When I first heard about Auber 89, Giuseppe Schillaci’s latest documentary premiering at the Venice Film Festival’s Giornate degli Autori, I was immediately struck by its premise. Here’s a film that doesn’t just tell a story—it resurrects one. What makes this particularly fascinating is how Schillaci uses archival footage to reconnect Fatsah Bouyahmed, a French Algerian actor, with a past he’d lost due to memory loss. It’s not just about personal rediscovery; it’s a mirror held up to an entire community’s forgotten history.
From my perspective, the genius of Auber 89 lies in its ability to weave the intimate with the collective. Bouyahmed’s journey isn’t just his own—it’s a gateway into the social fabric of Aubervilliers in the 1980s, a time marked by rising racism, inequality, and exclusion. What many people don’t realize is that these suburban stories are often buried under clichés, reduced to stereotypes in media. Schillaci, however, gives them their complexity back, and that’s what makes this film urgent.
One thing that immediately stands out is the role of archival footage as a ‘machine for recovering memory,’ as Schillaci puts it. When Bouyahmed watches himself on screen, it’s not just a passive act of viewing—it’s a visceral reconnection with his younger self. If you take a step back and think about it, this raises a deeper question: How much of our identity is tied to the fragments of our past that we’ve forgotten? And what happens when those fragments are suddenly restored?
Lightdox’s acquisition of the film feels like a natural fit. Anna Berthollet’s description of Auber 89 as a ‘rare kind of film’ isn’t just promotional speak—it’s spot on. Personally, I think this film is a testament to the power of documentary to transcend individual narratives and speak to broader societal truths. It’s not just about Fatsah Bouyahmed; it’s about all of us and the stories we’ve left behind.
What this really suggests is that documentaries like Auber 89 are more than just films—they’re acts of reclamation. Schillaci doesn’t just uncover the past; he forces us to confront it. The textures of VHS and television footage ground the story in the sensory world of the 1980s, but the themes—memory, identity, and social tension—are timeless.
A detail that I find especially interesting is Schillaci’s background as both a novelist and filmmaker. His ability to craft narratives is evident in how he structures Auber 89, blending personal and collective histories seamlessly. It’s no wonder his previous work, Bosco Grande, won the Grand Prix at FIPADOC Biarritz. This guy knows how to tell a story that sticks.
As the film premieres on September 10, followed by a Q&A, I can’t help but wonder how audiences will react. Will they see it as just another documentary, or will they recognize it as a profound exploration of memory and community? In my opinion, Auber 89 is the kind of film that lingers long after the credits roll, not because of its plot, but because of the questions it leaves you with.
If you take a step back and think about it, Auber 89 isn’t just a film about the past—it’s a film about the present, too. The social tensions it revisits from the 1980s are eerily relevant today. Rising racism, inequality, exclusion—these aren’t relics of history; they’re still very much with us. What this film does so brilliantly is remind us that to understand where we’re going, we need to remember where we’ve been.
In the end, Auber 89 is more than a documentary—it’s a call to action. It challenges us to dig deeper, to question the narratives we’ve been fed, and to reclaim the stories that matter. Personally, I think it’s one of the most important films of the year, and I can’t wait to see how it sparks conversations far beyond the Venice Film Festival.
