TORI AND LOKITA - Mark Reviews Movies

Tori and Lokita, Janus Films

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Review by Mark Dujsik | March 23, 2023

Basic survival shouldn't have to be a constant hustle, but such is the case for the eponymous characters of Tori and Lokita. The specifics of their back stories or the one that they share are unimportant. At the moment, the two find themselves in Belgium, trying to make enough money to live from whatever work will have them, attempting to convince government officials that they both deserve to stay in the country, and indebted or obligated to too many people to have any kind of life beyond making money, paying people, and figuring out how to convince uncaring bureaucrats that they deserve the chance of a life beyond all of this.

The film, written and directed by brothers Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne, is the kind of story of which we have seen a bit recently, but the filmmakers remove anything that could be seen as naïvely idealistic or optimistic. This story isn't about achieving or trying to accomplish some sort of dream of personal freedom, economic opportunity, and basic security. It's about the long and seemingly unending need to scheme, to attach oneself to crooked people, and to scrape by via whatever means necessary, simply in order to survive each and every day that it's possible to do so.

There's a level of naturalism and honesty in the Dardennes' film that's commendable. Many stories about the immigrant experience are hopeful ones about trying to rise above circumstances like those portrayed here, but this one suggests that just managing to keep your head above water for another day is struggle enough—or too much—for a lot of people in such a situation.

We meet Lokita (Joely Mbundu), who has come to an unnamed Belgian city from Africa by way of Italy, as she discusses the potential of receiving asylum within the country. Her story is that Lokita came here looking for her younger brother, who was sent away by a sympathetic family member after an uncle determined the baby boy must be a witch, responsible for the death of his own mother in childbirth. Her account—of finding her brother seemingly by chance at a local orphanage—doesn't quite add up to the officials hearing it, so Lokita will have one more chance to convince them of the authenticity of her story at a later date.

Of course, things aren't quite—or at all—as they seem with Lokita and Tori (Pablo Schils), the younger boy whom she claims to be her brother and who asserts that she's his older sister. The real question is whether or not that matters. The whole question of the back stories of these two characters feels like an intentional subversion on the part of the Dardennes to make a vital point. We might lean toward a degree of inherent and deep sympathy with these two, simply because of the tale of persecution, a fortunate reunion, and a familial bond that has transcended time and distance.

What if none of that were the case, though? Does that change anything about Lokita's love for this boy, Tori's reliance on this teenager, or the basic humanity of either of these characters? It doesn't, or at least, it shouldn't.

The Dardennes are known for creating simple, human dramas based around tricky but ordinary moral dilemmas, but the setup here, as well as its gradual revelations about the true nature of the relationship between the title characters, almost seems like a moral litmus test. One could probably tell a lot about a person depending on how said person responds to the initial story of Lokita and Tori, as well as and especially in if those feelings change in any way after the truth comes to light. The challenge to overt sentimentality comes across as intentional, and it adds a layer of introspection to this straightforward but increasingly harrowing tale of survival.

Bascially, Lokita and Tori work for Betim (Alban Ukaj), a cook at a local restaurant who moonlights as a marijuana dealer. When they aren't literally singing for their supper (in a scene that seems to assert the idea that people want a pleasant, sappy story as opposed to reality), the two move around town selling packets to Betim's clients. The little money they make from the gig—as well as whatever money she receives from Betim coercing sex acts from her—mainly goes to Lokita's mother, as well as her younger siblings, in Africa or to Firmin (Marc Zinga), the head of a local church that "sponsored" her migration and who expects his cut of her income for the foreseeable future.

Eventually, Lokita takes a job watching over Betim's marijuana crop, meaning that she's housed in an isolated, enclosed warehouse and separated from Tori. The bond between the two, communicated so thoroughly and convincingly by the two non-professional actors at the center of the film (Both are great and a serve as a fine complement to the Dardennes style), is too strong to be divided, though. The third act, which revolves around a daring plan to make money right under Betim's nose, plays like a grounded thriller.

In addition to giving us a realistic depiction of this kind of survival, the whole of the film seems to be one of establishing and shattering expectations. Tori and Lokita tells us the characters are one thing, only to reveal something else entirely. It tells us their story is a particular one, only to show us a bond that is both akin to and deeper than family. As for the third act, the film lets us think that, like any kind of thriller, the resolution is simply a matter of resourcefulness and determination. Real life provides nothing so simple.

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