And the Fish Fly Above Our Heads

In 2001, Dima El-Horr filmed Reda on a public beach in Beirut frequented by men. Twenty years later, she saw him again. In the same spot. A troubling feeling of time being frozen, in spite of crises, attacks, wars – in short, “the routine of disaster” (Charif Majdalani). Adel catches up with him on his Sunday off from hospital. Qassem, the former dockworker, who is crippled and destitute, spends his days there. They stand facing out to sea, vulnerable sentinels of a doomed country, entrusting their melancholy to the waves. They open up to the filmmaker, who sensitively interacts with them from behind the camera, or accompanies them through the labyrinthine streets. The contemplative shots then become tighter, superimposed, the editing fractured, as if the city were crumbling under the weight of past and future violence. Dima’s voice-over, like a gentle, poetic breath, meditates on the collective collapse. As the film unfolds, it embraces the solitude of the three men, who soften as they begin to trust one another. Because they know that the person observing them is sharing their painful journey in order to make it her own, and ultimately ours.
Emmanuel Chicon

And the Fish Fly Above Our Heads, 2025
Conversations avec Siro, 2021
Lectures, 2021
The Girl on the Scooter, 2019
Chaque Jour est une Fête, 2011
Prêt à porter Imm Ali, 2001
The Blue Sea in your Eyes, 2000
La rue, 1998