Capernaum

Capernaum is a difficult film that we recommend, with one substantial reservation: it keeps telling us what its children have already shown us. Nadine Labaki builds the story around a boy taking his parents to court, then looks back at his life on Beirut’s streets. It is a pointed way to introduce neglect, and an awkward one, since a court case asks for a neat account of who is to blame. The scenes outside court are convincing enough to make that framing feel unnecessary.

Zain Al Rafeea plays Zain with anger that feels like a practical response to his circumstances. There is resilience here, but little of the reassuring pluck that can make films about poor children so comfortable to watch. We believe that this boy has had to learn how adults behave, and that he has found little reason to be impressed. Labaki lets his force of personality carry scenes that might otherwise leave him looking merely helpless. He gives us someone to follow through the city.

The passages with Yonas, played by Boluwatife Treasure Bankole, justify that trust. Watching Zain take responsibility for a baby moved us more than we expected. The size of that responsibility is clear without a speech: one child is trying to provide the care another needs. There is humour in their company, too, and Labaki makes room for it without pretending their circumstances have improved. These scenes give us time to care about the children beyond wishing that somebody would rescue them.

Christopher Aoun’s cinematography gives the street scenes enough shape for their bustle to remain readable. That clarity helps us stay with Zain rather than simply register a mass of hardship. The care in the compositions occasionally draws attention to itself, but the children keep bringing us back to what they need from each other. The streets feel like places where people have lives beyond the events we are watching.

Editors Konstantin Bock and Laure Gardette have a harder task joining this street-level story to the legal proceedings. The switches back to court repeatedly offer an explanation after the problem has become clear. Khaled Mouzanar’s music adds to that pressure; it could leave more of the emotional work to the children. None of this makes the performances less affecting. It does make a film running 126 minutes feel longer whenever it returns to telling us how to judge the adults.

Making the parents the defendants also narrows a story that has shown us a wider failure. The danger attached to living without documents cannot be settled by deciding whether two adults have behaved badly. Labaki is persuasive about the vulnerability of children and migrants, but her courtroom premise encourages a simpler verdict than their circumstances allow. Still, the moments of kindness prevent the film from treating everyone older than Zain as an enemy. They give him a world in which care remains possible, even when it is difficult to provide.

The 15 certificate is worth taking seriously; the young leads do not make this a family film. There is warmth here, but anyone seeking a reassuring account of childhood resilience should look elsewhere. Save it for an evening when there is time to talk afterwards.