B+Directed by Jonas Poher Rasmussen Review by Jon Kissel |  |
The story of the last ten years, and the next hundred, has been and will be migration. Political instability, economic privation, civil war, environmental collapse, it all conspires to push people into stable places that often contributed to or directly caused the instability that made migrants and refugees flee in the first place. Flee is the story of one of these families torn between great powers and cast into an underground morass whose effects linger long after safety has been achieved. Jonas Poher Rasmussen blends documentary and animation in a film that dissects all aspects of the refugee experience, from the uncertainty to the powerlessness. People need to get more acquainted with these kinds of stories because they’re not going to stop happening.
Flee’s hand-drawn animation is more than a stylistic choice. The Amin at the center of the story is an alias, and this is how Rasmussen has chosen to hide his identity. Form informs theme, such that even safely ensconced in Denmark, Amin still doesn’t completely trust the government that’s sheltered him. The experience of being forced from one’s home and then having to navigate all the dangerous and corrupt paths from 80’s Afghanistan to present day Europe has taught Amin that the knock on the door can come at any time. It happened in Soviet-dominated Afghanistan, when his father was scooped up and never heard from again, and when that government collapsed at the hands of American-backed Islamic extremists, they feared it would happen again. Before the inevitable knock, Amin and his family escape to a Russia that is in its own state of collapse. This time, a knock might mean corrupt officials looking for a bribe, or it could mean their ejection from the country, as they’ve long overstayed their visas. They’re stuck inside a tiny apartment for years, with their best hope for joining the family’s eldest son in Sweden reliant on the competency and good faith of smugglers, traits that aren’t hallmarks of that particular profession.
Rasmussen gets all this from Amin in what functions as a therapy session. He’s never told anyone in Denmark his life story before, to the point that his boyfriend thought Amin was a sibling-less orphan. Lying down on a rug, center-framed, Amin closes his eyes and dredges up details from his childhood in Kabul. There’s been no shortage of documentaries about escape from unsafe conditions in the Middle East, and Flee separates itself from those by incorporating a time when things were stable. Due to Flee’s format, Amin’s recollections of frolicking through the streets can be shown as if they’re presently happening. One of the first things that Rasmussen asks Amin is what home means to him, and it’s defined as a safe place. Flee shows exactly that in its opening scenes, a place where a Kabul boy can dance around in a dress listening to A-Ha while a local shopkeeper playfully sprays him with a hose, where the Jean Claude Van Damme posters in his room are about appreciating more than action cinema. Getting back to that safety is the central dilemma of Amin’s life, and the fact that he feels it necessary to hide his identity means he’s still not yet there.
At only 90 minutes, Flee is constrained by how big of a story it’s taken on. The dramatic scope of Amin’s life as a political pawn means that its straightforward details justify the film, but he also proves to be a perceptive storyteller whose takeaways warrant more time than they’re allowed. All that, plus his own internal story of coming to terms with his sexuality, means the editing of this story down to what’s essential must have been brutal. Rasmussen does his best to service it all. He covers for the fact that he has to take shortcuts by making what’s included as memorable as possible. A film about an Afghani refugee wouldn’t have been one’s first guess for a beautiful coming out scene. Nonetheless, Flee is a film that leaves the viewer wanting more from Amin, despite the fact that he’s already given Rasmussen so much. The next documentary like this one, and there will be plenty more, might not be as perceptive or imaginative, but it could be more thorough. B+
Rasmussen gets all this from Amin in what functions as a therapy session. He’s never told anyone in Denmark his life story before, to the point that his boyfriend thought Amin was a sibling-less orphan. Lying down on a rug, center-framed, Amin closes his eyes and dredges up details from his childhood in Kabul. There’s been no shortage of documentaries about escape from unsafe conditions in the Middle East, and Flee separates itself from those by incorporating a time when things were stable. Due to Flee’s format, Amin’s recollections of frolicking through the streets can be shown as if they’re presently happening. One of the first things that Rasmussen asks Amin is what home means to him, and it’s defined as a safe place. Flee shows exactly that in its opening scenes, a place where a Kabul boy can dance around in a dress listening to A-Ha while a local shopkeeper playfully sprays him with a hose, where the Jean Claude Van Damme posters in his room are about appreciating more than action cinema. Getting back to that safety is the central dilemma of Amin’s life, and the fact that he feels it necessary to hide his identity means he’s still not yet there.
At only 90 minutes, Flee is constrained by how big of a story it’s taken on. The dramatic scope of Amin’s life as a political pawn means that its straightforward details justify the film, but he also proves to be a perceptive storyteller whose takeaways warrant more time than they’re allowed. All that, plus his own internal story of coming to terms with his sexuality, means the editing of this story down to what’s essential must have been brutal. Rasmussen does his best to service it all. He covers for the fact that he has to take shortcuts by making what’s included as memorable as possible. A film about an Afghani refugee wouldn’t have been one’s first guess for a beautiful coming out scene. Nonetheless, Flee is a film that leaves the viewer wanting more from Amin, despite the fact that he’s already given Rasmussen so much. The next documentary like this one, and there will be plenty more, might not be as perceptive or imaginative, but it could be more thorough. B+
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