How Oppression Breeds Resilience

Read Time:5 Minute, 39 Second

MOVIE REVIEW
Walud

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Genre: Drama, War, Thriller
Year Released: 2025
Runtime: 26m
Director(s): Daood Alabdulaa, Louise Zenker
Writer(s): Daood Alabdulaa, Louise Zenker
Cast: Salha Nasraoui, Vera Fay, Salah Ben Salah, Mohamed Graïaa
Where to Watch: shown at the 2025 LA Shorts International Film Festival


RAVING REVIEW: WALUD begins with the kind of grounded, unvarnished simplicity that often hides something devastating beneath its surface. There’s no dramatic overture, no forced urgency — just the Syrian desert, a woman’s daily routine, and the sense that the world around her is closing in. It’s this lived-in presentation that gives the film its punch. The story follows Amuna, a middle-aged woman living under ISIS rule with her husband Aziz, whose authority is built on dogma and fear rather than true power. When he returns home with a much younger second wife, the fragile order of Amuna’s life splinters in ways neither she nor her oppressor can fully control.


Despite its short runtime, WALUD feels remarkably full — not because the filmmakers overload the narrative, but because they understand how much can be communicated through silence, body language, and framing. Co-directors/writers Daood Alabdulaa and Louise Zenker build the film on small details that speak louder than any monologue. A flag flapping in the wind, the ground under a man’s boots — these choices form the film’s core. The title itself, meaning “able to give life,” adds another layer, introducing the theme of fertility as both a cultural expectation and a weapon used against women in patriarchal systems. 

Amuna’s world is shaped by survival, not choice. She lives in a desert that mirrors her isolation, and when her husband brings home Alina — a very young European convert — it’s not jealousy that surfaces but a confrontation with the system she has learned to endure. The film doesn’t position these women as rivals. Instead, it focuses on the crushing structures that force them into impossible roles. Amuna’s pain isn’t rooted in romantic betrayal; it’s rooted in the knowledge that her worth, in Aziz’s eyes, is tied to something as transactional as fertility. Yet the filmmakers refuse to flatten her into a victim. They offer her humanity, agency, and moments of decision that, while small, become revolutionary in a world where women are not meant to act for themselves.

The strength of WALUD lies in how it delivers emotion without spelling anything out. Amuna’s reactions carry the story. When she scrapes the extremist flag off its pole, it’s not played as a grand act of rebellion — it’s a gesture, a flicker of resistance almost swallowed by the scale of her environment. The camera shifts to lower angles during these moments, positioning her not as a woman crushed by circumstance, but one who refuses to disappear within it. This choice becomes one of the film’s defining elements, offering power back to a character whose daily life is governed by someone else’s rules.

Alina’s presence deepens the story rather than complicating it. The filmmakers treat her introduction not as an intrusion but as an indictment of the system that consumes her. Her trauma sits in her performance — a kind of numb obedience shaped by fear —, and this contrast allows Amuna to see her not as a threat, but as another woman trapped in the same world. Their connection develops in near silence, yet it becomes the film's anchor.

The desert becomes an extension of Amuna’s psyche — barren, relentless, and indifferent. It’s the perfect backdrop for a film about lives restricted by violence and internalized rules. Cinematographer Henri Nunn leans into natural light and wide, empty landscapes to emphasize how small these characters appear within their environment. Yet the film avoids aestheticizing suffering; its beauty comes not from stylization but truthfulness. The visual approach serves the narrative’s emotional honesty rather than trying to impress the audience with spectacle.

Performance-wise, Salha Nasraoui offers a quiet intensity that never demands attention but always earns it. She carries the weight of the story with the smallest facial movements, the hesitation in her actions, the exhaustion etched into her posture. Vera Fay complements her by portraying Alina with a mix of fear and resignation. Salah Ben Salah embodies Aziz with a kind of performative authority — a man who mistakes brutality for strength and rule-following for purpose. This dynamic turns the household into a psychological pressure cooker where power is constantly asserted yet never secure.

Given the limitations of a 26-minute runtime, what WALUD accomplishes is remarkable. It delivers a deeply felt story about autonomy, oppression, and connection without resorting to melodrama. It presents female agency not as a sweeping rebellion but as something far more grounded — the courage to do the right thing when the world insists you shouldn’t. This clarity of purpose is what makes the film deserving of its Oscar-qualifying status and festival attention. 

A powerful, emotionally textured short that lingers long after its final image. It’s the rare short film that doesn’t feel like a fragment — it feels complete, confident, and unwilling to soften its message. It’s the kind of work that proves how much impact a story can have even without a feature-length runtime.

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[photo courtesy of HOCHSCHULE FÜR FERNSEHEN UND FILM MÜNCHEN (HFF)]

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