{"id":117701,"date":"2024-04-25T11:22:02","date_gmt":"2024-04-25T10:22:02","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/gamefootballmobileanimeiphone.com\/?guid=8805cda85fbaffce561ae7c899e36231"},"modified":"2024-04-25T11:22:02","modified_gmt":"2024-04-25T10:22:02","slug":"nezouh-review-compassionate-but-needlessly-convoluted","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/gamefootballmobileanimeiphone.com\/index.php\/2024\/04\/25\/nezouh-review-compassionate-but-needlessly-convoluted\/","title":{"rendered":"Nezouh review \u2013 compassionate but needlessly convoluted"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
\n

N<\/span>ezouh means displacement in Arabic. This three-syllable word denotes a situation where someone is forced to leave their home. It\u2019s an unfathomable term for Motaz (Samir al-Masri), who lives in a ravaged Damascus neighbourhood with his wife Hala (Kinda Alloush) and 14-year-old daughter Zeina (Hala Zein), and refuses to abandon his home as militants close in during the Syrian civil war. <\/p>\n

Syrian filmmaker Kaadan\u2019s second feature is less about war and more about a lost childhood. It opens with a shot of Zeina cramped under her bed, drawing flowers on her walls, before hurriedly scurrying out when her father calls for her. Later, she throws rubble from destroyed buildings into the sky and envisions the fragments becoming birds, soaring away to freedom. She imagines fishing with Amer (Nizar Alani), a boy from the only other family around whom she befriends. There is a tenderness to the portrayal of Zeina\u2019s innocence that forces the viewer to contend with the harrowing experiences of the millions of Syrian children who had their lives upended by the war. <\/p>\n

This is intensified by H\u00e9l\u00e8ne Louvart and Burak Kanbir\u2019s exceptional cinematography, which sombrely captures a sense of innocence withering away among the ruins. Zeina\u2019s spirit is framed by an array of low-key panning medium shots that are abruptly upended by sudden cuts to drone shots baring Damascus\u2019 destroyed infrastructure \u2013 to contrast Zeina\u2019s naivety with the uncertainty and misery of her reality. <\/p>\n

While initially effective, the strength of Nezouh\u2019s stellar cinematography does start to diminish when the anticipated dangers do not manifest. Motaz is told that the neighbourhood will fall in 48 hours, yet entire days pass, and nothing changes. Genuine risk of death remains peripheral for most of Nezouh\u2019s 100-minute runtime, which is a shame as it lets up the film\u2019s intensity. <\/p>\n

This is, in part, a consequence of Nezouh\u2019s ambitious approach to exploring a plethora of intricate themes, which, although earnest, is extraneous to Zeina\u2019s story. Kaadan\u2019s script touches on notions of pride, patriarchy, femininity and existentialism but is unable to commit to broad-gauged explorations of all these themes, many of which remain half-baked and convolute the movie\u2019s pacing. Even though she effectively touches on period poverty and toxic masculinity, Kaadan attempts to fit simply too much into her film for all of it to work. <\/p>\n

Regardless, there is still plenty that\u2019s effective. One of Nezouh\u2019s most powerful scenes is one where Zeina and Hala find an uninterrupted water supply after presumably weeks \u2013 if not longer. This warm yet heartrending moment captures the sheer joy something this simple can bring within the context of an extended conflict. <\/p>\n

Most importantly, Nezouh serves as a reminder of the human toll of the Syrian war, with over 300,000 dead civilians and over 10 million displaced. It urges us not to forget those affected by this unspeakably brutal conflict, the consequences of which continue to reverberate today.<\/p>\n

Little White Lies is committed to championing great movies and the talented people who make them.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

By becoming a member you can support our independent journalism and receive exclusive essays, prints, weekly film recommendations and more.<\/a><\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n