This elegiac ode to a crumbling cinema in Amman intertwines the messy reality of making a documentary (which entails the filmmaker constantly steering his protagonists from behind the camera) with archival news footage on Palestine-Israel. Both meta levels reflect on this beautiful portrayal of the cinema’s last two elderly employees, who struggle daily to keep their doomed movie theatre afloat.
It’s not entirely fair, but hardly surprising, that films about a love of cinema are especially well-loved by lovers of cinema (which, I can assure you, all critics I have ever met, notwithstanding their reputation as grumpy, most assuredly are).
Similarly to how films celebrating Hollywood have traditionally fared well at the Oscars (which are voted on by Hollywood filmmakers after all), documentaries about crumbling cinemas, fading film stocks and ancient archives will always stand out for me in any festival program. I will want to see them, and I will probably be generous in my reception, viewing leniently any flaws they may have. It’s an unfair advantage compared to other documentary subjects, but there you have it. Best be honest about it.
In this subgenre, Cinema Kawakeb excels. It is named after an old, dilapidated cinema in Amman, falling apart at the seams, where dusty film cans with unknown contents have to contend with blind street kittens who slip in through the cracks. Two elderly cinema employees go in every day, not to screen films – those days are long gone – but to keep the place from being looted. And out of habit, of course, they hang around among faded film posters, have a cup of coffee, and reminisce about the old days. Their only regular customer is a taciturn, chain-smoking homeless man, who sometimes watches “a quarter of a film” – some old title which they project or show on TV for him – before he quietly falls asleep.
Whether this Cinema Kawakeb (for which only half a sign remains, which is not so much symbolism as painful reality) is “the last” or “one of the last” of the old movie houses in Amman wasn’t completely clear to me. But that doesn’t really matter, as it becomes obvious that nobody involved sees a future for a place like this anyway. It also wasn’t clear to me what exactly happened around Covid that turned out so badly for them. The press notes state that the cinema owner misappropriated Covid funds, which then left them in debt after the pandemic. I don’t think the film itself makes this quite as apparent.
With other films I might see such lack of clarity as a flaw. But as this is about a love for old cinemas, I ‘see it through the fingers’ (as we say in the Netherlands) and simply decide to consider it in tune with the sense of forgetfulness that the disappearance of cinematic memory represents. Again, perhaps this isn’t fair, but hey, watcha gonna do? Just look at that picture house! Isn’t it the most tragically beautiful and charmingly sad old place you’ve ever seen?!
Director Mahmoud Massad portrays the building cinematically, even painterly. He has a keen eye for dust particles floating in a beam of sunlight penetrating a dark old screening room; the spider webs hanging like torn curtains in forgotten storage spaces; cigarette smoke and coffee steam drifting upwards, towards unreliable ceilings. The sense of space is very strong: as I write this, I can close my eyes and transport myself there.
Incidentally, we know how Massad creates such imagery, because we constantly hear him giving directions from behind the camera: go here, do this, say that. And even: “Would you please smoke while walking around?” His old protagonists do their best to comply, although they don’t always get it right the first time. At least according to Massad, who then admonishes them rather sternly to try again.
The effect is quite droll, and simultaneously honest, given that most documentaries, I’m sure, do these kinds of things, like asking somebody to come up the stairs one more time because they didn’t quite get the shot – hence the documentary’s subtitle ‘A practical guide to filmmaking’.
Another aspect of the documentary which could be described as ‘experimental’ is the use of archival news fragments Massad disperses throughout the narrative. These show the historic path of international diplomacy leading to the current situation in Palestine-Israel, from the establishment of the League of Nations and subsequently the United Nations and their resolutions, the Yalta Conference, TV interviews with Nasser and Golda Meir, and many other archival clips, often in English.
There are a number of potential links between these historical images and our Cinema Kawakeb. Firstly, this exact type of old black-and-white cinema newsreel used to be shown there, and a few still remain among the rusty film cans. Secondly, when someone laments that the crumbling cinema is a heritage site dating back to 1945, this may, for some viewers, turn the sad state of the building into a symbol for Palestine. And thirdly, towards the end of the film (but who knows, of course, when it actually happened?) a pro-Palestinian demonstration passes Cinema Kawakeb, thus signalling that history has finally caught up with it.
Both experimental interventions, although interesting and lively, could be criticised as somewhat forced and repetitive. But do I care? No, I don’t. To be even more honest, I probably won’t even think about these aspects of the film anymore. What I won’t forget, however, is these sad-faced yet undeterred guardians of our cinematic history – a history which resides in the building as much as in the film cans, many of which will probably never even be opened again.
Because trying to hold on to beauty, to memories, to love, even when everything around you is falling apart, and you know you will inevitably lose in the end, yet you soldier on, in the name of all that is holy and true – isn’t that what life is all about?
Thus say I, a critic and lover of cinema…and of this film.
Jordan/Qatar/Netherlands, 2025, 78 minutes
Director Mahmoud Massad
Production Jo Image Productions
Producers Mahmoud al Massad, Dima Hamdallah, Omar Massad
International sales Mahmoud Massad
Script Bassam Sammy Chekhes
Cinematography Mahmoud al Massad, Hamza Hamideh
Editing Bassam Sammy ChekhesSound design Samer Hawashin, Rayemel Cepero
Sound Fares Werr
Music Mohamed Abdel Wahab, Om Kolthoum
With Ali Aidi, Yousef Jamil, Hussein Sharfat
