Thoughts : Capharnaüm (2018)

My good friend Robin, aside from being one of the kindest, most stylish and adventurous people I know, has the proud accomplishment of creating and curating the Marfa Film Festival for many years.  Based solely on these qualifications, any time that she has a recommendation for music or film, I pay attention and do what I can to follow through.  Recently, during a catch-up session between us, Robin came through with a recommendation for Capharnaüm, and based on her track record, I put it high on my list.  After a bit of cursory research, I made it a point to check out the film sooner than later, and I must say that I am very happy to have this film on my current radar.

With poverty and the impact it has on the youth being the foundational element of this story, so much so to the point that Zain feels the need to seek litigation against his parents, it’s difficult to not examine the film through the lens of nature versus nurture.  When nature is taken into account, the first thing that must be examined is the setting of Beirut, the capital of Lebanon.  Despite being an incredibly wealthy nation in terms of bank presence, corporate presence and its Beta + World City ranking by the Globalization and World Cities Research Network, there is a vast wealth gap (partly due to the Lebanese Civil War) that ravaged the community, the cultural landscape and a large cross section of its occupants.  Zain not only is caught in the choice between attempting to attend school and being forced to work for his parents’ landlord, but he has no support from his parents when school is brought up.  The youth are shown in the opening of the film running through the street with makeshift toys fashioned in the image of heavy military artillery, which not only robs them of their innocence, but creates a sort of mental and cultural pipeline that sends these young men into government service via the military, which further propagates the issues responsible for the situation they are in.  In the few rare instances that Zain does manage to escape the limits of his neighborhood and his parents, you can briefly see his innocence return, though it is quickly overtaken by the immense weight of the sorrow that the contrast between the solace of escape and his stark reality creates.

As important as nature is in the Capharnaüm situation, nurture plays possibly an even bigger part in Zain’s life, hence his ultimate choice to sue his parents for even being born.  Selim (Zain’s father) admits in court that he hates his family and the life it has created for him, yet Zain is one of at least 5 kids in the El Hajj family.  All of the children share a bed, share a room with their parents (and it is implied they often are forced to hear them taking part in adult acts), and the home the family lives in is constantly in a state of filth and disrepair.  The neglect for childcare is so prevalent that the youngest child in the family is literally chained and tethered to a wall, like a disobedient or behavioral inept pet.  When Sahar finds herself in the throes of puberty and the onset of womanhood, it is Zain rather than Souad who not only educates her on how to take of her body, but protects her in an attempt to keep her parents from exploiting her womanhood (which eventually happens despite Zain’s best efforts).  Though his work ethic is forced upon him, it ultimately becomes the key motivator in his plan to escape his bleak situation, while also providing him with a deep sense of humanity based on the lack of it shown to him.

Much like City of God, there are some breathtaking insert shots of the city (Beirut, as mentioned before) that bring out its cinematic beauty despite the clear and present poverty that impacts Zain and his community.  The lived-in and rundown nature of the locations that the actors occupy not only makes it easy to buy their extreme living situation, but it also is clearly helping to add dramatic depth to their performances by working off of the visceral immersion that comes with attempting to live and work in these spaces.  There is a brilliant presentational and tonal balance between the courtroom scenes and the flashbacks to the preceding events that manages to keep all of Zain’s experiences connected and coherent in spite of the wild premise that a juvenile delinquent from lack of privilege could find the means to sue his own parents.  The cinematography works much in the same vein of The Florida Project by bringing quite a bit of the perspective down to Zain’s level whenever he is the primary focus of a scene, staying around 4 or so feet off of the ground, often peering around corners and from a curious distance and almost never still, even during stationary observation.

Zain Al Rafeea does an outstanding job shouldering the burden of leading such a heavy and compelling film, managing to display a wisdom and experience that only comes with age on his young face while convincingly coming off as not only the man of his household, but possibly the most level-headed and autonomous member.  Cedra Izam plays off of Al Rafeea’s worldly performance by harnessing the impending fear of womanhood marking the end of her innocence, not to mention the possibility of being pushed into the deep in abruptly via being married off or pawned off to the highest bidder.  Kawthar Al Haddad brings the fiercer side of the uncaring parent portrayal to the table, consistently belittling and demeaning Zain because his valid frustrations come in the form of youthful urgency and ignorance.  By contrast, Fadi Kamel Youssef invokes a more damaged and burdened sense of neglect as the man of a household full of stress, strife and turmoil, to the point that his shear existence stands as a personal affront and mockery.  Nour el Husseini hones in on the energy of those who take advantage of the disenfranchised as he exploits the El Hajj family at every opportunity possible, be it the labor he gets from Zain, the fear he instills in Souad and Selim due to their housing situation, and in the grossest example, his vulture-like presence over Sahar as he lies in wait to make her his possession.  Key performances by Boluwatife Treasure Bankole, Alaa Chouchnieh, Joseph Jimbazian, Farah Hasno and director Nadine Labaki (as Zain’s attorney) round out the cast.

I will not be surprised if Capharnaüm finds itself reimagined and reskinned by the Hollywood machine before the end of the decade, as it is not only the kind of compelling story that can flip a viewer’s worldview, but the litigation element may work better stateside than it does in a Lebanese context (this, however, is coming from an outsider’s perspective).  Regardless of what the future may hold for the property, immediate respect must be given to Nadine Labaki for her powerful efforts as a director, not to mention a performance for the ages by Zain Al Rafeea.  Every bit of praise that has been heaped on this film is well-deserved, and hopefully it can find a wider audience as time passes by.