Firas Khoury’s directorial debut couldn’t have come at a more urgent time. It’s been over half a year since Israel’s excessive and deadly response to October 7th has resulted in the deaths of thousands upon thousands of innocent Palestinian lives, many of whom were children, and many world leaders, particularly here in the west has remained either silent or in full support of the atrocities. That isn’t to say Alam is some kind of “eat your vegetables” Important Cinema™ experience that it might be mistaken as. If anything it’s a surprisingly subdued film, but one that cuts to the heart of the humanity of the Palestinian people.
Taking place in an Israeli village, the film follows Tamer (Mahmood Bakri), an Arab high schooler who is very shy and timid as he navigates the complexities of being an Arab living under Israeli rule, often facing clear and obvious indoctrination within his school, where they present a very sanitized version of history with a bias in favor of Israel, a fact that many of the students see right through. He ends up taking a liking to a new classmate, Maysaá (Sereen Khass), who is far more politically active and passionate and open about her opinions. He even joins the various activists on their protests and acts of civil disobedience just to spend time with her.
The film isn’t really a love story, it is more of a coming-of-age film, one that – like many classics in the genre – explore the overwhelming feeling that comes to you as a teenager who becomes more aware of the people and the world around them and wants to find their place within that world, as well as the push-and-pull of wanting to let go of the way you used to be in order to grow into the person you want to be. It’s all universal stuff, and the politically charged context doesn’t take away that universality.
Tamer is a very traditional archetype for these kinds of movies, he’s in a place of arrested development, unsure of his future, and feeling like he is limited by things beyond his control, with a growing urge to break free of those constraints. Of course, these limitations are not just metaphorical, they are literal as well, given who he is and where he lives, constantly living under the suffocating regime of a government that does not see him as a human being. And as he becomes more involved in political activism, the more his eyes are opened regarding the need to speak truth to power.
But make no mistake, this isn’t a How To Blow Up A Pipeline or a Rang De Basanti, two films that take a big and radical approach to exploring the need for political action. The big “mission” of the film is something small – the changing of the Israeli flag hanging in their school to a Palestinian one as Israeli Independence Day – also the anniversary of the Nakba. Worth noting that “alam” is Arabic for “flag.” That’s it. But even something that small can mean to much symbolically, and that’s why the film still lands such a punch, especially as the stakes do get more personal and more harrowing, but not at the expense of the more intimate and personal scope of the story that Khoury is choosing to tell.
Alam understands the strengths of its story are about exploring the interiority of our characters and the growth they experience through their relationship. Be it Tamer’s relationship with Maysaá, his friends Shekel (Mohammad Karaki) and Rida (Ahmad Zaghmouri), or his father (Amer Hlehel), who is notably trying to keep Tamer away from politics. It manages to touch on broad ideas about growing up while still displaying the specificity that Firas Khoury brings to the table, likely drawing on his own experiences and feelings as someone who grew up as a Palestinian citizen of Israel. It’s not a point-of-view I think many would expect, but that rarity – to me – makes that much more essential. It’s a small film for sure, but it’s raw, passionate, and it’s wrestling with a lot of ideas that resonate for reasons that go beyond it’s current political relevancy.
Alam will be available to stream on VOD platforms starting April 26th.