Daughters of the Dust (1991)

(On Cable TV, July 2022) Even thirty years later, I can’t think of a film quite like Julie Dash’s Daughters of the Dust. Maybe bits and pieces of Beasts of the Southern Wild, but otherwise? Not much. Dash’s film, as a fantasy tone poem, is not trying to be like anything else—and visually it’s an otherworldly series of tableaux. This is one of those films where it’s best to read about them before (or while) you’re seeing them—there’s a plot of sorts having to do with an isolated South Carolina community circa 1900 contemplating a move up north to civilization, but it’s not immediately apparent from viewing the film. Other assorted subplots have to do with an unborn child narrating the film and popping up in photographs, tension between modernity and heritage, gender-segregated preparations for a final feast, and assorted character drama. But trying to narratively pin down Daughters of the Dust cheapens the experience a bit—letting the film wash over you is a much better approach even if it doesn’t quite make sense. The use of Gullah (often not subtitled) helps bring the film’s dialogue to the edge of understandability, while the visual motif of immaculate white dresses set against a natural environment is a strong image. The caveat to this kind of film is that it takes a special kind of headspace to enjoy, one unburdened by the demands of narrative, full understanding or conventional filmmaking. I lucked out in watching Daughters of the Dust during one of the few days of the year when I was receptive to such material. What a movie, though. There’s still nothing like it.