Al Majalla’s Film Watch

What Ambulance achieves is a constant sense of empathy for Omar, an innocent young man raised on Superman films and video games, working in a profession that demands responsibility and maturity.

His naïve outlook colliding with the deceit and malice of reality provides the mirth. Yet instead of breaking him, fate—or perhaps the screenplay itself—aligns in his favour. Omar uses his instinctive wit, along with lessons drawn from US films and video games, to secure a symbolic victory over evil while strengthening his bond with Khalid, who lives by the motto: "Behind every great medic stands an even greater one."

The finale introduces Egyptian actor Ahmed Fahmy as the new hospital director, whose arrival hints at fresh challenges for Omar and sets the stage for another chapter in this unlikely hero's journey.

The Ground Beneath Our Feet

Written by: Yrsa Roca Fannberg, Elena Agla Brim

Directed by: Yrsa Roca Fannberg

Countries of production: Iceland, Poland

The title of this documentary evokes two seemingly contradictory yet interwoven ideas. On one level, it refers to the daily rituals of earthly existence such as eating, drinking and moving, particularly in the case of the film's protagonists, a group of elderly residents in a care home named Grund ('ground' in Icelandic), where the ordinary rhythms of life are no longer simple routines but tasks that require support.

On another level, it suggests the ground in which we will all eventually be buried, and it is this second interpretation that led director Yrsa Roca Fannberg to choose the phrase, as she explains in the film's press notes.

The opening scene features a close-up of a resident lying in bed, speaking slowly to the filmmaker. She asks whether the film is "about a child being born and then growing old". The director replies: "No, it is about this stage in particular." The answer satisfies her, though with a quiet resignation, and no further questions are asked.

Fannberg spent years working at the care home. To capture the soft texture of this private existence, she adopts a series of deliberate artistic choices, such as using static and near-static shots that echo the slowness and density of residents' lives, and filming on 16mm stock, rather than digital. The aesthetic defines the film's images.

The documentary does not dwell on its subjects as individuals, nor does it explore their past lives. They are portrayed simply as human beings in a fragile state, and that proves sufficient. For viewers, it can be unsettling to witness intimate moments of decline, the prelude to death, the erosion of memory, or the fear of losing. One scene, of a woman cutting up old photographs, lingers with troubling ambiguity.

The film culminates in a striking sequence, zooming in with the closest possible shots, into the folds of wrinkled skin, sealing its singular and unflinching perspective.

Tales from the Magic Garden

Written by: Marek Král, Peter Krajíček, Patrik Pass Jr, Žaneta Kaja Balog, Maja Kržnik, Blandine Jet
Directed by: David Sukup, Patrik Pass Jr, Leon Vidmar, Jean-Claude Rozec

Countries of production: Czech Republic, France, Slovakia, Slovenia

Few films manage to rekindle our sense of wonder at colour and imagery, but the Czech animated feature Tales from the Magic Garden is an exception, offering an escape from the world. Its gateway to refuge lies in storytelling and in its rightful heirs: children.

The story follows three siblings of different ages who lose their beloved grandmother, the keeper of their bedtime tales. It is their first encounter with loss, and they have to deal not only with death but with silence and the absence of stories. They are left with their grandmother's hat and their grieving grandfather, who, unable to cope, struggles to connect with them.

The filmmakers use puppets, miniature sets, and painted backdrops to bring to life the three tales recounted by the eldest granddaughter, Susan, who inherits her grandmother's gift of storytelling. With the help of the hat and a three-word magic formula, she conjures up each tale, drawing her siblings and the audience into the imaginative realm.

The first story depicts the temporary absence of parents, the second leads its protagonist into a magical forest where the enduring memory and influence of lost love are preserved, and the third centres on the loss of a grandfather who chooses to remain among the dead, rather than return to the living.

Adapted from the book On Unwanted Things and People by Arnošt Goldflam, whose features are reflected in the grandfather character, the film draws on traditions of children's literature and global folklore. Yet it reshapes the inherited motifs of fear and warning into affirmations of trust in life, celebrating creativity and imagination. Even life's hardest trials can become opportunities for rediscovery through art.

The film extols fantasy, highlights a healing bond with animals, and underscores the role of cinema in preserving the memory of the departed while keeping us rooted in the world of the living. While crafted for children, Tales from the Magic Garden also serves as a poignant reminder to adults of one of cinema's oldest purposes: to tell enchanting, colourful stories that carry us to gentler worlds, far less harsh than our own.

Together

Written and directed by: Michael Shanks

Countries of production: Australia, United States

In Together, Michael Shanks explores contemporary spiritual ideas surrounding the notion of the soulmate, a concept often attributed to the ancient Greek philosopher Plato, which suggests that humans were originally created in a stronger form with four arms and four legs, only to be torn apart and condemned to search for their missing half in order to feel whole again.

Whether Plato intended this literally or metaphorically is uncertain, but what interests Shanks is not the romantic allure of the myth, but its darker implications. What if uniting with one's other half meant the loss of individuality, rather than blissful union? The film builds on this unsettling question through multiple narrative layers.

It begins with Millie (Alison Brie) and Tim (Dave Franco) relocating from the city to a remote area. From the outset, their relationship feels fragile. Millie is a thriving teacher who radiates professional confidence, while Tim is a would-be musician lacking inspiration and drifting aimlessly, unable to match her drive. Subtle reproaches linger between them, and the lack of intimacy underscores their emotional distance.

Once settled in their new home, the story veers into classic horror territory as they begin to experience strange symptoms that make it impossible for them to be apart. They are drawn into reckless physical intimacy, which Tim describes as an "overwhelming thirst." This escalates when desire mutates into something cannibalistic.

With echoes of The Substance, a film by Coralie Fargeat, Together aligns with two other notable horror films of the season in its exploration of the destructive power of magic: these are Bring Her Back and Weapons. While the former revolves around sorcery as a means of resurrection, and the second employs it as a ward against mortality, Shanks' film highlights the perilous material dimension of love, where the weaker consumes the stronger, the strong finds no refuge except in the fragile, and death offers no release.

The result is a distinctive work that—even with its seemingly happy ending—leaves audiences questioning whether happiness is what has truly been achieved.

From the archives:

Elles

Directed by: Ahmed Lallem

Country of production: Algeria, 1966

Four years after Algeria gained independence, Algerians were debating in the streets, in schools, and in universities over the kind of society they wanted to build, not least the role of women—their duties, rights to education and work, even the ability to walk freely in public without being subjected to disapproving male gazes.

This short documentary by the late Algerian filmmaker Ahmed Lallem engages directly with these questions. Crucially, it does so through women's voices, rather than through intermediaries. The film centres on a group of secondary school girls involved in spirited daily debates on these issues. They are not identified, and Lallem resists formal documentary conventions. Instead, he portrays young women not asking for the right to speak out, but simply doing so—and with passion.

Most of the dialogue is in French (only a few speak in Arabic), while Algerian songs and music play in the background. The camera complements the heated conversations with images of veiled women on the streets, cautiously conversing with men. The veil, perceived as a withdrawal from public space, emerges as one of the central themes. "Algerian society is made by men, for men," says one student.

The film does not restrict itself to women's perspectives. Male voices, likely of academics, offer insight into the wider social discourse. Some remarks strike an unintentionally ironic note, with echoes of Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own. One claims that Algerian women were "fortunate on all levels," an observation conspicuously silent on freedoms and rights.

In 1995, three decades after Elles, Lallem met several of the young women who had featured in the film—by then older and living through the turmoil of the Black Decade—to ask what became of their dreams. The inquiry produced a significant follow-up documentary: Algériennes, Trente Ans Après (Algerian Women, Thirty Years Later).