Osama

A Film Review by James Berardinelli
3 stars
Afghanistan/Japan/Ireland, 2003
U.S. Release Date: 2/6/04 (limited); 2/27/03 (wider)
Running Length: 1:22
MPAA Classification: PG-13 (Mature themes)
Theatrical Aspect Ratio: 1.85:1

Cast: Marina Golbahari, Arif Herati, Zubaida Sahar
Director: Siddiq Barmak
Producers: Siddiq Barmak, Julia Fraser, Julie LeBrocquy, Makoto Ueda
Screenplay: Siddiq Barmak
Cinematography: Ebrahim Ghafori
Music: Mohamhad Reza Darvishi
U.S. Distributor: United Artists
In Dari with subtitles

It's fair to say that Osama may offer the most honest and straightforward cinematic portrayal of life in Afghanistan during the rule of the Taliban. The film's authenticity derives from its having been shot in Kabul (post-Taliban), so there's no need for another country to act as a stand-in. Director Siddiq Barmak recruited his non-professional cast, including impressive lead actress Marina Golbahari, from orphanages and refugee camps, further adding to the "you are there" feeling that pervades the production.

The story is simple, yet painfully tragic. Golbhari plays the 12-year old daughter of a widowed Afghan doctor (Zubaida Sahar) who is forced to stop working when the Taliban come into power. Left without a means of income, the mother dresses up her daughter as a boy and sends her out to work. Renamed "Osama," the child, on the cusp of puberty, ends up being pressed into a military training school, where she is ruthlessly bullied by the boys because of her feminine features. Yet Osama cannot reveal the truth about herself, since the punishment for impersonating a boy could be death.

Osama is less of a story than it is a record - a record of a time and place that most of us cannot fathom existed in this modern era. The attitudes and living conditions presented in the film look like something out of the dark ages. Were it not for the presence of a few mechanized vehicles and advanced guns, one could easily assume that the events in Osama occur during the 15th or 16th century, not the 21st. Without a word of preaching, Barmak provides a stinging condemnation of the kind of social and cultural stagnation that can arise when religious fanaticism becomes the Law.

Osama intentionally keeps the audience at arm's length. This is most particularly true early in the movie, when events are seen through the lens of a faux documentarian's camera. (The filmmaker's equipment is subsequently confiscated, and he is later executed.) However, even once the movie has settled into a more traditional narrative format, Barmak employs a distant, uninvolved perspective. He chronicles what transpires without becoming involved. Osama's story, which is in many ways the story of every woman and girl who existed under the Taliban's regime, is allowed to unfold without a whiff of melodrama.

One of the things I found most interesting is the way in which women discover "underground" ways of living life, often by camouflaging something forbidden as an allowed activity. A wedding celebration might take place under the guise of a funeral (with lookouts to inform the celebrants if there was a need for weeping and gnashing of teeth). Women doctors could be sneaked into and out of patients' homes. And, as in the case of Osama, girls could be dressed up to look like boys. (Interestingly, it's the kids, not the adults, who see through the deception. Apparently, the men can't conceive of anyone trying something like this.)

Osama brings to mind a real-world consideration. The United States attacked Afghanistan and brought down the Taliban because of its complicity in the 9/11/01 attacks. Had those events not occurred, it is likely that the Taliban would still be in power, and the massive human rights' violations depicted in this film would be on-going. So, although it's possible to argue about the motive in the case of the military action, it's difficult to disagree with the result. This is clearly an occasion when the end justifies the means. Anyone doubting this need only watch Osama. In most ways that count, it's as true as any documentary.

© 2004 James Berardinelli


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