Med Hondo doesn’t get talked about nearly enough, and Sarraounia is a decent reminder why he should be.
The scale hits first — shot like Hondo had a full studio budget behind him. The French officers come across as small men playing dress-up as conquerors, all vanity and self-interest under shiny buttons. The thing is, Sarraounia’s side feels like an actual body — loyalty that holds when it counts.
What I loved is the momentum. Nothing here sits back admiring itself; it builds right up to that final shot — Sarraounia on horseback leading her people straight at the camera, the cast and then the crew falling in behind her, closing the gap between the story and the people telling it. A song plays through all of it about history being sung, handed down in music, history carried forward, which is about as neat a way to end things as I’ve seen in a while.