The Feminine Mashriq: WAJIB
Annemarie Jacir is an incredible filmmaker from Palestine. In 2003 she had the first Arab short film to be shown at Cannes (overcoming like 20 impossibles), became the first woman from Palestine to direct a feature in 2008 (Salt of the Sea), and was Palestine’s official nomination for the Academy Awards Best International film in 2012 (When I Saw You). In 2017, to rave reviews from audiences and critics alike, Jacir released Wajib.
Despite her accolades, Jacir doesn’t end up on year-end wrap up lists. She is often left out of conversations discussing modern day auteurs because of the political skew of her films. They never shy away from openly discussing and criticizing the occupation of Palestine. They are also not afraid to embrace the ambiguity of social roles stemming from the occupation. From refugees to freedom fighters, Jacir’s characters are impeccably crafted so as not to paint them as victims or terrorists. Wajib is no different. From radio announcements to an incident with a dog, oppression lives in the threads of the fabric of the film. In the most mundane conversations and small asides the viewer is reminded of everyday ways that Palestinain identity is being erased.
Our main characters Abu Shadi and Shadi are played by real life father and son Mohammad Bakri and Saleh Bakri. Their chemistry is undeniable, their fights tangible, and their love deep. Jacir shines most as a filmmaker in their dialogue. The most important parts of the film exist between the said and unsaid; the tenderness and lack thereof between two men with a loving familial bond becoming deeply bothered by the other’s behaviors.
As they drive around Palestine’s largest town passing out wedding invitations, they debate old tradition and new order. Abu Shadi represents an old way of life, one where he ponders why families don’t stay together anymore, while Shadi sports the latest Italian fashion and cohabitates with his partner without being married. Abu Shadi wonders why his son had to move away to speak of his love for Palestine while Shadi is critical of his father for trying to appease and cohabitate with “colonizers.” This social dichotomy exists as a way to represent generational trauma and the idea of paying for one’s parent’s sins.
As the two continually butt heads, they bring us through Nazareth meeting a quirky, but incredibly grounded cast of side characters. Each of these characters feel very lived in, no matter how small their roles are. They are any aunt or uncle you would find in any Arab village, which is the point of view Jacir understands best: the everyday life of an everyday Palestinian. When asked when she will make a film that’s aren’t political, she responds with “I don’t make political films, I make films about our lives.” Existing as an Arab (especially a Palestinian) is a political statement in itself, and unavoidable in the quest for authenticity.
The Feminine Mashriq is a series created by Emily Basma 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.