Tuesday, October 7, 2025

Palestinian film-makers on their favorite Palestinian movies: ‘I felt like I was watching my own story’

Mo Amer, Cherien Dabis, Basel Adra and others’ picks show Palestine’s rich, yet overlooked tradition of cinema

Palestinian film-makers on their favorite Palestinian movies: ‘I felt like I was watching my own story’

Global support for Palestinian rights is on the rise, including in Hollywood, where thousands of film workers recently signed on to a pledge to boycott Israeli film groups deemed complicit in the war in Gaza, and high-profile stars are signing on to support films that center the Palestinian experience.

But Palestinians films still struggle to secure distribution and get visibility – even after a huge win at the Oscars last year. To spotlight Palestine’s rich tradition of film-making, we asked prominent Palestinian film-makers and entertainers to share their favorite Palestinian movies.

‘By the end, I was moved to tears’: Mo Amer on All That’s Left Of You

Cherien Dabis’s film All That’s Left of You, which premiered this year at Sundance, is a rare film, unflinching and unforgettable. By telling the story of a single Palestinian family, from its origins in pre-Nakba Jaffa through generations of displacement, it does not just tell a story – it honors a legacy.

The cinematography is rich and transportive. Every shot feels intentional, every frame a memory – the orange groves of Jaffa, the streets of Nablus, the alienation of exile. The performances are unforgettable, showcasing Dabis’s extraordinary range alongside three generations of Bakris – the family of actors most synonymous with Palestinian cinema. They are layered, restrained and heartbreakingly real.

What’s most impressive is how seamlessly the film moves between time periods without ever losing its emotional throughline. Each decade of the Palestinian story is brought to life with stunning precision, both visually and emotionally. The direction is masterful in that way, guiding you through years with clarity and care.

By the end, I was moved to tears. All That’s Left of You isn’t just about the past, it’s about the invisible ways it shapes who we are. It’s a film that lingers – not because of spectacle, but because of truth.

‘The most wildly original Palestinian film ever made’: Cherien Dabis on Divine Intervention

A sunglasses-clad Palestinian woman defiantly struts through a checkpoint. Israeli soldiers look on, guns raised, baffled. Her beauty disarms them and brings the watchtower crashing down. It’s an iconic moment from Elia Suleiman’s Divine Intervention that has stayed with me ever since I first saw the film. I was a second-year graduate film student at Columbia University when it opened in the US in 2003. I remember being stunned by its power, its defiance, and its sheer audacity.

At a time when most Palestinian cinema leaned toward the solemn or tragic, Suleiman carved a new path. Through dark humor, deadpan performance, and near-silent observation, he captured the surreal absurdity of life under occupation. Playing the film’s mute protagonist himself, he placed his own gaze at the heart of the narrative. That choice felt radical. His presence was calm and understated, which only magnified the tension all around him.

Divine Intervention is both deeply personal and politically charged. Its visual language is universal, yet rooted in the fractured reality of Palestinian identity. Suleiman transforms disconnection, exile and resistance into something approaching poetry. The result is poignant, surreal, sometimes hilarious and always painfully honest.

There was nothing remotely like it in Palestinian cinema at the time. There still isn’t. It remains, for me, the most wildly original and imaginative Palestinian film ever made.

‘Palestine has gained a talent’: Hany Abu Assad on To a Land Unknown

For me, a great movie needs to do two things. It needs to deliver an experience that’s unfamiliar, emotional and smart. It needs to give me something I’ve been missing – a point of view that contradicts my belief system, a way to think about issues beyond my own world, a window to a different time and place. In short, I need to feel enriched, emotionally and intellectually.

Second, it needs to impress me with its talent. A talent that is not busy trying to impress me but is used to open my eyes to something more important.

The film To A Land Unknown, which was released last year, is precisely this kind of film. Made by Mahdi Fleifel, it is a story about two Palestinian friends searching for better lives as refugees in Greece.

To A Land Unknown made me feel what it’s like to be a vulnerable refugee, in a strange land, where everything works against your attempts to escape the ghetto. It showed me that in some cases, even when circumstances beyond your control conspire against you, you yourself can still become your own worst enemy. And its dance between content and visual form floored me in its artistry.

In To A Land Unknown, Palestine has gained a talent that will serve its cause without spilling a single drop of blood.

‘It shows Israel views even cows as a threat’: Basel Adra on The Wanted 18

One of my favorite Palestinian films is The Wanted 18. It tells the story of Palestinians in Beit Sahour, a village near Bethlehem in the West Bank, during the first intifada of the late 1980s. It documents their attempt to build a local dairy farm, a small operation centered around a herd of 18 cows that was deemed a “threat” by the Israeli occupation, which sought to confiscate the cattle.

The animated film is powerful and creative, and highlights an often overlooked aspect of the occupation: it’s not just about stealing land, but also about undermining the Palestinian economy and creating economic dependency on Israel. When people have independent sources of income and can provide for their families, they are more likely to engage politically and resist oppression. Israel knows this, which is why it works so hard to prevent self-sufficiency among Palestinians.

By keeping the people in the West Bank – where I live, and where my village experiences regular incursions and demolitions – dependent on military-issued work permits, the army can effectively silence them, keeping many Palestinians focused on daily survival rather than systemic change. They steal land and give it to settlers, while preventing Palestinians like me to build factories, schools, plastic houses for agriculture and even tents.

As The Wanted 18 showed, Israel views even Palestinian cows a threat.

‘I watched it with my gut, not my brain’:
Tamer Nafar on Ajami

Out of countless worthy Palestinian films, one of my absolute favorites is Ajami, from 2009, which highlights the underrepresented voices of Palestinian citizens of Israel.

The first time I watched it, I felt I was watching my own story. Not only as a Palestinian, but as a native son of Lod – one of the Middle East cities most ravaged by drugs and violence. The film takes place in nearby Jaffa – but the accent is the same as mine. The film even captured the Hebraicized words we use, and our slang.

It’s a film I watched with my gut, not my analytical brain.

Palestinians live at the mercy of a three-headed monster: one head slaughters in Gaza, one settles in the West Bank, and one inflames clan-based conflicts within our communities inside the state of Israel.

The murder rate within Arab society in Israel has soared since the film’s release. Young people are fleeing the country because they feel unprotected, with no one to turn to – not even the police, who rob us of our taxes and give nothing in return. And here we are, still stuck between hammer and anvil, trying with courage and vanishing resources to create art.

“For me, the film is Palestinian,” said director Scandar Copti on the red carpet when the film was nominated for an Oscar. That alone opened the gates of fascism against him. The culture minister called to strip him of funding.

State funding for films like these – also taken from our taxes – is held over our heads like ransom. Palestinian identity is not just kept from the screen; it is chased from it. All I can do is respect the fragile lives that films like Ajami breathe into existence.

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