‘Goodbye Julia’: Cannes Review

Dir/scr: Mohamed Kordofani. Sudan. 2023. 116 mins.

A gut-wrenching and emotionally rewarding tale of religious persecution compounded by entrenched racism, Goodbye Julia may be set in Sudan between 2005 and 2010 but feels deeply pertinent and, unfortunately, timeless. An accomplished feature debut from Sudanese director Mohamed Kordofani, the story of a pampered woman trying to buy her way out of guilt is easy to follow for such a complex tale. With the help of an excellent cast, Kordofani proves that, far from being dreary or didactic, it is possible to bear witness to history in a place rarely depicted on screen while framing repercussions as an ever-evolving game of high-stakes emotional chess. With this African story deeply grounded in real political circumstances, Pan-Arab sales outfit MAD Solutions should see plenty of interest from festival programmers and specialty distributors.

 These are interesting characters weighed down by dicey predicaments.

In Khartoum in August 2005, we are introduced to two very different households: one well-off Muslim couple from the north, one dirt poor Christian family from the south. Sectarian rioting has broken out in Khartoum, where both live. Northern Arabs are attacking Christian southerners everywhere; Sudan, Africa’s largest nation, will only be a united country for a few more years.

Wealthy couple Mona (Eiman Yousif) and Akram (Nazar Gomaa) secure their property against the violence. The poorer Julia (Siran Riyak) is evicted along with her husband and young son; despite the fact they have paid their rent, the neighbours don’t want them there. They take refuge with another family, who will soon face eviction too.

As Mona, in full veil, tries to drive her car along familiar roads, she glimpses what seems to be a man being burned alive, blocking traffic. Rattled and distracted, she accidentally hits Julia’s young son, knocking the boy to the ground. He may be seriously injured, but Mona panics and drives off. When the boy’s father hops onto his motorcycle to follow Mona home and demand an explanation, Akram – unaware of what has happened and convinced that this darker-skinned interloper is an immediate threat to his wife – shoots him dead.

Mona is now locked into a lie. Akram’s freedom depends on his actions being considered as self-defence and so keeps the truth from her husband. Julia looks everywhere for news of her missing husband, without success. Her son recovers, but Julia is now entirely on her own. After bribing a cop to help her identify the widow, however, guilt-ridden Mona buys a local dish from Julia’s roadside stand and, faking spontaneity, invites her to come work for her. It’s a real opportunity and soon mother and son are living in their employers’ house. Akram is at first wary of the arrangement but takes a liking to the boy – not having the slightest idea that he murdered the child’s father.

We learn that Mona gave up her career as a popular singer at her husband’s insistence. Now her days consist of pretending she’s happily married, pretending it’s not her fault her husband killed an innocent man and never letting slip to Julia that she knows anything about what became of her missing husband. That would be a lot even in a country not on the brink of splitting in two. Not to mention the fact that Mona and Akram are unsuccessfully trying to conceive a child. Julia, meanwhile, is polite and industrious and determined to get an education. On campus she is courted by Majier (Ger Duany), a charismatic former child soldier who is militating for an independent southern Sudan.

Various societal scourges are as casual as they are entrenched. Sexism and racism are givens. Akram and Mona have a fascinating conversation about how Islam says slavery is acceptable, hence it’s ok to treat southerners as second-class citizens. These are interesting characters weighed down by dicey predicaments. With so much strife and subterfuge on display, reconciliation of any kind seems impossible, although the film does scatter hopeful notes that don’t feel tacked on.