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Two
young girls from refugee camps in Bethlehem and Beirut share
their dreams.
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Mai
Masri, Palestine/U.S., 2001, 56 min.
In
Frontiers of Dreams and Fears, as with other Palestinian-oriented
films that debuted at the Human Rights Watch Film Festival in New
York City in June, nationality and religion are important. But in
the end, the most important issue is the land. For Mona and Manar
and their young friends living in the Shatila and Dheisha refugee
camps of Lebanon and Israel, their Muslim identity is established;
they don’t dwell on it. And they don’t resent Israelis for their
Jewishness.
It
all comes down to that ubiquitous land of Palestine. The girls bleed
for their homeland and won’t rest until they win their villages,
their land, and their freedom are won back.
Perhaps
more than any other of the Middle-Eastern themed movies that
premiered at the HRW Film Festival, Frontiers of Fields and Dreams
– focusing on the children of the Shatila and Dheisha refugee
camps in Lebanon and Israel – captures the hearts and tears of the
audience in a way more intense, more powerful then even imaginable.
The
movie packs a powerhouse of unavoidable passions. For Palestinian
director Mai Masri, this is the third in a series of films on the
children of Palestinian refugee camps.
Children
are usually an easy subject for weepy films; but Masri’s
documentary is so thoughtful that it doesn’t feel false. While the
movie breaks little new ground in terms of content, it
unapologetically pulls at the heartstrings.
Shot
at the beginning of the Al Aqsa Intifada and during the liberation
of South Lebanon, the film focuses on Mona, from Beirut’s Shatila
camp, and Manar, from Bethlehem’s Dheisha camp. The girls, both
involved in their own youth centers, meet via email and begin to
exchange letters.
Their
letters and conversations with the camera speak of a maturity thrust
upon them. Mona’s existence in the squalor of the Shatila camp,
with its dirty alleyways and tiny apartments all in the span of one
cramped square mile, is conducive to an attitude of dejection and
despair. Yet she maintains the feelings of any other teenager.
Manar’s
life in Dheisha is almost comfortable by comparison - but still the
life of a refugee. Born when her father was in prison, she plays on
the streets with friends and spends much of her time at Ibdaa, the
local youth center where she and her friends equally pepper all
their conversations with Palestinian pride as well as teenage
emotions.
But
yearning for their homeland is at the crux of their being. They
speak of Palestine with the passions and longings of the
first-generation refugees originally ousted from their villages.
It’s admirable, yet depressing to see the level of their maturity
and commitment. One moment they are giggling and jubilant as they
read each other’s letters and the next moment they tailspin into a
downward spiral of tears and utter sadness.
Yet
how else could it be? As children, they are lighthearted, but their
surroundings and the constant presence of the Israeli army on the
border coupled with flare-ups in their camps heap troubles on their
shoulders. “Their moods change very quickly,” Masri said
following the film. “The film took that route because that’s the
way they are.”
This
being Masri’s third film, with some of the same children featured
as in her previous documentaries, there’s a feeling of real ease.
The children speak so freely to the audience and among their friends
that the camera seems a nonentity. Masri’s deft handling of an
emotional reunion scene is especially skillful camerawork. She
achieves angles and close-ups that bring the viewer to a level of
near painful closeness.
Mona
and Manar’s relationship climaxes in an extraordinary meeting when
the Israeli/Lebanese border is opened for a week. They exchanged
jewelry and dirt from their villages through the fence, stretching
the barbed wire to exchange kisses. Other refugees hold signs with
their names, hoping to find long-lost relatives across the border.
When families do meet, they excitedly shouted their names and tore
at the wire to touch each other. One mother passes her swaddled baby
across to a relative for a long-awaited cuddle.
All
the while Israeli soldiers use their guns to pry people from the
fence, shouting for them to pull back. The entire scene bespeaks of
years of frustration and longing to a draining extent. Yet Masri
says it drains her not to shoot such scenes and make such films.
“Making these films is like therapy. These kids, they’re so full
of life. I’m becoming addicted to these kids.”
Frontiers
of Dreams and Fears pulls every emotional string available. Perhaps
the only drawbacks for Muslims is the lack of religious exploration
and scenes of improper teenage flirtations. Time and time again with
the HRW films on the Palestinian/Israeli conflict, it seems that
nationality and land matters more than religion. Whether this is a
good or bad thing is up for discussion. 
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