The Heart Is A Muscle – A Metaphor for loss

The braai begins, and they are joined by Ryan’s close friends Zaheer (Ridaa Adams) and Anees (Danny Ross) and their partners Meghan (Loren Loubser) and Fara (Robyn Rossouw). As with most braais, it’s silliness, laughter, and some mischievous conversations while the salads are being made. In the background, Jude and Issy (Luna Louw) play—things seem normal until Laila (Melissa De Vries) goes looking for Jude and cannot find her son. Jude has gone missing. His disappearance sends the group into a frenzy, with Ryan, Zaheer, and Anees rushing to court to find him. At court, the description of Jude matches the son of Andre (Dean Marais), and the group assumes he has abducted Jude. This erupts into a violent confrontation, scenes of open fields, and frantic movement through the courts, reflecting the anxiety Ryan feels. Once he realizes there has been a misunderstanding, Ryan is warned by Tolla (Moeniel Jacobs) not to stay too long. They return home to find Jude. Ryan’s distraught response to his son’s disappearance and reappearance, however, is deeply layered, and it’s clear the group is aware of it—but they all speak in code about the underlying issues. What follows is Ryan’s journey toward restitution. He reaches out to Andre and his son Lesley (Lincoln Van Wyk) to apologize and tries to make peace with his past.

I have left out some parts of the synopsis, which should be experienced while watching. Some things are best left to the firsthand, visceral emotion created by the cast and crew. What this piece focuses on is the aftermath of a crisis, the hidden crying that takes place. Where Hamdulay does his best work is with the metaphorical, and what I would call the symmetry of the film. But for the sake of this review and the idea of silences, I will read the main theme of this film as Jude’s disappearance. When it happens in the film, the title comes alive. You think about how your heart gathers love and care, how it houses what is vital and passionate—you are because we have a “heart”—while the idea of the muscle invites memory, trauma, and armor. The shock of Jude’s disappearance is a contraction—a spasm in the film. It becomes a lingering pain. As much as we know Jude is present, whether on- or off-screen—for the rest of the film we are asked what else has gone missing and which other parts have not been recovered. The way the group responds, especially Ryan, Anees, and Zaheer, is not only about trying to find Jude but also what Jude represents. The disappearance becomes a representation of how boys and men in this community lose the parts of themselves that are kind and tender. What the film truly questions is whether or not that loss is a sacrifice.

Beyond the cinematography, performances, and script, it also weaves itself into a commitment to reference hip-hop culture and highlight the ways in which that culture creates a community that is both exhausted and hopeful. It fits well, punctuated like a rap song. My experience with this film was beautiful. It has the ability to take you, very gently, into the deepest parts of anxiety and grief. You arrive in the film as though visiting your closest friends’ home. It is all familiar, it is welcoming. The film offers both technical and emotional space to explore what reconciliation, restitution, and remembrance might mean for us in a time when sincerity feels lost. This film asks us not to be immune to vulnerability.