From LFF: The Radical Normalcy of Pete Murimi’s ‘I Am Samuel’

“Alex is the love of my life.”

Just 30 seconds into writer-director Pete Murimi’s documentary “I Am Samuel,” the titular subject makes this quiet, matter-of-fact declaration. A shaky camera follows Samuel and Alex into the woods — through a waterfall and a makeshift tire swing, down a winding, sunny strip of road. Alex rests his arm on Samuel’s tense shoulder, as he does often throughout the film. For those first few moments, their love feels like the simplest thing in the world.

Samuel and Alex live in Kenya, where LGBTQ+ love and identity are criminalized. Their lives are by no means free of the pain of that reality, an undercurrent woven through every subsequent scene.

But unlike many filmmakers who choose to depict people with experiences of trauma, violence, and family rejection, Murimi doesn’t define or dehumanize his subjects based on that violence, or paint their relationship as perfect just because it’s hard-won. Rather, with a light touch and an intimate style, he shows Samuel and Alex just as they are — radically, beautifully normal.

It’s clear from the outset that “I Am Samuel” is no Netflix documentary; there is no melodramatic music, no climactic interrogations, no desperation to leave its audience with one particular emotion. Shot vérité style (improvisation and observation-focused) over the course of five years, Murimi opts for short, understated shots of daily life imbued with the intimacy of a home movie. He shies away from the heavy-handed music or emotional push-pulls of more mainstream documentaries, trusting the eyes and expressions of his subjects to speak for themselves.

Any documentary centered on daily intimacy relies on trust, a necessity only exacerbated by a topic as painful and secretive as criminalized sexuality. The depth, then, of the trust and level of vulnerability between subject and filmmaker is perhaps “I Am Samuel”’s greatest accomplishment. Murimi seems able to capture every shade of emotion from his generous, passionate “Samuel.” Unlike in many other documentaries that rely on their subjects' vulnerability, Murimi doesn’t capture these moments by erasing his positionality or “accidentally” stumbling upon a moment of secret weakness. Rather, his subject feels almost relieved by his presence — as if Murimi and his camera have provided a genuine outlet for a young man desperate to be truly seen.

Of course, Murimi certainly does not waste those windows into Samuel‘s soul. He has an uncanny eye for the physicalities of inner turmoil, lingering on moments of bodily tension, longing, and desire. In one series of memorable shots early on in the film, Samuel visits his family before he’s come out to them or introduced them to Alex. Murimi cuts directly to the old woman’s scrunched-up face in sharp focus, framing it between Samuel’s hands as he massages it and they laugh and tease each other. That night, the two sit far apart from each other; Samuel’s body language is desperate and wary as he chats on the phone with Alex. A simple “how are you?” becomes burdened with a thousand more tender questions; the crickets in the background cut through the hesitation in their conversation. The lamp above him throws the tension in Samuel’s arms into focus again as he hugs them to his chest, back against the darkness.

Murimi’s visual creativity also extends to the things his camera chooses to focus on. In one scene at a church service, he frames Samuel’s frustrated, introspective face in sharp detail, while keeping the blurry outline of Samuel’s father’s face just in the background. These kinds of shots are sprinkled throughout the film to powerful effect, forcibly showing the distance of being closeted from a family member, even if they’re physically a few feet away.

Of course, being queer in Kenya comes with less subtle consequences, too. Partway through the film, Alex experiences a brutal assault, as does an anonymous victim at the film’s start. In both cases, Murimi seems reticent to extract painful emotion out of his subjects, and they seem to prefer holding it in, limiting their pain to little changes in their expression and strained, choked-up laughter.

At times, these shifts between the couple’s precious moments together and the violence of the outside world feel rushed and abrupt, as though they were stitched together without a clear emotional arc in kind. Standard documentary tropes — such as asking the subjects how they felt about a scene after it unfolded, or lingering on their pained expressions as they respond — would likely have smoothed over many of these abrupt moments. But Murimi’s refusal to feed predicted or linear emotions to his subjects or his viewers allowed Samuel to tell his own story, free of the exploitative undertones so common in documentaries. Who, then, is “I Am Samuel” for? Does it hope to build empathy or change hearts, minds, or policies?

The answer may be neither. Though lacking the focus of one particular agenda, “I Am Samuel” is arguably more valuable. As Murimi put it: “It is very rare for a poor, uneducated gay man to be given a platform to tell his story from his point of view, particularly in Kenya where such love is not accepted by society.” “I Am Samuel,” foregoes the emotional manipulation of many modern documentaries — leaving Samuel to tell his own story. Without a heavy-handed emotional filter, “I Am Samuel” succeeds in presenting queer love as it truly is: radically, refreshingly normal.

— Staff Writer Joy C. Ashford can be reached at joy.ashford@thecrimson.com.