It's striking that some restrictive countries produce films of much higher quality than those from more progressive places. Iranian films, for instance, often tell seemingly simple stories in a calm, subtle style that quietly makes defiant statements without fanfare.
So, it’s a big deal when a film from an Arab country, once notorious for its harsh, stringent laws, manages to make a really good impression, regardless of whether it catches the attention of enough people from the rest of the world or not. But this film exists, and it’s a good thing that it does. Say hello to Saudi Arabian filmmaker Haifaa al-Mansour’s Wadjda. It has two distinctions: the first feature made entirely in Saudi Arabia and directed by the region's first female filmmaker.
The story follows a Saudi girl whose strong urge is to ride a bicycle. In a country where movie theatres were once banned, and women couldn't drive, how did a filmmaker — a woman, that too — manage to pull it off? The lead character is a rebellious tomboyish preteen girl played by Waad Mohammad. She is extremely smart, perceptive, independent, and blessed with a great sense of humour (much-needed when needed in autocratic regimes). She inhabits an extremely conservative and patriarchal environment where women are not allowed to go out without their hijabs and are forbidden from speaking and laughing loudly or loitering around areas inhabited by men. She lives with her mom, who has been making efforts to stop her largely absent husband from marrying a second woman.
Wadjda doesn’t give two hoots about these things; she is often dismissive of her friends' and teachers’ behaviour. Her condescending principal keeps a watchful eye over all the students – it’s a "girls only" school, after all - and forbids them from carrying anything that “provokes sinful thoughts and actions.” At one point, her principal chides her for carrying Western music tapes – love songs - in her bag. Even her mother calls them “evil stuff.”
One day, she sees a neighbour riding a bicycle, and she suddenly gets the urge to ride one herself. However, it costs 800 riyals, so she formulates a plan to save some money. The “side business” involves making bracelets out of colourful threads, which she sells to her schoolmates for a little extra cash. However, whatever she is saving up is not enough, so she turns to her mom for the money and, naturally, is declined.
There is a funny moment when Wadjda brings this boy up to the terrace of her home, asking him to bring his bike along. She tries riding it but falls, witnessed by her mom. Upon being told she is bleeding, her mom’s reaction is, “Where are you bleeding from? Your virginity!” and Wadjda ridicules her overreaction. In another scene, her mom tells her that a woman who rides a bike “won’t be able to have children!”
A golden opportunity comes knocking one day when the school announces a Koran-recital competition. The prize money is 1000 riyals. Wadjda decides to participate. Whether she wins or not is better left for the viewer to discover, but the ending is refreshingly unpredictable, applause-worthy and guaranteed to put a smile on your face. Wadjda is what can be described as a true feminist film, offering insight into what it means to be a woman in some Arab countries before progressive reforms made things easier.
