Movies to Watch From Qatar

From Ground Zero doesn’t have the most number of shorts within an anthology film, though it comes pretty close with 22 segments, ranging from 3-6 minutes from different directors in Gaza. That’s a lot of shorts, with not a lot of time for each story. Most anthologies tend to be a set of three, but given the media suppression, the more, the better it gets at capturing life in the area. Every short balances the other in tone, style, and in approach. It’s harder to deny the truth it portrays, not with this many shorts, and this many eyes, on the ground.

Chile 76 takes place three years after the dictator Augusto Pinochet took over the country and cracked down on dissenting groups and rebels. There was political strife and unnecessary violence, but almost none of this plays out explicitly in the film. Instead, we mostly follow Carmen, who seems to be going through a crisis of her own, albeit an internal one. She lives a well-to-do life as she decorates a new house and volunteers at the church, but there is a deep-seated melancholia about her, which is maybe why she’s so drawn to Elias (Nicolás Sepúlveda). She exits her comfort zone and aids in his covert exchanges across town, perhaps because she’s genuinely interested in Elias’ cause, but possibly because she sees it as a way out from the humdrum of her privileged life. The beauty of the film is that it melds the personal with the political in subtle and interesting ways, allowing us viewers to draw our own conclusions to the matter.

How far would you go for the people that you love? Regardless of the answer, whether that would be one mile, five hundred, or five hundred more, the distance won’t matter if there’s something that blocks you. 200 Meters is a drive with the titular length, it’s not even longer than a mile. But it feels so much longer. Writer-director Ameen Nayfeh does just straightforwardly present these hurdles– the permits required, the time limits allowed, and the tollways guarded– but that’s just because the actual path to get there isn’t straightforward at all, transforming a drive to somewhat closer to an intense rescue operation with the plot, the score, and the performances by the cast. 200 Meters isn’t as harrowing as dramas about occupation are, but it’s because of this that Nayfeh can delve into the day-to-day nuances people like Mustafa must face.

As courageous now as it was when it was first released domestically in the Philippines, Aswang stands as an essential act of bearing witness to a “war on drugs” that the government continues to deny or justify to this day. Director Alyx Arumpac remains firmly by the side of these ordinary people who have to live through the nightmare of their friends, relatives, and neighbors being slaughtered in the streets. There seems to be little editorializing on the part of the filmmakers, as they allow the people to walk us through their own stories—even if larger powers would have us believe that the poor are dangerous, volatile, and in need of disciplining through death. It’s a harrowing watch that presents on-the-ground stories with clarity, tenacity, and a surprising level of polish to boot.

The Wild Pear Tree is somewhat like a novel made into a movie– It’s long, it’s philosophical, and it’s mostly composed of conversations a young protagonist has in order to figure out the best way to live. At first glance, the plot can seem rather mundane. But there’s a subtle anger that drives the film, as Sinan tries to make sense of the arbitrary nature of modern society, but can’t seem to find any answers that satisfy him, due to being at a different place with everyone around him, or simply because he just doesn’t know better. Most people would likely understand one or both sides each talk presents. Depending on where you’re at in life, some or more of these conversations may resonate with you, but there’s no denying that writer-director Nuri Bilge Ceylan crafted his characters well, feeling as real and as personal as the people he grew up with in his hometown.

Hassan Fazili and Nargis Fazili are two filmmakers who, faced with death threats, escape their home in Afghanistan and start a journey to Europe that millions of others have taken over the past few years. But unlike most others, the Fazilis filmed everything on their way.

The result is not only a portrayal of the dangers they go through but it’s also about less obvious and possibly more common aspects of the refugee experience. It’s about the wait in refugee centers (that can last many years), the anticipation and also what it means to do all of this with children. Because watch out for the little Fazilis, who travel with their parents, for they will steal your heart.

When it comes to the story itself, Liyana is a fairly familiar coming-of-age fable about a sister saving her brothers. The kids telling the story are charming, the lead goes on a classic hero’s tale, and the animation is adequate. However, Liyana is more of a hybrid between children’s story and documentary, and that’s where the film shines. As the kids tell their tale, the film reveals the country-wide issues affecting the formerly named Swaziland that could have inspired Liyana’s journey, such as the HIV/AIDs virus, poverty, and hunger. It’s an interesting approach, as the storytelling creatively transforms their pasts into art without revealing the pain they might have actually gone through. Liyana tells their own tale in a sweet, understanding manner.

Theeb is set in the Hejaz (now part of Saudi Arabia) on the eve of the Great Arab Revolt against the Ottoman Empire in 1916 — but you don’t need to be clued up on its historical backdrop, because its protagonist isn’t. Jacir Eid plays the titular adolescent (the name meaning “wolf”), the youngest son of a now-dead Bedouin leader. When his older brother Hussein (Hussein Al-Sweilhiyeen) is called upon to help guide a suspiciously tense British soldier (Jack Fox) to a well, Theeb disobeys an order to stay put and follows them into the unforgiving desert. Then, tragedy strikes in the middle of nowhere, throwing him into an uneasy alliance with an enemy, without whom he won’t survive the treacherous journey home.

Era-ending political machinations are unfolding all around him, but Theeb lends the film his childlike perspective so that it plays out more like the coming-of-age story of a young cub than a Lawrence of Arabia-style epic. Even as it boldly subverts that classic, though, Theeb’s cinematography mirrors the haunting, hostile beauty of David Lean’s film — making the desert feel as much a character as the boy. Deftly balancing a sense of earth-shattering personal stakes with one of looming historical portent, Theeb earned a well-deserved nomination at the 2016 Oscars.

Given the topic, there’s no surprise that Beauty and the Dogs is a harrowing watch. The gang rape itself is thankfully not depicted, but the journey to getting help– trying to get medical attention, going from station to station, and finally getting a report done in the very station the police perpetrators are parked in– is absolutely horrifying. Through nine long shots, writer-director Kaouther Ben Hania shows each step in real time. It’s a brilliant way to hone into the subtle details, such as the way the police protected each other, or when some took the accusation seriously, there were no measures to ensure Mariam’s safety. Beauty and the Dogs is not an easy watch, but it’s a necessary one to highlight the system’s deficiencies in addressing this crime.

Though only currently available on Prime Video Philippines, Carlo Francisco Manatad’s critically acclaimed drama boasts the kind of directorial vision and technical brilliance that deservedly kept it on the international festival circuit throughout 2021 and 2022—and that deserves to be seen around the world. Through textured cinematography and sound design, and art direction that situates its story halfway between reality and a dazed state of mind, Whether the Weather Is Fine isn’t so much a factual retelling of life after Typhoon Haiyan but a meditation on what home and freedom mean to those who no longer seem to have it.

Manatad’s background in experimental short filmmaking shines through in how the film seems comprised of so many irregular parts, but the emotional through line is unmistakable. Three incredible performances—from Daniel Padilla, Charo Santos-Concio, and Rans Rifol—illustrate the different ways that people try to escape or cling to hope in the wake of devastation. It’s the furthest thing from “resilience porn,” as the different perspectives of these characters clash and inevitably push each other away. And while that might not sound like the film offers a constructive point of view on disaster management, its intense psychological focus feels like something we haven’t seen on screen before.

For the longest time, American media coverage was skewed to justify the presence of US forces in Arab states. Control Room unveils that bias by following Al Jazeera at the start of the Iraq War in 2003. One of the biggest Arab media outlets at the time, Al Jazeera dared to cover both sides of the war, but by doing so put a target on its back. It was vilified by both the US government, which called it an Osama mouthpiece and the Arab world, which called it a Bush ally. 

Control Room shows the difficulty (if not sheer impossibility) of achieving journalistic balance, objectivity, and integrity. Through interviews with Al Jazeera reporters and US military officers, we witness how lines are blurred, loyalties are tested, and purpose is shifted in a state of war. A seminal work on media bias and press control, Control Room is vital and enlightening, a must-watch to understand the inner workings of the fourth estate. 

Horror movies have always been creepier to me when they play on our fear of the “unknown” rather than gore. Under The Shadow does exactly that. The story is based around the relationship of a woman, Shideh, and her daughter, Dorsa, under the backdrop of the Iran-Iraq war. As widespread bombings shake the ground beneath their feet, the two grapple with a more insidious evil that is faceless and traceless, coming and going only with the wind. The movie’s dread-effect plays strongly on feelings of isolation and helplessness. The scares are slow and it’s obvious the director takes great care in making every single second count and in raising the unpredictableness of the action. Like the bombs, the audience never knows when or how the next apparition will materialize. The former is always on the edge of fear, wondering what is no doubt there, but is yet to be shown on the frame. In terms of significance, Under The Shadow features too many symbolisms to count and will most likely resonate with each person differently. But one thing remains relatively unarguable: this is a wonderful movie.

Tunisian director Kaouther Ben Hania’s new movie is about an arrogant European artist who tattoos a Syrian man’s back, essentially turning the man’s body into artwork. 

The man, as a commodity, is able to travel the world freely to be in art galleries, something as a simple human with a Syrian passport he couldn’t do. Seems unlikely? It’s based on a true story.

But Ben Hania is not really interested in the political statement aspect of this unlikely stunt. Instead, she looks at what this would do to a human-being, to the man’s self-esteem, his relationships, and the turns his life takes. It’s a fascinating movie.

Most parts of Bassel Ghandour’s debut feature are familiar, but the way it’s put together feels pretty unique. It’s like a spy thriller except the spies are gossipy neighbors, the binoculars are smartphones, and the intel comes from chats in barbershops and salons rather than from self-destructing messages. It’s also Romeo and Juliet, except instead of feuding families, it’s blackmail and cultural norms keeping them apart. On top of all this, it’s also a gangster film, just taking place in the labyrinthine alleys the movie is titled after. Admittedly, it loses a bit of steam when it shifts to its fourth chapter. Still, The Alleys takes old stories and styles it in a fun and novel way.

Five orphaned sisters are put under house arrest by their uncle and grandmother after they are seen horsing around with local boys from school. While their actions were purely innocent, their behavior is viewed as scandalous and shameful by the conservative elders in their small Turkish village. After this incident, their grandmother turns her attention towards marrying off her granddaughters. Each of the five sisters rebel in their own way, but it is the youngest and rowdiest sister, Lale, who is the central protagonist of the film. She watches helplessly as each of her older sisters is married off with an increasing sense of dread and desperation. While this may sound hopelessly depressing, the movie is equal parts beautiful and tragic and floats across the screen in a dreamlike manner. Not all of the sisters escape their oppressive surroundings or their assigned fate, but the message is clear: it’s crucial to try.

A man returns to a town chasing the memory of a woman he loved years ago.

Poet turned filmmaker Bi Gan coats his idiosyncratic filmmaking with a thick layer of neo-noir in this sumptuous follow up to his remarkable debut Kaili Blues. This time around, Kaili City is a neon-drenched dreamscape dripping in style and calling to mind the work of Tarkovsky and Wong Kar-wai.

He may wear his influences on his sleeve, but Bi Gan keeps his trademark moves like the bravado long takes and a poetic disregard for past and present, reality and dreams. This leads to an explosive and unforgettable sequence in the second half that while originally intended for 3D loses little of its mind-bending power when watched at home.