As a procedural drama centrally interested in the radicalization of a young Muslim boy in Belgium, Adil & Bilall’s “Rebel” pulsates with terrible inevitability. Falling behind at school, with an adored older brother already having made the trip to Syria and a trafficker whispering in his ear, it’s less a question of if Nassim (Amir El Arbi, another tremendous kid actor for Cannes ’22 to tick off) is going to find himself on the Jihadist frontline, but when. What emerges on the domestic front is the pained portrait of a family fractured in the throes of extremism; similarly affecting, and often formally thrilling, is Adil & Bilall’s vision of a war-ravaged Syria slowly asphyxiated by the creeping rise of ISIS. What they have little time to afford is relief: “Rebel,” for better or worse, is profoundly cruel to its ensemble of characters, none truly escaping the ravenous, torturous jaws of conflict. For that your mileage will vary — but damn, if it isn’t memorable.
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Kamal (Aboubakr Bensaihi) has a spotty relationship with the law in his native Brussels, but aside from a little coke slinging here and there, he’s hardly a bad dude. He’s an accomplished DJ and rapper, for one, with a rapturous following on social media; his sole raison d’être is to ensure his brother gets a better go of life than he did. When chemical weapons are dropped on the Syrian people, and President Obama reacts on live TV with little more than taciturn finger-wagging, Kamal feels spurred to act. He rushes to the conflict zone on a righteous, one-man humanitarian mission, dragging bloodied kids from under the rubble, and rescuing forlorn locals from the bombs. But then, with the country in disarray, in rolls the Islamic State. Dissenters are executed on the spot.
His survival instinct kicks in. He conceals himself within the ranks of the crusade, pointedly not bearing arms but instead wielding a camera. This is where Adil & Bilall’s action-heavy direction, as one might expect from the directors of “Bad Boys For Life,” really shines: the rubbled front is explosive and capricious, bodies and limbs flying sans rhyme or reason, men around Kamal dropping like sorry flies. Maybe subconsciously taken by the holy undertaking of his would-be captors, he climbs the hierarchy, granted a lavish room in a reclaimed mansion, and, against his own wishes, a wife (Noor, played by Tara Abboud). Still, he declines to pick up a gun — until a commander shoves a pistol in his hand and makes him execute a Syrian state soldier on camera, which is where our chronologically averse story begins.
This is an unflinching, multi-headed drama, expansive in scope and intent, albeit with mixed results. While the director duo knows how to strike with a hot iron vis-a-vis the ruinous images they conduct, gripping us by the throat like a murderous captor, they eventually falter under the weight of tremendous threat. The cruelty imparted on the characters of “Rebel” is as relentless as anything you’ll ever find in a war flick: this is a picture wedded to cynicism, and while you can appreciate why the directors might share this perspective — it feels as though this comes from a place profoundly personal — it becomes an ordeal to get through. Maybe that’s the point — war is hell, and this one, the bloodshed ongoing today, has been ignored by the West for years — but still, a little light can really make the shade distinct.
Whatever the case, Adil & Bilall showcase some welcome formal pizzazz and do go to some lengths to subvert the musty conventionality we might expect of a sanguineous drama like this. For one, Kamal raps in lengthy MTV-esque sequences, fantastically cutting through the ruthless pessimism. There are magical flourishes, too: there’s the occasional glimpse of a Djinn-like figure lurking in the crevices of the frame, paired with Kamal’s later hallucinations as he loses blood, sweat, and presumably his mind. Sure, it gives everything a little extra spice, but it’s too sparing to be impactful — or make any real sense. The domestic drama cut against the war narrative, where the grasp of radicalism gradually tightens around Nassim, makes for truly compelling stuff; it’s a shame, then, that what felt organic is ruined by a final moment of artificial gut-punchery. [B-]
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