I was fortunate to be able to see this devastating documentary at my local art house theater, because despite winning an academy award, no US distributor wants to pick it up. Which is pretty damning in itself.
It’s hard to watch, though it’s a relatively restrained film, clearly working hard to avoid sensationalism. But it’s grueling nonetheless. The banal cruelty and heartlessness of demolition crews bulldozering through homes and schools, flecked with terrifying moments of mob violence from settlers. The suffering of a mother trying to care for her son after he is shot by soldiers. The depression and exhaustion of villagers. And also these young Israeli soldiers, barely out of high school — what is it doing to them to be threatening children who are pleading to save their homes, or shrieking with terror as their fathers are arrested or shot?
Because the mind seeks respite, I suppose, I was also fascinated by the relationship between the two filmmakers. It’s quite moving as an utterly unsentimental portrayal of male friendship. But it is not a hopeful film.
Kasia Reads 