‘The Red Sea Makes Me Wanna Cry’, by Faris Alrjoob
This 2023 short film, directed by Faris Alrjoob, is one of the two first-ever Jordanian films to premiere at the Cannes Film Festival. Shot in nostalgic and beautiful 16mm, it depicts Ida’s trip to a port town in Jordan, the site of her partner’s disappearance, to mourn her loss, be with him one last time, and say goodbye.
The film starts with a view of the desert in this unknown town, and we hear a voiceover telling us what happened there, how it was supposed to be an industrial hub and free trade zone, but the Civil War and Black September changed everything. Then, we see Ida (Clara Schwinning) sitting at a café, looking lost, while the voice keeps relating the story of that place we don’t know much of yet.
It is a powerful opening, one image superimposed over the other: we see the Jordanian desert and Ida, but because that male voice speaking is so profound and captivating, we can also see the industrial hub and the abandoned military base over it. These two worlds or times –the past and the present– coexist for that instant, even though we only see one of them. As the short film progresses, we find out that the voice belongs to Ismail (Ahmed Eldin), Ida’s deceased partner.
Ida travels to this ghost town overlooking the Red Sea, also called the “Island of Dead”, to remember Ismail and be with him one last time. He visited the city a lot, so now she’s doing all the things he did in order to feel his presence. She stays at the same hotel, orders the same food, and walks around the place like he used to. It’s a way of dealing with her pain, honoring his memory, and also, in a way, saying goodbye.
In one scene, she’s going through Ismail’s stuff while sitting alone in a café, and this action catapults a flow of memories within Ida. In one shot, we see an empty apartment (it could be theirs) while Ismail’s voice, in English, and Ida’s in German, say, “All my life, since I was ten, I’ve been waiting to be in this town here, this hell, with you.” What would be a barrier between them because they speak different languages ends up triggering the contrary effect: a mirroring of each other.
There’s also another shot where they are together; Ismail is in the tub and Ida’s combing his hair and caressing him, and while she does this, she talks to him as if he’s already gone.
We can’t know for sure if these things happened or if it’s a product of her imagination, but in a way, it helps us understand the relationship they had and how powerful grief can be, shifting and transforming everything that surrounds us.
The unique thing about this film is that pain and melancholy are depicted through bright, vibrant images and colors. Here, sadness is wrapped by the heat of the Jordanian sun, which burns fiercely.
The beautiful landscapes, faded images, empty places, and every aesthetic decision, give this story a subtle, minimalist tone, but its emotions are powerful at the same time. Each shot shows us the depth of Ida’s grief and, of course, her love too.
Reaching the end of the short, we hear a voice telling Ida to take the next flight home, adding, “This place is for the dead” while looking over the city. Next, she’s sitting at a bar, watching a musical show, smoking a cigarette, and, finally, crying, releasing her pain.
