Review - “The Band’s Visit”
In “The Band’s Visit,” writer/director Eran Kolirin uses the divides inherent in Egyptian/Israeli relationshps to explore a more personal disconnection. Amidst the peaceful but deadpan landscape of small town Israel, a solitary pack of voyagers happen upon lost and lonely locals and the result is an encounter that is sad, funny, and ultimately complex.
Lt. Col. Tawfiq Zacharya (Sasson Gabai) brings the Egyptian police force band for a performance at an Egyptian cultural center, the language difference quickly leads to confusion and the band ends up in the wrong town. Stranded and with no hotel nearby, several locals agree to put up the band for the night — and as the night progresses, some band members find themselves dropped smack dab in the middle of other people’s lives with little preparation.
Zacharya and young ne’er do well Haled (Saleh Bakri) bunk with Dina (Ronit Elkabetz). Dina owns a little restaurant and initally feeds the band, but her forward nature and apparent good will lead to the impromptu lodgings — with much of her attention focused on the older and very formal Zacharya.
Haled, in contrast, is a lackadaisical lady’s man, more interested in Chet Baker than the music he plays for the orchestra, and in conflict with Haled, who sees him as lazy. For all his skill with women, Haled is somewhat awkward due to his loneliness — he seems to get their attention well enough, but they don’t understand about him what he hopes they will. His gifts are instead directed towards helping others, particularly Zacharya, Papi (Shlomi Avraham) a young and awkward Israeli guy on an ill-fated blind date and, ultimately, Dina.
At the same time, Simon (Kalifa Natour) and two other band members are staying with Itzik (Rubi Moscovich) in an apartment with his wife, parents and child. It’s an awkward gathering — it’s Itzik’s wife’s birthday dinner and the appearance of Egyptian musicians means some social clumsiness involving their alienated cultures, as well as the embarrassing attempts of Itzik’s father to bond with them over his own musical tall tales.
What bonded Simon and Itzik in the first place was a quiet moment at the cafe, where Itzik caught Simon, alone, practicing a clarinet concerto that he never finished writing. Simon is curious at first, but as he explores why the concerto was never finished, he begins to see he and Simon as travelers on a parallel path and that it is perhaps his job to set him on a better one.
The ethnic differences are addressed, but that is just the tip of the unspoken ice berg — these are lonely, unsettled people, some searching and not finding, others long since having given up the search. Their interactions are explored through a series of small admissions couple with awkward silences, a struggle for the right words and a hesitation to be very honest — all amidst the gorgeous Israeli night, in a country that unfolds with the stylistic elegance of Kolirin’s direction. It’s a little bit Bill Forsyth, a little bit Jim Jarmusch — alienation and loneliness made charming.
When Kolirin does address the cultural differences, its in context of being recent ones in lieu of a forgotten recent past. As expressed through Dina, Kolirin remembers a time in his childhood when Egyptian and Arab culture was available in Israel and despite the politics between Israel and the rest of the region, people were able to investigate, even admire, the cultures. Dina herself earlier reveals a knowledge of the kind of Egyptian music the band plays in an offhand joke-turned-insult that is explored further with her memories of Omar Shariff and movie matinees, just like Kolirin’s.
It eventually becomes obvious that Dina’s fascination with Zacharya is one with a world long gone — it is the fascination with an exotic neighbor she remembers in her childhood. What she doesn’t plan for is the realization that Zacharya is not a swarthy archetype who will help her forget her troubles for the night, but a man of flesh and blood whose story, once he opens up to her, touches her, as well as punishes.
It’s in this manner that Kolirin addresses the conflicts of the Arab/Israeli world, the result of a complicated dance between many individuals. Imagine a minuet, with each participant working through his or her role in the mass movement of the dance. Each dancer, however, looks at the others in the action and has their own idea about them, some right, some wrong, some built from strange fascination, others from complete unfamiliarity. Now imagine that each dancer has an opportunity to confirm their impressions — that’s pretty much this one night in the life of the Egyptian police band.
Even with such a tight realization, the film is held together by the performances. As Zacharya, Gabai’s a fellow approaching this entire situation with trepidation and manners, but those moments where Dina is able to creep through his armor are sweet. As Dina, Elkabetz shines — at some points vivacious and alluring, while at others offering hints of just how broken this woman might be, just how much her loneliness fuels her actions.
Meanwhile, Bakri, Moscovich and Natour both approach their characters with a genuine gentleness and emotional honesty that draws you into these quiet moments of awkwardness and meandering reflection. When brought together, they constitute people you really wouldn’t mind being trapped with in a little town in rural Israel — and if the film ends with very understated revelations, it’s the quality of these performances which will keep the characters in your emotions far after the movie has ended.
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