-war between tradition and modernity has been a subject of discussion in literary works for about as long as we’ve been telling stories. Some resist change, others openly embrace it, and it’s in this opposition that we often find some fascinating narrative conflict. In the case of Cotton Queen, we’re taken into the heart of a seemingly ordinary Sudanese village and given glimpses into the lives of the people, their simple way of life being constantly compared to the changing world around them. For some, modernity is a promise of increased prosperity, whereas for others it’s a threat and a forced erasure of their history. Mirghani doesn’t seem too interested in taking a side, choosing instead to look at the argument from both perspectives. Having the story told from the viewpoint of a teenage protagonist, who is old enough to be self-aware but still too young to truly understand the nuances of life, gives Cotton Queen a much stronger impact, particularly in how it draws correlations between her desire to grow and the responsibility she feels to uphold familial traditions as far as possible. Not entirely defined as a coming-of-age story, but rather a more dynamic blend of cultural commentary and character-based drama, the film establishes a firm foundation from which the director can build quite a meaningful narrative.

However, as interesting as the story may be, it turns out to be only incidental in terms of the qualities that make Cotton Queen so compelling. The heart of the film is built around the director’s efforts to explore the culture of Sudan, the country in which she spent some of her formative years. This is reflected in the quieter, more nuanced moments in which we’re given access to the lives of these people, witnessing their traditions and customs from close enough to create the illusion of intimacy without feeling like it is overly trivial or trying to appeal to outsiders. There are a few genres at work here – romantic melodrama, domestic comedy and even a touch of psychological thriller, but the aspects of this film that draw us in most consistently are those where we observe the daily routine of the village, its members working together in a beautiful symbiosis to ensure a comfortable and joyful life, a simpler existence but one that is nonetheless meaningful to them. Mirghani is certainly fascinated by the details as much as she is by the deeper meaning behind the story, but it’s clear that Cotton Queen is more engaging – and frankly the most effective – when it is offering insights into a kind of people who are rarely shown on screen, at least with this degree of compassion and genuine interest. The vibrant, joyful lives of these characters create a fascinating contrast with the more intense underlying subject matter, a duality that serves the film exceptionally well and gives it a unique perspective.

There is a sincerity behind Cotton Queen that elevates it from being just a story of culture and the eternal tension between tradition and modernity. This is primarily the result of the director prioritising a more direct focus on the story – she understands that compressing centuries of history and traditions into ninety minutes is beyond impossible, and she chooses instead to craft a story that captures the scope of these customs in a manageable form. The origins of her interest in the subject matter are clear, as this is not only a filmmaker looking towards her upbringing and ancestral roots, but also the future of Sudan, which is not often represented on screen in a way that is so positive and built around the challenges faced by these people, as well as the everyday pleasures and wonderful traditions that add meaning to their lives. It’s a matter of looking at life from two very different perspectives, finding the common ground between them. While it can often seem quite simple, Cotton Queen is nonetheless an effective exploration of these ideas, handcrafted by a filmmaker whose eye for detail (with some stunning visual compositions of the region and its people) and sincere appreciation for the customs that played a role in her development as an artist, are clearly evident in this charming cultural drama.