The Feminine Mashriq: WADJDA
The final film in The Feminine Mashriq may be its most monumental. Wadjda is not only Haifaa al-Monsour’s first feature length film, it’s the first feature length film to have been entirely made in Saudi Arabia. For 35 years, the kingdom of Saudi Arabia banned movie theaters (publicly reopening them in 2018 with national screenings of Black Panther) meaning when Wadjda was released in 2012, the citizens had to wait until the film’s at-home distribution to even see it. With controversial themes and a female director, the film had to go through a long process to get funding and the eventual go ahead from the government to be made. Even with permission, al-Monsour had to direct many of the scenes in a van down the block from the set with a walkie-talkie and portable monitor so as not to appear like she was telling men what to do. The film criticizes Saudi society and the practice of male guardianship, yet was mostly well received and earned numerous awards including Saudi Arabia’s first entry to the Academy Awards’ Foreign Language category as well as a BAFTA nomination for Best International Film.
Wadjda is the titular character of this coming-of-age story. She is rebellious and inquisitive, and tends to be the thorn in her dutiful mother’s side. She loves pirated radio stations and can’t quite get the hang of wearing her hijab yet. We often see her compared to her studious classmates who come to school in proper uniforms and spend their after-school hours in the Religion Club. While they practice Surah’s, Wadjda colors the whites of her converse sneakers black and sells homemade bracelets at recess. However, a new sense of religious duty is awakened in her when she falls in love with a bicycle and realizes the only way to get her hands on it is to raise the money herself by competing in a Quran reciting competition.
The tension of the film lives in Wadjda’s relationship with the women around her. Her strict headmistress employs the most conservative views of Islam in the school. She doesn’t allow the girls to yell at recess because men may hear them and “a woman’s voice is her nakedness,” and she is quick to suspend two girls she found in a “compromising” position, cementing herself as Wadjda’s primary antagonist. A more tender conflict lives in Wadjda’s mother. She is beautiful, a wonderful cook, a devoted wife, keeps her house clean, and works diligently at her job, yet none of this matters for her husband’s primary concern is her inability to produce a male heir. As Wadjda grows through the film, she begins to understand the extreme stress her mother is under. When at first she hates her mom for not allowing her to ride a bicycle, the truth of life for a Saudi woman is unveiled when she gazes upon a family tree and see that not a single woman has been allowed to be included. At opposite ends of the spectrum, Wadjda and her mother slowly meet in the middle.
Haifaa al-Monsour has stated that she truly believes art can create the atmosphere to bring about change. Her film is not only critical of the treatment of women in the kingdom, but also the unfair pressures men have to live up to. Since this film’s release, women have slowly gained more rights in Saudi Arabia. They can ride bikes in the park (as long as they are accompanied by a man) and have been voting in the last few year’s elections. A film like Wadjda helps remind its audience to look at the world through a child’s eyes; to remember minor rebellions, the joy of challenging your friend to a race, and the freedom of pulling up to a crossroad the first time you ride a bike. Change and equality can never come fast enough, but the more people get the chance to awaken the wonder and freedoms in themselves, the more they are challenged to extend that liberation to those around them and fight for a place where a
The Feminine Mashriq is a series shining light on the thriving independent cinema of the Arab world - 50% of which is made by women and femme directors. This series will focus on narratives that don’t explicitly center on war or poverty, but instead the mundane, poetic, and human aspects of taking up space in the MENA region. Each week we will highlight a film from a different country and explore the idea of national and regional cinema.
I'm Emily Basma, a filmmaker and photographer who firmly believes films save lives. But also I'm not as serious as I seem on the internet. Follow me on insta @emilybasma and reach out if you want to discuss the through-line of Greek mythology and Sailor Moon.