In Netflix’s buzzy first Afrikaans-language series, Ludik, starring Arnold Vosloo (known to film fans from The Mummy, Hard Target, and Blood Diamond among others and as an erstwhile Billy Zane lookalike), self-made Daan Ludik’s furniture business and bluff family-man persona serves as the legit cover for his diamond smuggling operation.
Ludik brings to the Cape to your home
Featuring a handful of well-known figures from South African media and culture, the series is co-produced by broadcaster Anele Mdoda and features rambunctious comedian Rob van Vuuren, cast against type in his first dramatic role as struggling widower Swys De Villiers.
Ludik’s carefully compartmentalized empire might collapse, however, when the kidnapping of a loved one forces him into a higher-risk venture, fencing weapons over borders for his less than law-abiding associates is the move. Soon enough, of course, Ludik finds himself in deep and way over his head: so far, so familiar.
Cue much latter day Neeson-esque manly brooding, shiny houses, shinier cars, and some admittedly impressive shiny head-butting, as well as the obligatory scenes featuring an exotic dancer flipping her long blonde hair, back arched (it remains to be seen if said dancer gets any dialogue in the 6-part first season). Also, essential here: big men who hold their big guns sideways, more big men counting tiny gemstones: all slick, faintly silly macho fantasy, replete with uncomplicated cliches of the organised crime subgenre.
While unlikely to trouble the likes of Stephen Scorsese or Kathryn Bigelow anytime soon by saying anything new about mobsters’ interior lives, Ludik, streaming this weekend, signals part of Netflix’s ongoing push to provide more local content, not only for its South African subscribers, but also those from elsewhere. Ludik’s teasers are, notably, light on non-white faces (though the full cast list features veteran actor Zane Meas who features fleetingly in trailers), with little hope for much nuance in its leggy blonde female characters.
That said, in Ludik himself there might just be a small, if healthy side of insight into modern South Africa. Perhaps, if viewers watch very, very closely, they may even find a sly comment on the Afrikaans masculine ideal, a troubling concept with far-reaching social consequences. It’s an ideal rooted in rigid class, gender, and race boundaries, reinforced by a holy trinity of rugby, hunting and guns, on full display here.
Or, given the scant detail in publicity for the series, Ludik may prove no more than the proffered slab of meaty, bullet-headed, ultimately forgettable, actioner of short words and shorter thoughts.
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