Elia Suleiman’s accurately composed moments, farcical and tragic, leave the viewer aching. His way of giving details a breath and voice, making them actual narrators, is moving and a powerful transmittance of the occupation’s audacity. In one of the most affecting moments of the film, Suleiman’s character returns to present-day Nazareth and the West Bank to find a more perplexing landscape. His silent communion with his mother is a culminating point. He seems to be saying: the portrait of this quietness tells our story but warns not to misunderstand—this is a determined presence, not an absence. More here.