I'm a Moroccan, I can tell you right now that a neighbor of mine named Tunisia has always been regarded as the least religious country of North Africa. Much to the Muslim world's shock, it was Tunisia the first to adopt laicity and its post-colonization President Bourguiba had permitted people not to fast during the Ramadan, having himself sipped water during a televised speech.
Retrospectively, this was quite a gutsy move and somehow that historical stunt and the fact that men and women were given full equality might have gotten Tunisia immune from any extremist temptation, not in the same scale than Morocco in the late 90s, and certainly not Algeria that got it worse. But that would be naïve an assumption for in fact, the very distanciation from religion has made Tunisia a greater target for religious groups and the next generations who might have felt a loss in their heritage. One should compare Tunisia with Turkey, religion is something that you can't just get off people easily. And as sad as it is for me to admit, it's even harder with one specific religion.
Directed in 2016 by Ridha Beih, "Flower of Aleppo" chronicles the journey of a young Tunisian teenager from a modern lifestyle to fighting for the Syrian Califat Army and the struggle of a modern woman, his mother, to get her son back from Syria. As Salma, Hend Sabry embodies that image of the Tunisian woman, she's an ambulance emergency doctor, she commands men and authority and an independent divorced woman who likes to wear very feminine clothes. But somehow she has lost the track of her son Mourad (Badis Behl). The lack of conservatism in his family has left a void that extremist brotherhood was more than glad to fill. Fed by texts and hadiths that prohibited the most mundane incarnations of freedom such as music or cultural mixes, Mourad tries to row back to the safe coast, we see him trying to play guitar, sharing moments with his girlfriend but it's a foregone conclusion that he will soon join the ranks of future soldiers in Syria. I saw the film after "Kalifat" and "Layla M" and naturally I didn't expect any novelty for the pattern is all the same: take one disillusioned young person, fill his minds with definite answers and he'll embrace his own finitude for a better afterlife.
"Flower of Aleppo" raises an important question: why in countries where most people choose the path of modernity, other would rather step back to the ancient ways. Mourad's own aunt (and Salma's sister) is shown wearing sexy costumes and teaching women belly dance and Mourad's special relationship with her doesn't seem to have been affected by his new religious views. Meanwhile his brothers in arms threaten to destroy a clothes shop if the owner keeps on display naked mannequins. The answer is in that scene: they quote the Quran. The attachment to the word in Islam is thicker than any soldier's to the sword and the absence of cartesian doubt or certitude draws a form of 'absoluteness' that appeals to those who felt lost in a modernity that didn't bring the expected happiness. One should understand the muslim world and consider that many countries that have kept some religious interference with the politics did it precisely not to let religions take over politics by itself. The Moroccan king did it because he knew it wasn't exact science but chemistry. Algeria censored the Islamic party and paid a deadly price in the 90s. However in Tunisia one revolt triggered the whole Arab Spring, the former President left the country and democratic elections were permitted. But what when a certain majority of people desire to go back to Islam? That's the problem the film pinpoints. And having caused indirectly the war on Syria, that Syria would influence Tunisian lives closed the loop in the most tragic way.
It takes a little time for the film to get on its premise, and one can deplore a minimalist format that betrays a modest budget, scenes taking place in hospital or police officers lack that authentic feeling and seem to be worthy of a TV movie, especially one with the police commissionner (one office and a flag and a very rudimentary map make for the 'police' impression) and it's possible that the film was made in a rush to get asap on Netflix. One shouldn't expect too much from the Syrian part although I was less frustrated by the settings than the far-fetched way Salma could lead her investigation or delivering some statements before it finally arose some suspicion about her real motives.
The lack of budget is saved by the performances and while I wasn't too impressed by Behi whose expressions vaguely suggest the internal turmoil of a disillusioned teenager, I liked the late Hicham Rostom as the father, the artist whose modern manners made him estranged to his son, prompting him to look for other fatherly figures. Some interplays between the characters also feel a little formulaic and superficial but one can say it is a film where the ending redeems all the flaws: it's ironic, tragic and its dramatic effect had a sad poetry of its own.
