One of the saddest movies I have seen in a long time. Based on the autobiographical novel by Abdellah Taia, it looks at a 15 year-old boy growing up gay in a poor Casablanca family. Bossed about by his authoritarian mother, teased by his sisters and tolerated by his weak father, he is in love with the only functional male role model in the family – his older brother. The film captures the repression in the context, not only that of Abdellah but also other members of the family who all have their secrets. Then there is the dead time, just sitting waiting for a life to pass – so Moroccan. All that people can do, like older brother Slimane, is to seek refuge in books for the lives not lived. And apart from the rigid social structures – all sleeping in the same room, there is the role of superstition (in the amulet the mother gives Abdellah to put under his brother’s pillow so he won’t stray and the awkwardness of life when you don’t have experience living it (the brother’s fumbled attempts to chat up a waitress and Abdellah’s experiences in Geneva).
As a film, it is slow moving and probably not to the taste of many and doubtless it could have been done a lot better. Nevertheless, the merit is in the honesty Taia brings to the story, especially in the last part where it shows how he has hardened his heart to get out of Morocco and seek refuge via a study visa and a lover in Geneva. Many perhaps cannot understand it but in the last scene we see that Abdellah has not lost his essence. He has just been through a hell of a life so far and no longer trusts people. Said Mrini is very good as the boy and the photography of Agnes Godard brings a realism to the whole work. So, as cinema entertainment it may not be tops but a great work of social conscience.
★★ +