Al Majalla's Film Watch

Our regular round-up of the silver screen's latest releases from the Arab world and beyond

Al Majalla's Film Watch

Whether from the Gulf, North Africa, the wider Middle East or beyond, there are no shortage of good films emerging onto our screens in 2026. In Al Majalla's monthly movie review, we highlight some of those that caught our eye.


Rabsha

Screenplay and direction by: Mohammed Makki

Country of production: Saudi Arabia

Rabsha is a single‑location film built around a small cast and a tightly focused narrative. Mohammed Makki’s first feature‑length narrative, it relies less on shifting settings or dramatic incident than on the psychological intensification of human relationships.

The film revisits the theme of marriage explored in Makki’s earlier short, The Sensible Wife (2012), in which the wife responds to the intrusion of another woman with startlingly unconventional measures, culminating in a blood‑soaked ending reminiscent of Michael Haneke’s Amour.

Makki began his artistic career in television drama with Taki, which first appeared on YouTube more than 14 years ago. Its high viewership established him as a leading figure in Saudi digital drama, confirmed by its later migration to Netflix. He went on to direct The Last Post (2018) for the Saudi Broadcasting Authority and was assistant director on Rise of the Witches, a Saudi‑British adaptation of Osamah Al Muslim’s celebrated novels.

Independent production is the most defining thread of his career and Rabsha continues that path. Shot in less than two weeks, the film blends suspense, drama, and comedy, building its central idea through small, accumulating moments drawn from everyday life. At its core is a young couple, Faisal (Aziz Al Gharbawi) and Noha (Najla Abdullah), celebrating their wedding anniversary.

Rabsha by Mohammed Makki

The evening begins in a quiet domestic register, indistinguishable from any familiar family occasion, but the tone shifts with the sudden and suspicious arrival of Faisal’s friend Rayan (Saleh bin Zabin), who seeks help with Aisha (Rahaf Ibrahim), who has overdosed. Her presence pushes the story into more turbulent territory.

Relationships tighten, surprises unfold, and hidden aspects of the characters’ lives begin to surface. Dialogue is used sparingly, so body language is central. Aisha, in particular, is portrayed through an intensely physical style that suits both her character and her circumstances, her movements driven by fleeting and unstable emotional impulses.

The crisis deepens when a past relationship between Aisha and Faisal comes to light. This becomes the pivot of a four‑way conflict, subjecting each character to a different psychological test. In doing so, the film shows how an unforeseen event can plunge ordinary life into confusion—or into rabsha, as such disorder is known in Gulf dialect.

Backrooms

Screenplay: Will Soudick and Kane Parsons

Directed by: Kane Parsons

Countries of production: United States and Canada

Backrooms aims to ensnare the viewer from the start. At the centre of the story is Clark (Chiwetel Ejiofor), a failed architect who has withdrawn from professional life and now spends his days in the furniture shop he owns. His routine is disrupted when he discovers a crack in one of the walls.

The fissure widens into a mysterious passage leading to a parallel world of endlessly multiplying rooms and corridors, each more inscrutable than the last. The journey has a distinctly Sisyphean quality, returning Clark to his starting point whenever he opens a new door or moves into another room. Renate Reinsve appears as Mary, a psychotherapist gradually drawn into the unfolding labyrinth.

Backrooms by Kane Parsons

The film’s greatest challenge lies in transforming one of the digital world’s most famous myths—later expanded into video games and interactive experiences—into a feature‑length narrative with defined characters and sustained dramatic arcs. The young American YouTuber Kane Parsons manages this transition with skill, drawing on the series of videos he began releasing four years earlier. Those videos gave the project popular momentum, despite this being his first cinematic venture. At 21, he is the youngest filmmaker to join the independent studio A24.

The game’s premise traps the player inside a deeply unsettling world filled with terrifying backrooms and, eventually, confrontations with monsters or mysterious entities. The search for an exit becomes a struggle for survival, undertaken alone or in groups exploring the unknown. The film distils this structure into the experience of two characters—a man and a woman—facing a maze that resembles a Kafkaesque nightmare. Their hope of escape depends less on confronting danger than on deciphering the absurd logic governing this world, or finding some explanation for the revolt of the walls and the hostility of the space toward its inhabitants.

Backrooms moves beyond conventional horror to construct an entire ecology of dread

The walls themselves become both threat and adversary. At times they contract around anyone passing between them; at others they open onto a bottomless abyss. As the journey intensifies, the search for meaning within this void grows urgent, especially once the narrative enters a realm of pure absurdity and the characters begin a gradual descent into madness.

Backrooms ultimately moves beyond conventional horror to construct an entire ecology of dread, governed by obscure laws that cannot be anticipated or resisted. This may be read as an allusion to modern systems that surround individuals with proliferating rules, even though the story is set in the 1990s. The labyrinth also mirrors the Freudian unconscious, with its accumulation of memories, traumas and repressed desires—elements we struggle endlessly to erase from collective memory.

Kara

Screenplay: Alfred Prakash and Gopal Ram, with the director

Directed by: Vignesh Raja

Country of production: India

Director Vignesh Raja understands the emotional weight Indian actor Dhanush carries on screen. Across numerous films, Dhanush has cultivated a persona that elevates him to an almost sacred figure, particularly in Eastern cultures.

In Kara, a long film at 160 minutes, family is Raja's route into the character's mind, and the relationship between father and son occupies much of the narrative, especially in the first half, and this feels like well-trodden ground, with kinship, duty, and the moral claims of family having long supplied much of the dramatic force in Dhanush's performances.

The screenplay follows a conventional chase narrative centred on Karasamy (Dhanush), a repentant professional thief who has abandoned crime for a quiet rural life with his family. He seeks honest work and hopes to shield his loved ones from the stain of his past, but when a bank seizes his ancestral land, he faces a moral test and is compelled to revive his former skills to save both his family and his village.

Kara by Vignesh Raja

He resolves to rob the bank and recover the confiscated title deeds, like a contemporary Robin Hood. The conflict binds his desire for redemption to the defence of family ties and resistance to a social and economic order that exploits the poor. Raja weaves movement and tension into a visually dynamic whole that energises the film, particularly in confined spaces.

The bank raid shows off his ability to generate suspense from the dramatic possibilities of the location itself. When a police officer enters unexpectedly, the camera becomes an active participant, tracking strained faces and uneasy movements, as Karasamy and his uncle improvise solutions to escape the predicament. The sequence may rank among the most tightly constructed scenes of suspense in recent Indian cinema.

Yet the film loses some of its lustre through its repetition of themes familiar from Dhanush's earlier work, such as Asuran, making it all increasingly predictable. The female characters are secondary at best. While the screenplay grants father‑son relationships considerable depth, it leaves the women at the margins. Seeli (Mamitha Baiju), Karasamy's wife, has a quiet and persuasive presence but remains confined to a fixed dramatic function, with no independent trajectory or transformation of her own. Her role ultimately sustains the hero's journey and lends emotional legitimacy to his choices.

Living Twice, Dying Thrice

Screenplay and direction by: Karim Lakzadeh

Country of production: Iran

Iranian director Karim Lakzadeh opens Living Twice, Dying Thrice with a stark, austere image that places us at the centre of the catastrophe that shape all that follows: a methane mine collapsing on its workers in a rural Iranian village.

Three of them—Ibrahim, Davoud and Younes (Mehdi Rashidi, Ebrahim Nayej and Hojjat Hosseini)—manage with immense difficulty to force their way through a narrow opening in the mountainside. As they emerge into the sunlight, Ibrahim recalls surviving an even more devastating collapse in the past. "We were given a week off and a token bonus," he says. "The families of those who died received substantial compensation that transformed their lives."

Living Twice, Dying Thrice by Karim Lakzadeh

An idea takes hold, and they decide to conceal their survival, giving their families a chance to escape poverty. The drama quickly transforms into surrealism, as if fusing a buddy comedy with the spirit of absurdist theatre. The film reflects on the possibility of a life that may exist elsewhere, to borrow Milan Kundera's phrase. Its characters must choose between "living twice" and "dying three times."

Lakzadeh uses this symbolic conceit as a gateway to freer and more eccentric realms. We encounter fighting street cats, a hermit unable to light a fire, and a woman who harvests souls with a sickle and threads them onto a rope. Reality gradually dissolves into a dreamlike realm, suggesting that everything the men experience may be hallucinations born in the aftermath of the accident. Painterly sequences reinforce this impression, recalling the visual enchantment of Akira Kurosawa, particularly in Dreams.

Their seemingly simple plan soon collides with a bureaucracy that refuses to release compensation without "proof that the bodies exist". Death shows the men a side of life that they had never seen, as they move from the darkness of the mine to the clamorous nightlife of Tehran's affluent districts. At times, the boundary between life and death becomes so blurred that they can no longer tell which they inhabit.

"I think we have already died," one insists. Elsewhere, another cites a television broadcast listing his name among the living as proof of his existence: "That means I exist." In another scene, the wife of one of the men responds with incredulous reproach: "You only died once."

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