The Forgotten Suburbs: How ‘Auber 89’ Resurrects a Lost Paris Through One Man’s Memory
There’s something profoundly moving about watching someone reclaim their past, especially when that past is tied to a place and time that history has largely forgotten. Auber 89, Giuseppe Schillaci’s latest documentary, does exactly that—but it’s so much more than a personal journey. It’s a resurrection of a forgotten Paris, a Paris that existed in the shadows of the 1980s, far from the romanticized image of the City of Lights. What makes this particularly fascinating is how Schillaci uses one man’s fractured memory to unearth the buried history of an entire community.
A Personal Journey That Becomes Collective
At the heart of Auber 89 is Fatsah Bouyahmed, a French Algerian actor who, after an accident, lost parts of his memory. When Schillaci discovered archival footage of Bouyahmed’s childhood in the Aubervilliers social housing estate, he didn’t just find a story—he found a key to unlocking a forgotten era. Personally, I think this is where the film’s genius lies. It’s not just about Bouyahmed’s journey back to himself; it’s about how that journey becomes a mirror for the struggles and hopes of an entire generation.
What many people don’t realize is how rarely the Parisian suburbs of the 1980s are portrayed with nuance. They’re often reduced to clichés of poverty, crime, and despair. But Auber 89 challenges that narrative by grounding its story in the textures of everyday life—family, friendship, music, and the sensory world of VHS tapes. This raises a deeper question: What happens when we allow individual stories to rewrite collective narratives?
The Power of Archival Footage
One thing that immediately stands out is Schillaci’s use of archival footage. It’s not just a backdrop; it’s a character in its own right. When Bouyahmed watches himself as a young man, the screen becomes, as Schillaci puts it, ‘a machine for recovering memory.’ This isn’t just a poetic metaphor—it’s a literal description of the film’s process. Frame by frame, Bouyahmed’s past is pieced together, and with it, the past of Aubervilliers.
From my perspective, this is where the film transcends its documentary roots. It becomes a meditation on memory itself—how it’s fragile, how it’s communal, and how it’s often shaped by the media we consume. The VHS aesthetic isn’t just a stylistic choice; it’s a reminder of how technology mediates our relationship with the past. What this really suggests is that our memories are never truly ours alone; they’re always intertwined with the cultural and technological contexts of their time.
A Moment of Hope Before Disillusionment
The 1980s were a pivotal time for the Parisian suburbs. It was a decade of rising racism, inequality, and exclusion, but also of fleeting hope. Auber 89 captures that duality beautifully. As Bouyahmed’s memories resurface, so do the social tensions of the era. This isn’t just a story about one man’s past; it’s a story about how communities are shaped by the forces of history.
What makes this particularly interesting is how Schillaci avoids moralizing. He doesn’t tell us what to think about the past; he invites us to feel it. The film’s strength lies in its ability to make the personal political without losing sight of the human. If you take a step back and think about it, this is a rare achievement in documentary filmmaking.
Why This Film Matters Now
In an era where the suburbs are still often portrayed as monolithic and problematic, Auber 89 offers a much-needed corrective. Lightdox founder Anna Berthollet is right when she says the film ‘gives the French suburbs their complexity back.’ But I’d go a step further: it challenges us to rethink how we tell stories about marginalized communities.
A detail that I find especially interesting is how the film avoids nostalgia. It doesn’t romanticize the past; it interrogates it. This isn’t a feel-good documentary—it’s a call to remember, to reflect, and to reconsider. What this really suggests is that the past isn’t just something to be studied; it’s something to be reckoned with.
Final Thoughts
Auber 89 is more than a documentary; it’s an act of reclamation. It takes a personal story and turns it into a collective one, using memory as a bridge between the past and the present. As someone who’s always been fascinated by how history is told and retold, I find this film deeply inspiring. It reminds us that every forgotten corner of the world has a story worth telling—and that sometimes, all it takes is one person’s memory to bring it back to life.
Personally, I think this is the kind of film that stays with you long after the credits roll. It’s not just about what it shows you; it’s about what it makes you feel. And in a world where so many stories go untold, that’s a powerful thing indeed.
