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This instalment of Something Curated’s ‘In Review’ features three independent films all featuring female characters on a quest: characters in the act of crossing – either physical or symbolic boundaries. Lina Soualem, director of Bye Bye Tiberias, crosses the threshold of memory delving into the history of her Palestinian family fractured by diaspora. In Levan Atkin’s feature, explored in-depth by Rida Bilgrami on SC last week, Lia crosses the border from Georgia into Turkey to find her estranged niece, who herself had made her own crossing to live as a trans woman. In Rosalie, a woman born with hirsutism crosses numerous personal and social boundaries to come to terms with herself, ultimately learning to love who she is. 

These films are united by their intimate realism – all quiet slices of life.



BYE BYE TIBERIAS

In Bye Bye Tiberias, French director and performer Lina Soualem begins her narrative in 1948, a year marked by profound upheaval for Palestinians following the declaration of the independent State of Israel and the partition of Palestine. Her family, expelled from their home and farm in Tiberias, embarks on a journey that scatters them across various lands. The documentary intricately weaves the stories of three generations of women: Lina’s great-grandmother, who relocates to Deir Hanna with her children; her grandmother Nemat, a teacher who anchors the family’s history; and her mother Hiam Abbass (who many might recognise as Marcia from Succession), who leaves for Europe in her twenties to forge a new life.

Soualem intersperses scenes of her mother returning to Deir Hanna after her grandmother’s death with reenactments of past events and readings from Hiam’s essays and poetry. She also incorporates old, grainy VHS tapes filmed by Lina’s father when she was a baby, alongside archival stock footage of Palestine. 

Through this non-linear, fragmented narrative, Soualem showcases the lives of her ancestors and the visceral bonds that exist through generation, despite cycles of migration – exploring how complex the realities of exile are for individuals and families. There is the guilt of those who have left never to return and the grief of those who were forced not to stay, but also a sort of sweetness that remains in the home that transcends place and time, in all the intangible things that make a home possible. Niam’s aunt Hosnieh, who moved to Syria after the exile, cries when she finally hugs her niece, after many years of estrangement, saying she could smell the “scent of family” on her.  

The beauty and power of Bye Bye Tiberias, a film that now more than ever is timely, is in its empathy. Soualem refrains from dramatising or intellectualising the experiences of her family. Instead, the camera often lingers on domestic scenes filled with silence, zooming on the overlooked personal and domestic. We laugh with them as sisters; mothers and daughters tease each other, and cry a bit at the sight of Lake Tiberias, a shimmering blue expanse where the family once swam together.



CROSSING

In the tapestry of cinematic adventures that pair disparate souls on a quest, Crossing emerges as a strong example, blending poignant character exploration with the vibrancy of Istanbul’s bustling streets. Swedish director Levan Atkin crafts a narrative that deftly balances the absurd with the profound, delivering a film that is as much about the journey as it is about the revelations along the way.

At the heart of the film is the beautiful and stern Lia, portrayed with depth and nuance by Mzia Arabuli. As an elderly history teacher with a backstory of familial estrangement, Lia’s mission to cross the Georgian border into Turkey is driven by a singular hope: to find her niece Tekla, who fled her family’s rejection after coming out as trans. The stakes are elevated by her own isolation and determination, which she soothes by sipping at chacha, the strong Georgian liquor she religiously carries with her in a small plastic bottle.

Enter Achi (Tako Kurdovanidze), a young, cheeky charmer whose bravado masks a more profound desperation. Posing as an experienced guide fluent in English and Turkish, he seeks to escape his life by the Black Sea by using Lia as his ticket out. Yet, as their paths intertwine, Achi’s motivations shift.

The film’s setting – a sprawling, vibrant Istanbul – functions almost as a character in its own right. Atkin paints it as a labyrinth of contradictions: a place of dazzling life and overwhelming anonymity filled with street music, food markets, under-age bustlers, and baklavas dripping in honey. “Istanbul is a place where people come to disappear,” Lia somberly reflects. But what Atkin investigates here isn’t absence, or deception, but rather visibility and recognition, questioning what it means to be seen and acknowledged in a world rife with prejudice.

Parallel to Lia and Achi’s journey is the narrative thread of Evrim, a trans woman played by Deniz Dumanli. Evrim’s struggle for official recognition of her gender identity, alongside her work with the LGBTQ non-profit Pink Life, adds a layer of social commentary to the film – which exposes the difficulty Georgian trans women face in their own country – and their need to emigrate. Through a series of near-misses, the movie cleverly teases the possibility that Evrim might be Tekla, but their encounter reveals a different truth.

Crossing’s most welcome surprise is that whatever each character might have been looking or longing for, wasn’t what they were meant to find. In fact, Lia might not reunite with her niece, but she finds herself to be far more compassionate than her stern and judgemental facade had given away. Similarly, and thanks to Lia, Achi’s initially opportunistic venture evolves into a meaningful exploration of companionship and altruism, a personal coming-of-age.

In one of the film’s most endearing scenes, set to lively Balkan music, the trio share a moment of joyous abandon at a wedding celebration. Lia, playfully tapping into her girlhood, encourages Achi to dance with her, and in this unguarded moment, the film crystallises a spirited celebration of life’s fleeting pleasures, and the bonds we form along the way. 



ROSALIE

Stephanie di Gusto’s latest endeavour Rosalie is a bold and evocative cinematic journey set in 1870s rural France. In a period where societal norms are rigid and unforgiving, di Gusto tells the story of Rosalie (Nadia Tereszkiewicz), a woman born with hirsutism. At the centre of the narrative is Rosalie’s tumultuous marriage to Abel, a brooding war veteran played with a gruff intensity by Benoît Magimel.  

Rosalie keeps her secret through her meticulously maintained facade – she shaves her face daily to appear smooth and conceals her body with high-necked dresses that she cleverly sews herself using the finer garments. But on the night of the wedding, as Abel unbuttons his wife’s chemise, Rosalie’s hairy chest is revealed, and with that Abel’s shock at the betrayal. As a man who prefers the solitude of his rural existence to the judgmental eyes of the villagers, when he finds himself entangled in a relationship that challenges his own perceptions of normalcy, his reaction is to shut down. 

Unorthodox and quietly moving, the relationship between Abel and Rosalie works as the other emotional pole of the story, as the two characters slowly break down their own barriers to expose and live with each other’s vulnerability: they fall in love.

In a narrative landscape that ordinarily sees stories of acceptance driven by external approval, in Rosalie the character’s uncompromising love for herself, in spite of others, is notable. Rosalie, against the scorn of those around her, remains unwavering. Her defiant act of growing a beard and proudly showcasing it – in one instance, modelling burlesque – exceeds mere resilience to become a powerful symbol of personal revolution, as well as a testament to Rosalie’s unshakable self-worth. Di Gusto’s feature is a stirring reminder that beauty is not in the eye of the beholder.


Maddalena Vatti is a literary scout and freelance writer based in London. Her writing has appeared on Review 31, Lit Hub, Il Tascabile and other magazines. Header image: Bye Bye Tiberias.

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