Bitter Moon: Ayub Concocts a Taut Domestic Thriller
“It takes time for a bird to escape, even after someone has opened the doors to its cage,” wrote Ayaan Hirsi Ali, famed author of The Caged Virgin, former politician, and critic of Islam who fled an arranged marriage as a young woman. Caged women, both mentally and physically, are the subject of Iraqi-born Austrian filmmaker Kurdwin Ayub’s sophomore narrative feature, Moon, which expertly exemplifies this frustrating struggle to flee an enclosure even when opportunities present themselves to do so. Although the narrative’s final moments suggest there’s no real satisfactory ending, even on an individual level, at least one of Ayub’s protagonists pivots to the possibility of self actualization.
Sarah (Florentina Holzinger) is forced into retirement as a martial artist after nearly twenty years experience in the ring. Still young and without significant future prospects as a trainer, she jumps at an opportunity to travel to Jordan and train three sisters. Hired by their elder brother, who seems to select Sarah simply because she’s the most flexible following a rather effortless interview process, she’s surprised to learn the family she’s working for is not only incredibly wealthy but quite notorious to the locals in Amman. Shipped back and forth from a swank hotel to a palatial estate on the outskirts of the city, Sarah is forced to sign an NDA which includes a strict avoidance of social media and her relegation to the training area and common spaces in the home. However, it’s immediately clear sisters Shaima (Nagham Abu Baker), Nour (Andria Tayeh) and Fatima (Celina Sarhan) aren’t actually interested in martial arts, whatsoever. Observing the young women are kept in strict isolation and supervised at almost all times, Sarah ignores some of the behavioral red flags quite willfully. Until Nour borrows her cell phone one day and records a message regarding a fourth sister who is consistently punished and abused, with a plea for Sarah to assist them in their impending plan to escape.
After her 2022 narrative debut, Sonne (read review), where a trio of young Kurdish Muslims living in Vienna become an overnight sensation after making a music video, Ayub changes approach and tone with Moon, both titles which were produced by Ulrich Seidl. This feature seems to be more in keeping with Seidl’s own bleak narratives, an auteur often highly critical of not only religion but toxic social traditions people can’t seem to easily break away from. Ayub’s title is plain yet enigmatic, suggesting the women of her story exist as themselves only in the camouflage of night, the only light they see being a reflection from another source. The film comes uncomfortably alive in the lead up to a climax strengthened through the responsibility Sarah has come to feel for her young clients, mostly due to the quiet desperation of Nour. This, of course, comes on the heels of the film’s most upsetting moment relating to the trajectory of their fourth sister, Aya, who has been locked away like Bertha Rochester.
The principal cast is composed of newcomers, with Florentina Holzinger holding focus as a woman who slowly comes to the realization something troubling is happening. As Sarah, she’s also incredibly frustrating, seeing as she’s a woman who’s better at communicating through body language than verbal communication. After witnessing a harrowing event at the house, she gets smashed and dances herself to oblivion in an Amman nightclub, perhaps as a way to delay the inevitable decision of helping the three sisters.
Ayub’s film has much in common with several contemporary films dealing with young women who are being groomed for a life of captivity, including Deniz Gamze Erguven’s Mustang (2015), and The Hill Where Lionesses Roar (2021) from Jordanian director Luana Bajrami (which also juxtaposes those who are stuck with a visiting woman who has the option to leave). Moon brings us to a nail biting precipice, and then realistically curbs our expectations. A karaoke rendition to Rihanna’s “S&M” in one of the film’s final scenes suggests the hollowness of frivolity with lyrics taking on a different meaning entirely regarding the pleasure of chains that bind you.
Reviewed on August 14th at the 2024 Locarno Film Festival (77th edition) — Concorso Internazionale section. 92 Mins.
★★★/☆☆☆☆☆
