"So where's this bloody Little Chef then?"
Rating: 
Jean-Jacques Annaud’s latest film Black Gold is much like its desert setting – as beautiful as it is desolate, with very little signs of life. It is an unfortunate fact that the legendary French director has produced something much more Enemy at the Gates than The Name of the Rose; a sprawling historical flight of fancy that falls well short of the sum of its parts. That’s not to say there aren’t treasures to be found in the desert – they’re just harder to tap than, well, oil.
The story begins with two rival warlords fulfilling the terms of their truce. Nesib, Emir of Hobeika (Antonio Banderas), lays down his peace terms to his rival Amar, Sultan of Salmaah (Mark Strong), an agreement that sees Amar’s sons Saleeh and Auda taken hostage and a mutual consent that a territory known as The Yellow Belt shall be claimed by neither.
Over a decade later, Saleeh (Akin Gazi) and Auda (Tahar Rahim) see Hobeika visited by the Americans. There’s oil under the sands – no prizes for guessing where – and Nesib is transformed from ruler of a disease-ridden water-stop in the desert to a man of vast wealth and resources.
Auda (Tahar Rahim) leads the charge...
But there are other tribes to placate, and while most are ready to adapt to untold wealth, the pious Amar once again proves a thorn in Nesib’s side. The killing of Saleeh as he tries to escape only makes matters more difficult, so Nesib orchestrates the marriage of Auda to his daughter Princess Leyla (Freida Pinto) to cement the political bonds of the two kingdoms. Auda is sent to Salmaah as an emissary of peace, where he discovers the father he has lost, the brother he never knew and the purpose he never imagined…
Somewhere in the Arabian sands lies the compelling story of a courageous leader who unites his people and brings them out of the dark ages of war. A quick flick through the news channel will tell you that this story has yet to be written, and so Black Gold instead focuses on the feuding tribal kingdoms that existed before the oil market united the Arab emirates. Of course, bearing any relation to reality might spark more dispute, and so instead we get the kind of fantastical nonsense that bores more than it intrigues – a world where even the bad guy is ‘good’ and everybody is doing what they think is best (or Allah’s will, as most heated arguments state).
At times, Black Gold is compelling, particularly in its setup and the performances of its two strongest cast members, Banderas (thankfully not conjuring the Puss in Boots comparison that dogged his turn in last month’s Haywire) and Mark Strong, both striving hard against stereotypical roles. But when it hands the reigns over to the next generation, Annaud does away with making a good film for loftier ambitions…
The ideological justification of the modern day oil market reeks more than the plentiful dead bodies that drop in the desert. Particularly in a city like London, where even our nation’s most privileged pale in comparison to the ostentatious decadence imported from the Arabian peninsula. Apparently the young richkids who attract Knightsbridge parking wardens to their supercars like parched nomads to an oasis are the modern day equivalent to the noble protagonist Auda (a mediocre performance by Tahar Rahim), who delivers his people from the literal and metaphorical desert…
Like a good dinner guest, Black Gold tries to veer the conversation away from politics and religion – pretty difficult given the subject matter – and instead focusses on the progressive nature of the modern Arab nations. Depicting a world of opportunity where even the seemingly most timid man (who’s born into royalty) can succeed in life (on the battlefield), it plays at times like a big “We’re just like you” to a Western audience. And as any historian, journalist or Syrian rebel will tell you, that’s just tripe.
So what we’re left with is a mildly-diverting, at times intellectually-insulting, and definitely over-long piece of sumptuously shot cinema that will disappear from the mind as swiftly as a mirage. It might be worth pointing out that the only time we the audience see the luscious palms of an oasis comes at the very end of the film. This could be the director’s symbolic depiction of the prosperous future of Arabia that lies ahead, but I’d like to think it’s Annaud’s sly realisation of how the audience might view the end of Black Gold – a welcome sight for its weary travellers.
