Salina Art Center

Scando Copti is a Palestinian and a Christian; Yaron Shani is an Israeli and a Jew.  Both share a passion for filmmaking that transcends cultural, religious, or political differences.  It’s no surprise that this Oscar-nominated film, which they co-wrote and co-directed, shows the wisdom and compassion of real-life experience in its depiction of life in “Ajami,” a notoriously crime-ridden, multiethnic neighborhood in Tel Aviv.  Filmed on actual locations, featuring non-professional actors who improvise much of their dialogue, the film has a grittiness that captures the anger, tension, and tribal loyalties of the inner city like few American films have really done since the ‘70’s, when the mean streets of New York City were a popular setting and directors like Martin Scorsese dissected the urban wasteland.  Ajami‘s cinematic roots go back even earlier than that-all the way to post-WWII Italian Neo-Realist films like Bicycle Thieves and Open City.  Raw, often grim, but powerful, Ajami  weaves a complex net that encompasses five major storylines dealing with forbidden love, family loyalty, revenge, betrayal, and honor among thieves.  One story revolves around Omar (Shahir Kabaha), a teenage Arab who’s targeted by a violent Bedouin gang for a killing done by his uncle.  Omar’s only hope is to raise a ridiculously large sum of money, but his options are limited-and time is running out.  His moral dilemma is just one of the narrative threads that make for compulsive, edge-of-the-seat viewing.  Another story concerns Dando (Eran Naim), a Jewish policeman whose brother has disappeared while returning home from the army.  And Copti himself plays another protagonist, an Arab, middle-class intellectual whose romance with a Jewish girl makes him an outcast from his circle of friends and a target of police harassment.  As Mick LaSalle, film critic of the San Francisco Chronicle astutely points out, this “alien” world actually seems more alien in its familiarity to American audiences-this could be South Central Los Angeles, Compton, or Brooklyn, in the middle of the Holy Land.  Like these crime-ridden urban areas in the United States, the Ajami district in Jaffa is a powder keg of hostility between rival “gangs” that have created their own insular, tight-knit communities out of fear and need for protection-mostly from one another.  The individual stories in Ajami  reflect the often ironic drives that thrust people into conflict-when they’re all trapped in the same web of despair and should be bonding together instead.  Without proselytizing, the film makes a simple but eloquent demand for social and religious tolerance.  Thematically, it recalls the recent American Oscar winner Crash, but the Israeli film’s tapestry of cultural diversity, violence, sentiment, despair, and hope is less schematic and artificial.  This urban melting pot feels natural, its stories vivid yet believable.  The characters represent certain “types” but they grow beyond cardboard characterizations, in large part due to the naturalism of the non-professional actors, who bring their own experiences to the roles to lend some hard-edged authenticity.  The film has an often documentary feel, but even today’s documentaries tend to be edited and constructed to fit narrative form: many of Ajami‘s improvised dialogues and scenes recall the ragged, against-the-narrative grain work of independent director John Cassavetes-in comparison to slicker films, Ajami is digressive, takes its time, and often goes in unexpected directions.  But these qualities really enhance the film, making audiences feel immersed in this chaotic, fascinating environment.  It requires patience, and close attention-particularly the use of flashbacks (some of which seem like flashbacks but aren’t)-but like all great art, Ajami rewards effort and becomes an exponentially richer experience for the viewer’s dedication, one that really makes audiences think about what “multiculturalism” really means in today’s world.