This sombre, angry documentary captures a sense of ordinary life in the strip bordered by Egypt, Israel and the sea
Garry Keane and Andrew McConnell’s heartfelt film about the unending misery of Gaza – now effectively a blockaded strip of land bounded by the Egyptian and Israeli borders and the Mediterranean Sea – has had a complex reception in some quarters since it premiered at Sundance earlier this year. Some have found it manipulative and politically reticent, in that it only fleetingly mentions Hamas, and includes footage of an Israeli bombardment but shows only stone-throwing as the response. There may be something in this. For instance, eyebrows have to be raised at the moment when an immobile child is shown with her eyes closed, we are encouraged to think she is dead but in a later scene she opens her eyes.
Yet the film has real value as a compassionate human document, in showing ordinary people who courageously have to keep going somehow, in the grimmest of conditions, in a world where, as someone puts it, there is a “wall between the people of Gaza and life itself”. A young woman practises the cello, a young man records rap tracks, a theatre director rehearses a performance piece, a fisherman broods over the oppression of his industry – they are not allowed to fish more than three miles out, and the amount of fish that can be caught so close to shore is pitifully meagre. The sea is what the people of Gaza face: the one boundary that does not seem so brutal, something that should conceivably be a source of comfort, but is almost as unforgiving as the land barriers. A sombre, angry film about a people under political siege.
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