Aisha

Letitia Wright owns this film as Aisha, an immigrant from Nigeria seeking refuge in Ireland. The actress appears in almost every frame and her performance is worthy of an Oscar nomination.

Her father has been killed and she and her mother raped by vicious loan sharks and she is shown navigating the asylum system in Ireland. A security guard at a shelter befriends her and the young woman is moved from place to place as she must attend hearing after hearing, reciting her terrible story to a long line of unsympathetic paper pushers. I am sure that it is pretty much the same here in ther United States.

I hope that Aisha will be Ireland's entry for an Academy Award.

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.

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.

If cinema is meant to provoke and incite, then Frank Berry's Aisha is a film we should all see. A thoughtful and meditative polemic on Direct Provision, it will anger you and break your heart in equal measure. Directed with the touch of a master painter, allowing us to feel every single moment of Aisha's harrowing plight. Aisha features a searing central performance by Letitia Wright, and wonderful support from Josh O'Connor and Lorcan Cranitch. I can't think of a recent film that left me reeling afterwards to this extent. Maybe I, Daniel Blake. An incredibly powerful film, it should have the same impact, shining a light on a social justice fiasco.

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.