Aisha

I went in blind to a screening of this film from a passing recommendation at Irish Film Festival London. Admittedly I was not expecting much from this film which has definitely worked to its advantage, giving it a favourable review.

Aisha is a girl who has been through the ropes. Bad luck, tragedy and mental scarring. While seeking refuge in Ireland, she befriends a security guard who shows her empathy. She lives under the threat of being exiled, interview after interview from the pencil pushers, with no end in sight.

The truths it shows about Ireland could never be more true, while the people of Ireland are selfless, the government itself is selfish. This juxtaposition is what most countries deal with. A decent watch if you are interested in current socio-political topics.

You've been abused but managed to escape from terror, to a land you hoped would treat people much fairer, but you're stuck inside a scheme, that destroys your self-esteem, you had no choice, but this all feels like a great error. They don't believe that you're at risk if you return, although you feel they do not care of your concern, but with little evidence, you cannot give a great defence, of the murder, rape and torment that still burns.

Letitia Wright is outstanding as the asylum seeker living in limbo, dehumanised by a system that's in place to protect but ultimately treats people like beggars and thieves. With Josh O'Connor providing sympathetic support and empathy, this film makes a good companion piece to The Swimmers which tackles a similar theme but through a different escape.

Frank Berry's Aisha is the superbly moving record of a Nigerian refugee's quiet fight for dignity in Ireland's inhumane Direct Provision system for asylum seekers. Thoroughly-researched but fictional, gently-paced but absorbing, Berry's affecting narrative is anchored by standout performances from Letitia Wright (The Silent Twins) and Josh O'Connor (Mothering Sunday). Haunted by forces they can't control, these two unlikely soulmates form an unexpectedly tender bond; by film's end, they embody a tragic authenticity reminiscent of Italian neorealism. Even though Irish writer/director Berry is known for socially conscious work (2014's I Used to Live Here and 2017's Michael Inside), Aisha is far more than an 'important' film bolstered by real-world injustice. Here, Berry gives us a life-shattering experience that makes the greatest global issue of the moment feel achingly personal.

In her role as Aisha, the devastatingly resilient Wright is caught in a cycle fueled by bureaucratic impotence akin to Akira Kurosawa's Ikiru or Ken Loach's I, Daniel Blake. After the murder of her father and brother, she flees Nigeria for Ireland, hoping to earn enough there to help her mother join her-but her new home offers no safe haven. As one of countless forcibly displaced immigrants, she is thrust into a byzantine immigration system where hopes are dashed and destitution hovers. Her only ally is the heartbreakingly egoless Conor, an Irish security guard with a traumatic past of his own-and an accent so effective it warrants subtitles-who understands her pain. As viewers, we care deeply for both of them, and yearn for their relief-but Aisha never strays from its narrative just to ease our discomfort.

This film makes it hard to remember we're watching fiction. Tom Comerford's understated cinematography achieves lived-in naturalism: claustrophobic office, bus and hotel interiors feel like prison; austere landscapes of emerald braes would dazzle if not for their overwhelming evocation of loneliness. Ironically, this dedication to immersion is so effective that Daragh O'Toole's score feels sadly predictable. The music is bittersweet and remarkably varied (African drums stand out), but feels at odds with Berry's Kafkaesque realism; at its worst, the score tells us how to feel, an unwelcome reminder that we're watching a movie. Happily, Aisha's most powerful moments come wisely devoid of music, relying on sheer performance to deliver emotional gut-punches.

And what emotionally-charged performances they are. Wright's perceptive silences speak volumes: grace and resolve in the face of daily microaggressions and lifelong trauma. O'Connor's vulnerability gives Wright room to shine as an actor, and Aisha room to unmask. When she finally lets go, it's a lightning bolt straight into the viewer's heart. This life journey doesn't want to be a 'movie,' or even a 'film. By evading histrionics and melodrama, by leaving room for unvarnished honesty, Aisha occupies a world very close to our own fraught reality. Those who long for levity are missing the point: this is not meant to be a palatable experience, a flight of fancy; it's an intentionally suffocating, Sisyphean reality-check that barely scratches the surface of a terrible truth. Aisha joins a growing cadre of immigrant-driven post-neorealist cinema that demands empathy where it is not being offered in real life.

Reviewed on June 19th at the 2022 Tribeca Film Festival - Spotlight Narrative section. 94 Mins.

As someone from Ireland this is an important movie. As someone who has lived abroad in China there were some things I could relate to. That feeling of being temporary, being defined by your country, constantly having to justify why you're there and being the minority. That on top of having to answer the same stupid questions. All these complaints are minor compared to how my country treats these asylum seekers. It's inhumane and disgusting to be trapped in this limbo where they say you have rights, but the smug people in control get to do whatever they want, move you, take you away from the life you're building even though want to work and contribute. These people flee from the threat of abuse, death, sexual exploitation. They have to escape quickly and the countries that take them in keep them waiting around for 6 years with limit freedom and ask why they don't have this imaginary paperwork that proves they went through these things. When refugees fled Germany and France during WW2 they weren't scrutinised like this and it makes no sense that you can't just live. There has to be a better system than this.

"Aisha" (Letitia Wright) has been seeking asylum in Ireland for some while when she encounters and builds a friendship with the security guard at her hostel. He, "Conor" (John O'Connor) has a bit of baggage of his own, and the two find a certain comfort in supporting each other as she is moved to a rural caravan park where she must continue her quest for residency. There's no doubt that both Wright and O'Connor deliver decent efforts here, but somehow the underlying story left me rather underwhelmed. Why Ireland? Is it just the most porous part of the EU? There is little context given as to that choice, and so when her struggles against the bureaucracy become more difficult, I felt that whilst I empathised with her predicament, I couldn't quite see why this was an Irish problem? The presentation of her as an asylum seeker is largely predicated on the skills of Wright as an engaging actor, rather than of any depth to her characterisation that could enable a neutral to make the judgements the film is clearly steering us to make. It all has a certain degree of entitlement to it, and the writer and director needed to work much harder to present the audience with a legitimacy to the story, not just to rely on an assumption that the innate kindness and sympathy we ought to feel would be forthcoming. This needed much more development and balance - those doing immigration management jobs portrayed here are usually shown as uncaring and unfeeling in an almost lazy fashion - and that compromises the whole integrity of the story. The complexities of this scenario are over-simplified here, and I think an opportunity to raise awareness of this - on both sides - has been largely missed.