It’s far too soon to predict which COVID-themed films will still feel meaningful in a post-pandemic world, but among that select group, my money is on Nejib Belkadhi’s intimate b&w fictionalized memoir Communion. Shot in under a week in and around the director’s house (and with his cat Faouzi, who takes to the camera like a pro), this minimalist depiction of obsession melding into schizophrenia during the most restrictive days of lockdown captures varied ways we’ve dealt with this difficult moment, as seen through a man’s descent into a far darker place than mere paranoia. Stripped down to the essentials yet enriched by moments of humor and an unexpected touch of surrealism, Communion deserves more attention than it was accorded at its Red Sea world premiere.
Belkadhi’s been making thoughtful, well-crafted features and documentaries for over a decade: Bastardo and Look at Me both premiered at Toronto, yet curiously their impact has been less noticeable on the international film scene than a number of other Tunisian films from the same period. That could change with Communion, which remarkably manages to address the extraordinary situation we’re all living through without either seeming dated or making us wonder why we’re devoting time to a movie that could, in the wrong hands, generate feelings of overfamiliarity or tedium.
At the start Kays (director Belkadhi) appears to be an ordinary pandemic-era neurotic, double-masked and gloved, stocking up on chloroquine which his more balanced wife Sarah (Souhir Ben Amara, Tlamess) tosses out but which he retrieves and cuts up into the cat’s food for fear the animal might transmit the virus. For all his obsessiveness, he’s still a pleasant guy and the relationship between husband and wife, after six years of marriage, retains an easy comfort, nicely conveyed when they romantically recreate the night they met. He’s been furloughed for three months so is home the whole time, while she continues to work with local disenfranchised communities like African immigrants and sex workers.
Though constrained by lockdown, Sarah’s getting on with life, maintaining contact with people via Zoom and occasional drop offs. While she nurtures, Kays frets, and is increasingly focused on perceived dangers of infection: he sprays door handles, launders clothes with bleach at the hottest temperature and even drives with his wrists so as not to touch the steering wheel. As his agitation increases it becomes apparent that he’s not been taking his medication – his need for antipsychotic drugs wasn’t revealed earlier, but given his deteriorating state it doesn’t come as a complete surprise.
One element that does slightly beggar belief is that alarm bells don’t ring for Sarah until Kays is already sliding down deep. He’s watching conspiracy videos and hearing the voice of COVID-19 itself beckoning him to embrace the virus as a cleansing planet-wide Armageddon. It’s around this time that he begins to see a giant COVID cell with tentacles hovering in the sky, a mesmeric supernatural presence that’s drawing him away from sanity.
From a psychological point of view, it would be wrong to classify Kays as a mere obsessive: this is a guy with a severe mental disorder most would diagnose as schizophrenia (although the word is never used). His behavior puts any of our own “normal” cleansing and masking rituals into perspective as he shifts from OCD into true insanity. For all that though, his descent leaves an uncomfortable kernel in our psyches and makes us question what is and isn’t a healthy perspective on how we’re coping through these dark times.
The film is essentially a two-hander in which Kays’ increasing agitation plays off against Sarah’s balanced essence, and Belkadhi and Ben Amara’s tight rapport makes his mental disintegration more affecting when seen through the lens of their partnership, despite the niggling lack of credibility in Sarah’s inattentive monitoring of his medication intake. His is of course the showier role (though acted with complete plausibility), but her projection of warmth and centeredness, notwithstanding certain issues the character is grappling with, ensure Ben Amara’s performance isn’t thrown into the shade.
Although the film crew was minimal, the technical aspects of Communion are flawless. Hazem Berrabah’s Academy-ratio b&w visuals have a stripped-down late Nouvelle Vague purity about them at the start (but with more attention to lighting) which become brooding towards the end, the monochrome palette adding to a sense of essentiality that works equally well in the later haunting surreal sequences. The special effects are surprisingly well done, and the sound scape is particularly praiseworthy.
Director: Nejib Belkadhi
Screenplay: Nejib Belkadhi
Cast: Nejib Belkadhi, Souhir Ben Amara, Feriel Chammari, Azza Barkous, Amos Jean Zadi, Peeka, Chedya Azzouz, Hedi Khlif, Rawia Ben Zakour, Slim Bouchiba, Atef Dejlassi, Ajmi, Badi Chouka, Moustique.
Producers: Imed Marzouk, Nejib Belkadhi
Cinematography: Hazem Berrabah
Production design: Bassem Marzouk
Costume design: Moustique
Editing: Malek Chatta
Music: Cedric Perras
Sound: Aymen Labidi, Samy Gharbi
Production company: Propaganda Productions (Tunisia)
Venue: Red Sea International Film Festival (Competition)
In Arabic, French
95 minutes
