A Film a Week - Let It Be Morning / Vayehi boker

 previously published on Asian Movie Pulse

One of the few good things on the margins of the long-standing Israeli-Palestinian conflict is that there is at least some cultural exchange between the sides, so dissonant tones critical to the official policies can be heard, at least coming from the Israeli side. One of those voices certainly belongs to filmmaker and screenwriter Eran Kolirin whose film “The Band’s Visit” (2007) dared to ask a crucial question how it is for good people at a wrong place, such was the case of the visiting Egyptian band in Israel.

Kolirin’s newest film “Let It Be Morning” is a proper Israeli-Palestinian collaboration, based on the novel by the Palestinian journalist-writer Sayed Kashua, known for the source material of the films “Private” (2004) and “A Borrowed Identity” (2014), and on the topic of the Israeli Arabs and their need to re-assess the identities they have built in the times of distress. Filmed with a Palestinian cast and a mixed crew, it tells a Kafka-esque story about a man’s life getting shattered after he was forced to stay with his family and childhood friends for way longer than he expected, due to the lockdown imposed on his home village.

When we first see him, Sami (Alex Bakri) has all the reasons to be satisfied with himself: he has a good job in Jerusalem, he is married to a beautiful woman Mira (Juna Suleiman) with whom he has an adorable son, and his father Tarek (Salim Saw) wants to add a wing to the family house just for him. The reason for Sami’s visit is the wedding of his younger brother Aziz (Samer Bisharat) and also an attempt to explain to his father that he is not willing to quit his Jerusalem life just yet. The trouble hits him on his way back after the wedding: the village has been put under lockdown by the Israeli army, and the reason for such a development might be the question of “daffawis”, the undocumented West Bank Palestinians who use the village for getting into Israel where they work illegally.

Sami cannot go back, so he has to face all the things he was running from to his job and his mistress for years: his immediate family, dissatisfied wife who senses something is wrong, his over-bearing father, his hopelessly naïve brother, his sister and her husband who is into local politics, the local politics itself full of lies, criminality and corruption, and his childhood friends, namely Abed (Ehab Salami) who did not find his place in life. As the conditions worsen day by day, Sami has to admit that he is no better than the others and that he has been living in a lie.

At a deliberately slow pace, “Let It Be Morning” goes down multiple tracks, exploring various rarely exposed topics from the daily life of Israeli Arabs and other Palestinians, the differences in their status in Israel and even in its Arabic villages and settlements, and switching tone between an absurdist comedy and a serious drama. On the other hand, it is also a film about the family- and even more general societal and human relations in a situation that is certainly out of normal, and that strikes suddenly, even though it could be expected to occur.

The slowness takes a toll on the viewers also, but there is a good reason for that, since both Kashua in his novel and Kolirin in his film are actually exploring an uncharted territory and are set on creating an atmosphere of waiting and helplessness that is quite universal for common people stuck in a situation at odds with authorities. Also, it leaves enough time and space for the characters to develop, which facilitates the job for the actors. Alex Bakri is a domineering presence on the screen with his blend of smugness and melancholy, Juna Suleiman steps in the role of Mira bravely, Samer Bisharat plays the comic relief-type of character with certain grace, while Ehab Salami manages to squeeze sympathy for the little man who never had a lucky break.

Shai Goldman’s cinematography catches the claustrophobia of the cramped village and cramped houses shared by family clans instead of nuclear families, and puts it in contrast with the diverse landscape around the village that seems like a hilly, arid desert from one angle and an oasis from another, hinting that some beauty and peace could be found even in a hopeless place. Maybe it was the original goal of both Kashua and Kolirin. “Let It Be Morning” is certainly more about the journey than about the destination.

A Film a Week - Amira

 previously published on Asian Movie Pulse

Mohamed Diab is an Egyptian screenwriter and filmmaker and the mastermind behind the lauded films like “Cairo 678” (2010) and slightly gimmicky “Clash” (2016) that is completely set inside a police van during the riots. His latest work “Amira” (2021), done in the co-production arrangement of three countries (Egypt, Jordan and United Arab Emirates), while set in Gaza Strip, also came with significant festival reputation (it premiered at Venice) and several awards (most significantly from Rome International Film Festival). Most recently, it was screened at Osaka Asian Film Festival.

The titular character played by Tara Abboud is a teenage girl interested in photography who thinks she can be sure of her roots. Her father Nawar (Ali Suliman, glimpsed in a number of Middle Eastern and international films), whom she dutifully visits in the notorious Meggido prison in Israel (where he serves the life sentence for terrorism) has the status of a Palestinian freedom fighter. Nawar’s family takes care of Amira and her mother Warda (Saba Mubarak), so they enjoy a relatively pleasant life, given the circumstances, of course.

However, everything turns upside down when Nawar and Warda decide to have the second child by the means of artificial insemination (Amira was also conceived that way) when the complete clan learns that he is sterile. That puts Amira in an awkward position and her mother in a dangerous one, while the questions arise. Was Warda unfaithful to Nawar, which would give his family the cause to disown and maybe even execute her? If so, who was her partner in the act of infidelity? Or was it all the consequence of a more sinister practice done by an unknown Israeli prison guard, who switched the sperm samples, making Amira the (biological) child of the enemy? In a heated situation, it is hard to keep calm and collected, and our protagonist feels the pressure to act somehow to prove herself worthy.

“Amira” is the type of film that screams to be taken seriously, but the viewers would be better off if they resisted that urge. The drama of the film that touches the topics of the personal and collective identity, patriarchy and the life under the occupation feels constructed. On top of that, it is actually quite hard for the viewers to sympathize with the titular protagonist due to her narrow world-view in which she favors her “heroic” father whom she has only seen through the prison glass over her devoted mother even when she is in grave peril.

The problem is in script that shows more interest in national than in personal trauma. Diab tries to correct it a bit with his directing that is functional in the way it uses the hand-held camerawork by Ahmed Gabr, with occasional poetic touches, especially when it comes to the use of lighting to dictate the mood. One particular scene, that of the phone sex between the spouses, particularly stands out for its gentleness. But all the “stylishness” of the film also feels calculated and tailored for the film festival audiences.

The trouble with the script is also reflected in the rigid dialogue that feels declamatory even when spoken out by the most natural and the most skilled actors. On the other hand, Tara Abboud is quite expressive in the non-verbal department, Saba Mubarak’s presence is dignified to the level of martyrdom and sainthood, and Ali Suliman is capable to carry the role of the imprisoned and troubled Nawar. Among the rest of the cast, Suhaib Nashwan is a stand-out as Amira’s boyfriend Ziad.

In the end, “Amira” as the film becomes the victim of its grand ambition, just as Amira as the character is a victim of her “grand” conviction. If it were more personal and less of a political statement, it would be more powerful on both of the fronts. Too bad it feels like a missed opportunity.