Warsha

It would be difficult to predict the final few minutes of Dania Bdeir’s drama Warsha after watching only the first few. The premise is one that might be familiar from Ziad Kalthoum’s wonderful documentary Taste of Cement: a Syrian migrant, Mohammed (Khansa), lives in overcrowded quarters while working on the construction of a skyscraper in Beirut. When the site’s crane operator disappears, Mohammed surprisingly volunteers to take on the dangerous role. However, his nerve-wracking ascent to the vertigo-inducing cockpit leads to events that are somewhat unexpected.

At this point, Warsha transforms into an ecstatic evocation of freedom. Mohammed quickly comes to relish the solitude and privacy afforded by his new perch high above the city, and the potential it offers him to truly be himself. There follows a fantastical dream sequence, exhilarating in its timbre, in which Khansa defies gender conventions and gravity with equal aplomb. Mohammed imagines himself in make-up and sequins, dangling from the rigging on a chain. His sensual dance, surrounded by the sky, creates a transcendental feeling of the corporeal and incorporeal somehow becoming one.

It’s a moment of release that is inherently euphoric but also has such an effect because of how Bdeir has built to it. Mohammed’s life in his cramped rooms feels jostled, constrained, and crushingly masculine. His stoic willingness to take on the new job suggests that something is calling him to it, but the crane’s transformative potential only becomes clear when he’s up there. A final shot of fellow workers observing him conducting afternoon prayer on top of the crane – which is apparently the image that inspired Bdeir to make the film – carries in it a palpable sense of liberation.

Director, screenplay: Dania Bdeir
Cast: Khansa
Producer: Coralie Dias
Cinematography: Shadi Chaaban
Editor: Ali J. Dalloul
Music: Hello Psychaleppo
Venue: Sundance Film Festival (Short Film Program)
In Arabic
16 minutes