Wadjda: A hopeful film or piece of State Propaganda

By: Quentin Powell II

            Haifaa al-Mansour’s Wadjda is the story of a resilient girl in a society that seeks to determine what is and is not permissible for her. Wadjda’s personal triumph in the end seems to point to a loosening Saudi state that despite all the societal and governmental restrictions it places on its women still allows for Wadjda to reach her unique form of self-actualization that is at odd with those restrictions. However, this message’s main purpose is not to galvanize or give hope to a female domestic audience but to lull a foreign audience into believing the Saudi state is a lot more progressive than it is.

            Wadjda follows the eponymous young girl and her quest to buy a bike. Bicycling is not considered a feminine act and her obsession with bike and its representation of her desire to reject the calcified gender norms of Saudi society is considered wrong. Wadjda’s defiant personality and precocious attitude along with her small acts of rebellion like her black converse are supposed to be strong examples of her freedom of spirit. And on an individual level this is certainly true but on a societal level in a film that has to get approval from government censors it is a form of controlled opposition. Note that for Wadjda to get the money to even buy the bike she has to compete in a Qur’an competition. This is a subtle reinforcement of the fact for women to obtain the things that they want they need to conform to Society’s expectations of what a good women should be doing. In other words, even Wadjda’s supposed act of rebellion in buying the bike is done within a social regime supposedly based on Qur’anic law. Wadjda’s Qur’an instructor and the principal attempt to indoctrinate in the social values. The way she can get the money involves going through official channels. Even her eventual obtainment of the bike only happens after her mother is brought low by her husband’s second marriage. Wadjda’s mother acts in a reactionary manner instead of proactive support of her daughter’s non-normative behavior. All of this and more is intentional on the part of the Saudi state. The surface level nature of Wadjda’s rebellion is permitted because they do not really challenge the state and yet they mollify a western audience that is fooled by symbolic acts of rebellion. Wadjda’s most rebellious act is her declaration that she wants to buy a bike after she wins the Qur’an competition but her bold declaration which is personally cathartic but a tactical mistake that leads to her funds to get the bike going to Palestine. This focus on self-fulfillment is great in pleasing an individualistic western audience who sees Wadjda’s personal stance as brave but ultimately achieves nothing. A performative act that the state is glad to approve as it gives the state a progressive façade while changing nothing for Wadjda or the female inhabitants of the country. 

            Ultimately, Wadjda is a piece of state sponsored propaganda that expertly accomplishes the goal of giving the Saudi state a sheen that a skittish western world can approve without really challenging the institutions or structures that have so thoroughly subordinated Saudi women. Wadjda is happy with her bike and Prince Mohammed bin Salman is happy with his propaganda piece. 

Martina Melilli’s Love Letter to Libya

By Victoria D’Amico

My Home, In Libya, is Martina Melilli’s love letter to her culture– or specifically, her
grandparents’ culture, as refugees forced out of Italy’s Libyan colony in 1970. In collaboration
with Mahmoud, a young Libyan man communicating with Martina over texts, the two are able to piece together a picture of Libya that today, is completely unrecognizable. Martina’s
grandparents lived in Tripoli under and post Italy’s period of colonialism, where the country
yearned for independence but found relative stability. Decades later, Mahmoud lives in the same Tripoli, at least physically; however, finds himself in a country of disarray in the aftermath of the assassination of Muammar Gaddafi. The film not only navigates the audience through these two periods, but gives them an opportunity to evaluate Libya’s political climate through history. This documentary styled by a series of found photos, text messages, and footage, charts the course of Libya’s independent culture and where it finds itself today– an attempt to showcase both the negatives and positives of this progression.

But where does this style of filmmaking fall short? With its quiet ambience and collages,
the aestheticism of the piece often comes between what the film is trying to convey. Melilli’s
collection of photographs and handwritten notes tend to romanticize a dark time in Libya’s
history– this can be attributed to the fact that in these moments, she is looking at Libya through
the context of her gradparent’s relationship. Her grandparents, who identify more so as Italians
than Libyans. Furthermore, as Tripoli is explored through these montages, little to no context is
given in order to adhere to the soft style of this kind of documentary filmmaking. The voiceover
of the grandparents discuss how they met each other, their home, and moving to Italy– it is not
often they speak of the civil unrest that came with living in a colonized country. This starkly
contrasts the perspective and photos we get from Mahmoud– visuals of the deaths of children,
descriptions of the feelings of bombs, the reality of government censorship and dictatorship.
However, while the information is vastly different, it is presented the same; fitted into their text
messages to keep Melilli’s aesthetic. The style almost makes it hard to perceive this information
as serious as it is, especially when there is such emphasis on how difficult it was to get that
information in the first place. In addition to this, the back and forth between Melilli and Mahmoud depicts a flourishing relationship between the two, but at moments, there are messages included that add more to the dramatic flair than to the story of an ever-changing Libya.

Yes, it is necessary to show the softer sides of their relationship– in a way, it also sets up
a parallel to humanize Libya’s history in comparison to Mahmoud’s reality. Furthermore,
Mahmoud’s reality has a dichotomy to it; spliced between death and destruction, the audience
sees moments such as his graduation. When presented in the form of text messages (or photos
with no context) the significance of these moments, good or bad, blur. In a way, these moments
are not comparable, and in being compared, their severity lessens and meanings change.
Ultimately, the style of the documentary trumps the exploration of Tripoli as an ever changing
country– making it a beautiful documentary to watch, but one that feels hollow at times.