There’s a bright, brash new voice in Palestinian cinema and his name is Firas Khoury. With a terrific ear for teenage street talk and a clever way of giving character and politics equal weight without feeling forced, Khoury brings a breath of freshness sure to have an impact on the region’s cinema landscape. Alam (“the flag”) is set in a middle-class Palestinian enclave within Israel, where a taciturn high schooler feigns being an activist to get close to a girl he’s interested in, only to awaken to his own political voice. Boasting notable editing and a truly surprising finale, the film deserves more attention than it received after its Toronto premiere, and while it’s already making the rounds on the festival circuit, distributors should take note, especially following its best film win in Cairo’s international competition.
We know we’re in unanticipated territory from the very beginning, as three buddies stroll around, their jaunty banter confined to the usual horny teenage boy topics – it’s the kind of “normal” middle class high school life we rarely see in Palestinian film. The camera is loose-limbed and free like the guys themselves, whose conversation rings true the world over. Tamer (Mahmoud Bakri) is kind of a slacker, smart but unmotivated; Rida (Ahmad Zaghmouri) doesn’t talk all that much because he’s playing games on his phone the whole time, and Sari, nicknamed Shekel (Mohamad Karaki), is the smart-ass. Their friend Sawfat (Mohammad Abd El Rahman) is the only one who’s politically engaged, perhaps because all his brothers are in Israeli jails, and he’s unafraid of standing up to the overly cautious, by-the-rules history teacher (Monem Choueyet).
Tamer’s not exactly a screw-up but he’s the kid who’ll be doodling in class rather than paying attention, which is why he’s already got two probations. His dad (Amer Hiehel) recently let him move into his grandfather’s house nearby, but now he may lose parental support if he doesn’t buckle down. That would be bad, but he’s more concerned about catching the eye of the new transfer student Maysaa’ (Sereen Khass), an old flame of Sawfat’s and equally vocal in her activism. Khoury cleverly teases us by shooting Maysaa’ only at a distance, in lost profile or just the back of her head, creating a sense of anticipation until she breaks the ice and initiates a conversation. Her smart confidence effortlessly turns Tamer’s head, making him willing to pretend involvement in her causes in order to hold her interest.
Israeli independence day is coming up, which Palestinians solemnly mark to commemorate the Nakba, or catastrophe, when they were expelled from their lands and their villages destroyed. A tattered Israeli flag hangs over the school, which is being replaced with a fresher one for the celebrations, so Sawfat and Maysaa’ have a plan to fly a forbidden Palestinian flag in its stead. If caught, Tamer will be expelled and his father will cut him off, but when tragedy is delivered by an Israeli bullet, his commitment not just to Maysaa’ but to the struggle for liberation takes on a new urgency.
Tamer’s grandfather was a communist whose house is decorated with old Soviet images that are largely meaningless to his grandson (he hangs up a Liverpool football club banner instead), though there’s something about a musical coffee mug that plays “The International” that acts as a kind of gateway to a greater sense of social engagement. It’s the sort of clever touch felt throughout Alam, like the clock with only a second hand, underlining the need to act now rather than wait for hours to pass by. There’s also plenty of humor, such as a scene in which the students, led by older activist Adel (Riyad Sliman), interrupts a group of tree-hugging Israelis, or a particularly funny side plot which sees Shekel pushing aside younger schoolkids collecting money for an anti-drug program in order to gather enough cash to buy weed. One collateral role however doesn’t quite work, which is Tamer’s traumatized uncle Naji (Saleh Bakri): though the reason for his autistic-like behavior is ultimately revealed, the character feels forced, shoe-horned in as a symbol of the Occupation’s brutality.
Naji doesn’t work largely because all the other figures start off as being more real than emblematic, which is precisely the film’s strength. Fortunately the scene in which Tamer recounts his uncle’s life to Maysaa’ is beautifully handled, the pillow talk well-written and the camera’s fixed position adding the right amount of gravitas. Throughout the film, Khoury’s dialogue dances between a breezy playfulness and clever teenage sloganeering, which makes this more solemn scene stand out and act as a prelude to the excellently handled sequences that build to the wholly unexpected final shot, which for some may feel forced and for others inspired. Mahmoud Bakri is the youngest of the starry Bakri clan to now nab a starring role, and his lanky physicality has a low-key appeal which grows stronger as the film comes together.
Following her noteworthy work on Tunisian feature Under the Fig Trees, rising d.o.p. Frida Marzouk continues to impress with her sensitive use of widescreen, nicely playing with occasional foreground and background blurriness to focus attention while ensuring we’re always aware of who is witnessing the events. Editor Nadia Ben Rachid (Timbuktu) intelligently tailors her work to Marzouk’s use of visual cues and gives it all an engaging, absorbing rhythm.
Director, screenplay: Firas Khoury
Cast: Mahmoud Bakri, Sireen Khas, Mohamad Karaki, Riyad Sliman, Ahmad Zaghmouri, Mohammad Abd El Rahman, Amer Hiehel, Kawn Jaboor, Moez Toumi, Haithem Kokhon, Monem Choueyet, Saoussen Maalej, Saleh Bakri, Abdallah Rouached, Khaled Battat, Zeineb Rostom
Producers: Marie Pierre Macia, Claire Gadéa.
Co-producers: Melik Kochbati, Ossama Bawardi
Cinematography: Frida Marzouk
Production designer: Rabia Salfiti
Costume designer: Yasmine Khass
Editing: Nadia Ben Rachid
Music: Faraj Suleiman
Sound: Laure Arto, Carole Verner
Production companies: MPM Film (France), Paprika Films (Tunisia), Philistine Films (Palestine)
Venue: Cairo Film Festival (International competition)
In Arabic, Hebrew
106 minutes
