‘Xala’: Ousmane Sembène’s fascinating comedy about erectile dysfunction
Writer, director, author, and producer Ousmane Sembène is one of the most important and influential figures in the history of African cinema, a creative who wasn’t above using a farcical comedy as a means to satirise the socio-political complexion of his homeland, with Xala one of his finest works.
Adapted from his own 1973 novel of the same name, the feature released two years later, and underscored the corruption and rampant inadequacies the Senegalese filmmaker believed were holding back his nation from reaching its true potential.
Businessman El Hadji Abdoukader Beye is preparing to consummate his marriage to his third wife, Ngoné, only to discover that he’s having a little trouble getting it up. Why? Because after embezzling 100 tonnes of rice to suit his own agenda, he discovers he’s been cursed with what could best be described as a devastating bout of erectile dysfunction.
Whereas taking a third spouse was intended to showcase his societal and economic superiority, El Hadji instead becomes an embarrassment and a laughing stock. Initially believing that one of his first two wives are responsible for stymieing his lovemaking capabilities, he soon discovers that the hex was placed upon him by the downtrodden working classes he’s constantly used to further his own personal success.
Fortunately, though, there is a cure. The downside – for El Hadji’s pride, at least – is that it would require him to strip naked and be spat upon by the lowest rungs of the social ladder, the very same people who took it upon themselves to curse the arrogant and cocksure entrepreneur in the first place.
The word ‘xala’ loosely translates as ‘temporary sexual impotence’, so at least it’s clear from the title that El Hadji’s unexpected flaccidity is only temporary. An insightful and scathing satire of Senegal’s post-colonial era, Sembène’s ruffled governmental and censorship feathers so much that cuts were mandated before it could be approved for release.
Xala depicts the upper class as pretentious, over-confident, and brazenly corrupt, strutting around the city with their pristine attire and money-stuffed briefcases, in stark juxtaposition to the beggars on the streets who represent the everyman Sembène was speaking to directly by illustrating that no matter how much cash they’ve got, the elites are often found crawling to those they deem beneath them for assistance.
As subtle in its underlying commentary as it is savage in depicting El Hadji’s personal, professional, and performative shortcomings, on paper the act of failing to get a hard-on is hardly a barometer of cinematic excellence. And yet, because Sembène never lets his audience forget the character’s resolutely limp dick is a metaphor for how ineffective the Senegalese authorities have been in catering to their own people, it’s a masterclass in turning a bawdy concept into a brilliant rumination on the political landscape.
