Cinema usually moves too fast. We’re used to rapid cuts, explosions of dialogue, and plots that rush toward a neat resolution. But then comes a movie like This Is Not a Burial, It’s a Resurrection, and suddenly, the world slows down to a crawl. It’s heavy. It’s beautiful. Honestly, it’s unlike anything else that has come out of the African continent in the last decade. Directed by Lemohang Jeremiah Mosese, this film doesn't just tell a story; it feels like a physical weight on your chest.
It’s set in the rugged, breathtaking mountains of Lesotho. You’ve probably seen plenty of movies about progress and "modernization," but this one flips the script. It asks a devastating question: what happens when the land that holds your ancestors' bones is about to be swallowed by water?
The Heartbeat of Mantoa’s Grief
At the center of everything is Mantoa. She is played by Mary Twala, a legendary South African actress who delivered this performance shortly before her own passing. That fact alone adds a layer of haunting reality to the film that you just can't manufacture. Mantoa is an 80-year-old widow who has lost everyone. Her husband is gone. Her children are gone. Her only son just died in a mining accident in South Africa.
She’s ready to die. She actually starts arranging her own funeral. She wants to be buried in the village cemetery alongside her kin. It’s a simple wish, right? But then the news hits. The government is building a dam. The village of Nasaretha will be flooded. The graves will be relocated. The land will be gone.
This is where This Is Not a Burial, It’s a Resurrection shifts from a quiet character study into a fierce, almost mythic battle. Mantoa isn't just a grieving woman anymore. She becomes a symbol of resistance. She refuses to leave. She fights against the "progress" that demands she abandon her past.
Why the Visuals Feel So Different
If you watch the movie, the first thing you’ll notice is the shape of the screen. It’s not widescreen. It’s a tight, 4:3 aspect ratio. It feels boxy and cramped. Mosese did this on purpose. It forces you to look directly at the faces, the textures of the blankets, and the harshness of the soil. You can’t look away.
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The colors are wild, too. It’s not "realistic" in the way a documentary is. There are neon blues and deep, glowing oranges. It feels like a dream—or maybe a nightmare. The cinematographer, Pierre de Villiers, uses light in a way that makes the Lesotho landscape look like another planet. It’s gorgeous, but it’s also terrifying because you know it's all about to be destroyed.
Resistance as a Spiritual Act
Most "rebel" movies involve guns or high-stakes legal battles. Not here. Mantoa’s resistance is quiet, stubborn, and deeply spiritual. She sits. She waits. She talks to the people in the village who are too scared or too tired to fight back.
There’s a tension between the old ways and the new. The local priest tries to offer comfort, but his words feel hollow compared to the ancient connection Mantoa has with the earth. The village chief is caught between his duty to his people and the pressure from the government. It’s a mess. A human mess.
This Is Not a Burial, It’s a Resurrection isn't interested in making the government out to be a mustache-twirling villain. It’s worse than that. The "villain" is just the cold, indifferent march of the future. The dam is seen as "development," but for Mantoa, development is just another word for erasure.
The Sound of Loss
The sound design in this film is honestly incredible. It’s not just a traditional score. There are scraping sounds, industrial noises, and traditional Lesothan music that feels like it’s being pulled out of the ground. It creates this constant sense of dread. You hear the dam before you see the consequences of it. It’s a mechanical monster eating the silence of the mountains.
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Mosese himself has spoken about how his own family history influenced the film. He grew up in a place that no longer exists because of similar projects. That personal pain is baked into every frame. It’s why the movie feels so authentic. It’s not some outsider coming in to tell a "sad story" about Africa. It’s an insider mourning a world that is being paved over.
Why This Movie Matters Right Now
We live in a time of mass displacement. People are being moved because of climate change, because of war, because of "urban renewal." This Is Not a Burial, It’s a Resurrection hits a nerve because it’s about the loss of identity. If you take away a person's land and their history, what’s left?
The title itself is a paradox. A burial is usually an ending. A resurrection is a beginning. By choosing to stand her ground, Mantoa is turning her own death into an act of defiance. She is bringing the spirit of the village back to life, even if only for a moment, by refusing to be forgotten.
Comparing it to Global Cinema
People have compared this film to the works of Bela Tarr or Andrei Tarkovsky. It has that same slow-burn intensity. But honestly, it’s its own thing. It draws from Sotho culture and oral storytelling traditions. The narrator, played by Jerry Mofokeng Wa Makhetha, plays a lesiba (a traditional stringed-wind instrument) and speaks in riddles. It’s cinematic poetry.
It’s also worth noting how rare it is to see a film from Lesotho get this kind of international acclaim. It was the country's first-ever entry for the Best International Feature Film at the Oscars. It won a Special Jury Award for Visionary Filmmaking at Sundance. These aren't just empty accolades; they’re a testament to how powerful the film’s message is.
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Facing the Inevitable
There is a scene toward the end—don't worry, no spoilers—where the reality of the situation finally settles in. It’s devastating. But there’s also a strange kind of peace in it. Mantoa has done what she set out to do. She didn't stop the dam, because one woman can’t stop the gears of global capitalism. But she stopped the silence. She made sure that the "burial" of her village wouldn't happen without a fight.
Some people might find the movie "slow." It is. If you’re looking for a popcorn flick, this isn't it. But if you want a movie that stays in your brain for weeks, that makes you think about your own ancestors and where you come from, then you have to watch this. It’s a masterpiece of mood.
What We Can Learn from Lemohang Jeremiah Mosese
Mosese is a filmmaker who doesn't compromise. He didn't make a movie that was easy to digest for Western audiences. He didn't explain every single custom or tradition. He trusted the viewer to feel the emotion. That’s a lesson in storytelling: you don’t need to explain everything if the emotional truth is strong enough.
The film serves as a reminder that history isn't just something in books. It’s in the dirt. It’s in the graveyards. When we destroy those things for the sake of a power plant or a highway, we lose a piece of our collective soul.
How to Experience This Film Correctly
If you're going to watch This Is Not a Burial, It’s a Resurrection, don't do it on your phone while you're scrolling through TikTok. You’ll miss the whole point.
- Find the biggest screen possible. The 4:3 aspect ratio needs space to breathe so you can see the detail in Mary Twala's incredible face.
- Listen with good headphones or speakers. The soundscape is half the experience. The wind in the mountains and the drone of the music are essential.
- Research the Lesotho Highlands Water Project. Knowing the real-world context of the dams being built in that region makes the film even more tragic. It's not just fiction; it's a reflection of ongoing displacement.
- Watch it twice. The first time is for the story. The second time is for the atmosphere. You’ll notice things in the background—the way the light hits the dust—that you missed before.
- Look up Mary Twala’s career. Understanding her legacy in South African cinema makes her performance as Mantoa feel like the perfect, heartbreaking swan song.
This film is a call to remember. It’s a call to look at the land not as a resource to be exploited, but as a sacred vessel of memory. Even if the water comes and the village disappears, the defiance of Mantoa ensures that the story survives. It’s not just a burial. It’s a resurrection of the spirit.