‘All That’s Left of You’ Review: Cherien Dabis’ Sprawling Epic Sees the Palestinian Struggle Through the Eyes of a Family

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In her movie career, Palestinian-American filmmaker Cherien Dabis has been sharing deeply personal family tales since 2009’s “Amreeka.” This was her impressive debut, a heartfelt and carefully crafted film about a Palestinian mother and son who relocate from the occupied West Bank to Chicago after winning the green card lottery. While “May in the Summer” (2013) didn’t quite capture the same narrative strength, moments and concepts in her latest work, “All That’s Left of You,” hint at her storytelling prowess, although the grand family saga about a family haunted by deep-rooted generational trauma comes across as overly expansive in hindsight.

Although it’s understandable that some might criticize Dabis for being somewhat excessive in her latest work, which tells the story of a Palestinian family enduring hardships under Israeli occupation over nearly eight decades, across three generations. It’s true that portrayals of Palestine’s occupation history in mainstream cinema are often lacking. Thus, “All That’s Left of You” strives to fill this gap, aiming to provide a comprehensive account of an era too complex to be captured in a single film. The outcome is somewhat uneven, but Dabis approaches the task with grace and boldness, weaving a nearly 150-minute narrative about the Palestinian struggle. Guided by her personal and familial recollections, the film can be powerfully moving at times, yet heavy-handed in others, often hampered by Christopher Aoun’s uninspired cinematography.

Hanan Dabis tells the story of her son, Noor, but not right away. Instead, she begins with Noor’s grandfather Sharif in Jaffa during the Arab-Israeli war of 1948. Sharif is a wise and refined man who loves poetry, living in a beautiful home surrounded by an orange grove with his family. Despite the constant bombings and daily brushes with death, they are forced to leave their home and lose their beloved orange grove due to displacement. After some time spent in a refugee camp, the story then shifts to 1978, where Palestinians live in cramped quarters without citrus trees and under frequent curfews.

In this new setting, Hanan introduces us to Noor’s father, Salim, who struggles to make ends meet by selling oranges in the street, while also trying to keep his family together amidst the hardships they face. The story then moves forward, exploring the challenges and triumphs of the Palestinian people as they navigate their displacement and search for a sense of identity and belonging. Hanan ultimately reveals who the mysterious listener is towards the end of the film, leading us through a captivating journey that offers a unique perspective on the complexities of the Arab-Israeli conflict.

In this part, Dabis pours the most significant effort into crafting the story, showcasing both its strongest and weakest aspects. On the downside, there’s an overabundance of forced dialogue that comes across as expository, during which the family (now including Hanan) watches TV and responds to events unfolding. On the upside, Dabis warmly portrays the traditions cherished by Palestinians. A beautiful wedding scene spills out onto the streets, and in other instances, we see the resilience of daily life in those quarters.

The most impactful emotional scene of the movie (possibly even the whole film) occurs when Salim, skillfully played by Saleh Bakri, and his son Noor are stopped by Israeli soldiers as they run an errand to a pharmacy during curfew. This incident, where the Israeli soldiers, speaking broken Arabic (as frequently shown in subtitles throughout the movie), cruelly humiliate Salim in front of his son, bears the raw, authentic, and soul-crushing qualities of an Italian Neorealist scene. Moreover, this scene plays a significant role in shaping Noor’s character and motivations (portrayed by Muhammad Abed Elrahman in older age), as he witnesses his father’s fearful submission to bullies without any regard for his honor. Such a young child shouting “you’re a coward” at his father can leave lasting emotional scars.

In my humble opinion, the film’s journey to 1988, where Noor is tragically shot during a street demonstration, feels somewhat contrived. The acting and portrayal of the family dynamics seem forced, detracting from the overall flow of the narrative. The dramatic tension surrounding Noor’s death appears rushed, leaving little time for us to fully understand and connect with the mature Noor before his departure from the storyline.

However, Dabis excels in directing Noor’s funeral scene, a poignant moment that powerfully encapsulates the collective mourning of a people. The scene is richly detailed, incorporating Islamic traditions in a sensitive and thoughtful manner, thereby symbolically validating their shared grief.

The core conflict within this segment revolves around Hanan and Salim’s moral dilemma: should they donate Noor’s organs to those in need, given that his untimely death was precipitated by a flawed system underpinned by the Israeli occupation? This question adds depth to the narrative, raising important issues about humanity, compassion, and political realities.

As a dedicated cinephile, I’ll share my perspective without revealing the climactic choice of the protagonists (though it may not be difficult to guess in this morally upright film). The enigmatic eavesdropper’s identity remains unsaid, but Dabis delivers a heartfelt farewell message emphasizing the sacredness of every life. Additionally, she pays tribute to her people’s enduring pain. Similar to Walter Salles’ masterpiece “I’m Still Here,” which portrays a Brazilian dictatorship through a family’s eyes, Dabis seeks to immortalize her homeland’s history on the silver screen. Despite the overly lengthy finale set in contemporary Jaffa feeling excessive, the poignant journey that leads Dabis there is definitely worth embarking upon, even with its rough patches.

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2025-01-26 06:47