The Conflict Onscreen

A young Arab gasps for breath as he tears down the street, his feet pounding rhythmically on the asphalt. Omar, who comes from the downtrodden Jaffa neighborhood of Ajami, has just witnessed a killing and he is running for his life. It's early morning, and the streets around Tel Aviv's Court of Justice are deserted. It's an apt metaphor; there is no justice here, only a panicked teenager fleeing his own destiny. In his head, Omar hears the soothing voice of his younger brother, telling him to close his eyes and relax. His breath catches as he turns the corner and trips, falling hard on the pavement. "On the count of three you'll open your eyes," his brother's voice promises, "and find yourself in another place." But in the Middle East, there is no escape from the realities of hatred, violence, and oppression. Omar, who has been involved in a drug deal gone wrong, arrives at the getaway van, only to find it's locked and he's trapped. "One…two…three. Open your eyes!" his brother's voice says. On this somber note, Ajami, a hard-hitting new Israeli movie, draws to an end.

Lebanon, another new Israeli film, evokes a trap of a different nature. It's June 1982, the morning of the Israeli invasion into Lebanon. A fresh-faced Israeli soldier lowers himself into a tank, shutting the hatch on the outside world for the next 24 hours—and the duration of the 90-minute movie. There is no escape. The soldier, and the audience, are plunged into a claustrophobic world of black grease, metal, and cold fear. The sickening sound of the tank's turret as it cranks from side to side reverberates throughout the film, resounding in viewers' ears long after the credits finish rolling.

Both films are powerful examples of Israeli cinema's emergence as one of the country's most vibrant engines of introspection and moral commentary. "Until a decade or so ago, Israeli cinema was marginalized," says Uri Klein, film critic of the daily Haaretz. "Today its place within Israeli culture is central, a tool through which Israeli society, in all its diversity, reflects itself." Parallel to the rise of cinematography as a vehicle of social expression, more than a dozen film schools have opened in Israel, raising technical standards and providing a platform for young filmmakers to learn the trade. Frédéric Boyer, artistic director of the Cannes Directors' Fortnight, a festival that showcases up-and-coming talent, describes Israeli film as "fresh, sincere, and highly professional."

Ajami and Lebanon are the latest offerings in an impressive line of unblinking Israeli movies that have in recent years reaped artistic praise—and political criticism—at home and abroad. Ajami received accolades at the Cannes Directors' Fortnight and has already been named Israel's nominee for the Academy Awards next February; Lebanon received the prestigious Golden Lion award at the Venice Film Festival last month. Though both films show Israel in a less than glowing light, protesters at the recent Toronto Film Festival attacked these and other Israeli films for pandering to the Israeli government by trying to improve the country's image and diverting attention from the Gaza invasion. Scandar Copti, one of Ajami's directors, supported the demonstrators who threatened his own film. "They got people to reflect on the reality of life in Israel beyond the screen," he said.

Ajami and Lebanon, both funded partially by foreign sources, take up the mantle of other recent films that tap into the Arab-Israeli conflict. "The mere fact that these films exist is important; it raises questions," says Klein. In times of ongoing conflict, it's all too easy to ignore the perspective of the other side, let alone begin to understand it. Paradise Now, a Palestinian-Israeli film released in 2005 to international acclaim, caused an uproar in Israel for its provocative, sympathetic portrayal of suicide bombers. It paved the way for The Band’s Visit, a wry 2007 examination of the delicate relationship between Egyptians and Israelis thrust together in a fictitious desert town. Distrust of each other gives way to an awkward rapport that's both funny and unremittingly sad.

Joseph Cedar's Beaufort was the first to grapple with the question of Israel's military presence in Lebanon, receiving the best-director award at the 2007 Berlin Film Festival. One year later, the animated, autobiographical Waltz With Bashirwon a Golden Globe for its somber take on Israel's 1982 invasion of Lebanon. First-time director Samuel Maoz takes this theme a step further in Lebanon, constructing a view of war that is unapologetically one-sided, focused mainly on the suffering of the Israeli soldiers. There are no heroes here, just four inexperienced Israeli soldiers fighting their own personal battles for survival. Their awareness of the suffering of those outside the cramped tank is extremely limited, confined only to the fleeting glimpses they see through the cross hairs of the gunner's periscope.

Ajami is unusual in that it was co-directed by Scandar Copti, an Arab, and Yaron Shani, a Jew. A first movie for both, it takes a long, hard look at the complex interactions between Arabs and Jews living in Ajami. Despite its specific locality, the story has a universal appeal. "It could have happened anywhere, in Naples or the streets of Milan," says Boyer. The film uses a cast of primarily unprofessional actors from the neighborhood of Ajami; the dialogue is mostly in Arabic, interspersed with bits of Hebrew, and was largely ad-libbed during filming. Almost all the scenes were shot chronologically to enable the cast to "live" them as they unfolded in as realistic a manner as possible, without knowing what was coming next. The result is a gritty, pounding movie that often verges on the documentary.

But such films can only have an impact if they're seen. Ajami opened in Israel Sept. 17 and has done well at the box office, distributors say. People don't always like it—one Jewish audience member at a recent screening I attended asked why an Israeli movie should be in Arabic—but it's certainly causing a stir for its uncompromising and uncomfortable portrayal of the margins of Israeli society. Still, chances are slim that either Ajami or Lebanon will be screened in the West Bank, though Copti insists there are plans to show his film. Waltz With Bashirwas briefly shown at the West Bank Cinematheque in Ramallah, but Palestinian film producer George Khleifi dryly points to a general "lack of interest" in Israeli movies. Privately, many Palestinians fear that screening these movies may encourage normalization between Israelis and Palestinians. Copti scoffs at that. "I'm against boycotting culture," he says. "This is the only bridge left to get people together." In the troubled waters of the Middle East, films like Ajami and Lebanon provide a rare opportunity to see the other side.

With Nuha Musleh in Ramallah

© 2009