General Idi Amin Dada (1974)
Directed by Barbet Schroeder

You'd think that a documentary about Ugandan dictator Idi Amin would be full of darkness and outrage, viciously revealing the man's brutality and terrorism. His regime is reported to have been responsible for the deaths of 300,000 people … so many, in fact, that at various points there were too many dead bodies in the Nile for the crocodiles to keep up with consumption.

The horrifying reality of Amin's life informs General Idi Amin Dada, but indirectly – Barbet Schroeder's documentary simply presents Amin as he was, a buffoonish, boastful egomaniac who simply saw himself as a strong leader. The psychopathic murderousness, apparently, was just another necessary quality to leadership.

Schroeder gained an amazing level of access to Amin, who is clearly jazzed by being the subject of a film, and who is alarmingly candid about himself throughout. Schroeder lets Amin speak for himself, letting the viewer supply the context.

If you were to approach the movie with no knowledge of Amin's history, what you'd come away with would be a view of the man as a charming, kind of harmless fool, a self-ignorant Falstaff type. Schroeder does interject a few reality checks, though, to keep you from wanting to jump up and give Amin a big snuggle. One scene shows Amin chastising his Minister of Foreign Affairs at a council meeting. The minister shifts uncomfortably in his chair at being singled out, to the point where it's rather humorous … until a voice-over reveals that two weeks later, the man was crocodile chum.

The tone is therefore quite odd, giving Dada an absurdly dark humor … imagine Triumph of the Will with several scenes of Hitler playing the banjo. It's not the scathing indictment you might expect or desire, but if that's a strike against the film's impact, it's one for the film's absolute uniqueness.

Criterion's DVD adds an amusing and informative interview with Schroeder, who recalls the weird experience of filming Amin with much humor. At one point he fantasizes about doing a sequel about Amin's life in exile, presenting the equally ridiculous reality of Amin's comfortable life in Saudi Arabia, driving a minivan and going out for picnics with his kids.

Amin's death means that film will never happen, but you can imagine it clearly enough. As with Dada itself, you must now contend with the sense of frustration that Amin's brutality was without personal consequence to him. It doesn't sit well, does it? Meanwhile, you still have to work your shit-ass day job to pay the Com Ed bill.

Review by Roma Downes-Syndrome