MUBI Going with JT: Let it be Morning

A few months ago, I came across the streaming service MUBI. Akin to the likes of Criterion Channel and Kanopy, the services caters to the artsy, independent, and international film crowd. Looking for that great 1970’s Italian nun-sploitation film? Its there. Wondering where the heck that one angsty British teen indie from the late ‘00s is? Its also there, featuring a dashing, then up-and-coming Michael Fassbender. Even the latest thriller from international phenom, Park Chan-wook, is there, too. Almost every obscure little itch your film-consuming brain needs to scratch can be found there.

Now, who here remembers the ill-fated initial run of “MoviePass?” This glorious 2019 firestorm offered a simple concept to subscribers. One flat monthly fee—one movie ticket per day. At one point, the service cost only $10! The concept proved a disastrous business failure as the service hemorrhaged tens of millions of dollars a month. However, it demonstrated the movie-going public’s still-hearty appetite for the theater-going experience.

In that hopeful vein, MUBI offers a somewhat similar feature to its streaming service subscribers. For the cost of a monthly subscription ($12.99 as of this writing), customers in select cities are given a weekly free movie ticket to a pre-selected film playing in a local cinema. To be clear, the cities available in this service are limited right now to L.A., Chicago, Denver, New York, San Francisco, Denver, Seattle, Portland and a handful of international locations. 

So, why should you care?

Basically, I really love the service and its about the only thing I can afford to do in my current home of Manhattan that brings me genuine joy. Most of my best theater-going experiences this past year were provided through MUBI Go showings. I want to highlight their work in film-programming and also shine a light on their largely international and little seen film selection. 

Without further ado, let’s get into this past week’s selection, Israeli writer-director Eran Kolirin’s adaptation of Sayed Kashua’s novel, Let it be Morning. 

The film anchors around Sami (Alex Barkri), a tech-executive and seemingly reluctant family man who lives and works in Jerusalem with Israeli citizenship. We open with him visiting his home village for the wedding of his younger brother Aziz (Samer Bisharat). As we’re introduced to the core of Sami’s family and hometown friends, we get a sense of the protagonist’s vague detachment from the whole event and those around him. Even as Sami’s father Tarek (Salim Daw) heaps praise onto his son, it’s in comparison to another man’s son and the scope of their employment benefits; a game Sami couldn’t care less about playing. 

Once the wedding concludes, Sami and his wife Mira (Juna Suleiman) attempt to drive home, only to be turned back by armed soldiers enforcing a sudden blockade on the village. No one can go in or out, regardless of citizenship or status. Sami barely suppresses frustration and concern as he returns to be with his family and see what will happen next.

After a single villager attempts to force past the blockade the morning after, he is met with a violent response by dozens of witnesses. Seeing this setup, one might expect a terse and suspenseful political thriller as tensions rise amongst the villagers. Instead, the film chooses to focus on the social inner workings of the villagers and how the varied strata respond. Tarek bemoans the villager’s inaction while his son-in-law Mohammed (Khalida Natour) touts cooperation as the answer. Where other films might focus on the growing suspense of a potential uprising here, Let it be Morning shows a village all too familiar to such circumstances.

Life must carry on after all, and every day has plenty of other problems of its on. Sami might lose his job in this forced absence. Mira fears the growing distance between her and Sami and quietly (and accurately) assumes an affair. Despite an otherwise joyous wedding, Aziz appears to fear consummating his marriage and avoids the marital bed with his wife Lina (Yara Elham Jarrar). To make matters worse, the internet and all cell reception in the village is seemingly cut and all news of outside is walled out. So not only does no one really have anything figured out, this blockade is pretty clearly going to make everyone start dealing with that. 

What makes the film a memorable experience though is a warm, wry humor throughout. Even as the story deals with the threat of famine and deportation of undocumented Palestinians in the village, the film makes a point to embrace the absurdity through very human eyes. This is illustrated earlier in the film, with a celebratory speech for the bride and groom as they pose with their families while “1,000 doves” will be released in celebration. They’re instead met with a small cage filled with a handful of uncooperative doves flatly cooing and walking out of the cage when released. The wedding party can only stare on with a mixture of anticipation and strained patience. 

The film subsists on moments where characters earnestly seek connection but just-so-slightly miss most of the time. This is best exemplified in the strained relationship between Sami and his old friend Abed (Ehab Salami). A well-meaning and newly self-minted cab driver, Abed seeks to regain the favors of his ex-wife while also trying to reconnect with his old friend. He is otherwise disgraced and with a strong-armed loan-shark Nabil (Doraid Liddawi) breathing down his neck, he keeps reaching for goals he appears possibly to ill-equipped to achieve. In a way, he epitomizes what many villagers must feel in that situation, the kind where you can’t help but throw your hands up and ask, “Well, now what?”

As the credits roll, one leaves the film with a sense of uncertainty. Not necessarily from ambiguity of the “now-what-happens” variety, but more so if the film handles the subject matter in too delicate or neutral a manner. To be clear, the film is technically rock solid from start to finish. The acting is very good, Kolirin’s direction is consistent and focused, and both the sound and camera work together to maintain a mood of warm melancholy that perfectly illustrates the film’s themes. But looking at the landscape in which this film has been released, it’s a little hard to swallow the almost neutered viewpoint on an extremely contentious issue. 

At the same time though, one could make the argument that not all difficult subjects benefit from a focus on misery. Clearly this is the viewpoint of the director as Kolirin insists on centering the multi-faceted humanity of his characters outside of the difficulty of their circumstances. He does so by deftly employing the awkward silences and misunderstandings akin to a Wes Anderson. Simply put, if that’s the kind of thing you like and appreciate, there’s a lot to enjoy in this movie. If not, well, there’s always something else to watch. 

Tune in next week as I review the jarring stylings of Gaspar Noe’s extremely controversial Irrevirsible: Straight Cut.