Iraqi-born Danish filmmaker Ala’a Mohsen’s A New Beginning is raw and gentle, lyrical and pedestrian. The story of the challenges faced by #Syrian refugee# Rabeaa, as he and his young son Qais attempt to assimilate into life in #Norway after fleeing war at home, flows placidly along with the seasons that slowly mark the steps of their new life.
Rabeaa walks with the aid of a walking stick, his left leg – we eventually learn – shattered in four different places after a fall during the family’s escape from #Aleppo. Little Qais, not yet old enough to go to school, is timid and loving, devoted to, and utterly dependent on, his father.
All-but anonymous
Self-contained and taciturn, Rabeaa gently shepherds his son through the gradual stages of entering a new life – bringing him to a kindergarten where his son must begin to learn Norwegian, and negotiating a move from cramped quarters to a pleasant little flat before he himself must go for reconstructive surgery for the chance to walk unaided again.
The long, grey Nordic winter gives way to spring and summer where the colours remain as subdued as the mood of the film. There are no dramatic twists or turns, instead, Mohsen allows the narrative to emerge discretely as viewers gradually put the pieces of the jigsaw together: an #immigration minister, talking to new arrivals stresses that fairness must be applied equally – whether those fleeing war are granted refugee status and allowed to stay, or sent home. It is hard to say whether Rabeaa and Qais have settled status at this point – we know they were in an asylum centre when they first arrived thanks to an on-screen caption. But there are no immigration officials, other than the minister, to be seen and no sense of the bureaucracy or difficulties they have faced.
Instead, the director simply allows a passive, almost disinterested, camera to record: Rabeaa finds cleaning jobs (in an office building and, later, a second-hand shop, where he also helps out at the till as his Norwegian language skills improve); attends language classes and goes to worship. He has a couple of friends – both fellow Arabs – one of which cares for Qais during his time in the hospital. He does not appear to drink; his only vice is smoking. He is, essentially, an everyman representing all #refugees: silent, and all-but anonymous.
Self-contained and taciturn, Rabeaa gently shepherds his son through the gradual stages of entering a new life
His little lad is a bright spark, defiantly declaring when his father is in hospital and he is sleeping in a bunk bed alongside the friend’s little girl, that he is «not afraid of the dark».
Born into war in #Syria and little more than a toddler when they fled, Qais counts off the number of kindergartens he has attended, telling fellow pre-schoolers that he has been to similar kiddie classes in Syria and #Lebanon. He enthusiastically embraces life in Norway, painting the national flag on his cheeks for Constitution Day, and quickly picking up the language and national sport, skiing. When the two had just arrived, it was the father who looked out for the nervous youngster on a scooter; soon it is Qais who worries about his father’s clumsy attempts at skiing.
Questions mount
As father and son gain confidence in their new country, the questions mount. Mohsen does not allow them to give up their secrets easily, leaving it to the last 20 minutes to reveal (spoiler alert) what happened to Qais’ mother, as well as their multi-country journey before settling in Norway.
As father and son gain confidence in their new country, the questions mount.
Such sparse outlines of the refugee story are unusual in the genre of such films, where agonising details are often heaped up in outrage at an uncaring world. In Mohsen’s film, less is more and, as the screen fades to black on a soccer pitch following a goal by young Qais as he plays his friends, there is a quiet satisfaction with the point at which this particular chapter of the father and son refugee story has reached.
