‘Hijra’ Review: Shahad Ameen Crafts a Moving Story of Self-Empowerment and Discovery [A-] Venice
In her second outing as a feature-length filmmaker, Saudi Arabian director Shahad Ameen goes bolder and deeper with Hijra, a quietly devastating film that is as honest as it is poetic, employing symbolism to address urgent social, religious and cultural dilemmas in present-day Saudi Arabia.
Filmed intimately as the camera follows its memorable characters as they grapple with troubled pasts, turbulent presents and uncertain futures, Ameen creates a disarming film that is among Saudi Arabia’s boldest films to date. Not since Haifaa Al-Mansour’s Wadjda has the Kingdom delved that deep, with such refined, sensitive storytelling, into women’s issues. But unlike Wadjda, Hijra comes at a much different time for the Kingdom. A few years ago, with cinemas finally re-opening and major social restrictions lifting, the Kingdom is currently undergoing important dialogues on how to move forward while still retaining identity elements from its rich past. How can the country not abandon its traditions and values on which generations were built and yet embrace progress, modernity and higher forms of individual and collective freedom?
When it comes to women’s rights in particular, the question becomes even more complex. Long treated as an afterthought and a source of potential disruption to such values rather than simply recognized as equals to men, their integration in a society that once looked down upon them, with an eye of doubt and skepticism, becomes all the more arduous – a much taller order due to past wounds that simply won’t go away with a strike of a pen or a few decrees finally considering their long-forgotten rights as grantable.
Smartly, Ameen picks 2001 as a setting for her film – a time when such rights were deemed unthinkable. The story takes place in Al Taif, as we follow three generations of women grappling with their forbidden choices in a world that monitors their every move, deeming them guilty until their innocence – or rather obedience – is proven. In Saudi Arabia, pilgrimage is a religious ritual that Muslims carry out as a form of redemption and getting closer to God. When you’re a woman in a man’s world though, your sins are harder to forgive – for it is men who need to pardon you and not just God through which you walk the pilgrimage path, in hopes of forgiveness and soul cleansing.
As the film opens, we follow Janna, a 12-year-old Saudi girl who sets off from Al Taif to Mecca (where the pilgrimage rituals are carried out) along with her strict grandmother, Sitti, and her older defiant sister, Sarah. From the get go, Sarah appears to be rebellious, listening to music on her headphones in a van full of women with not one ounce of makeup nor any connections to worldly pleasures. Things get much more complicated when the trio arrive at a transit point: Sarah suddenly vanishes and Janna realizes she had actually fled in hopes of leaving the country altogether. A road trip soon ensues, as Sitti embarks on a desperate search for the girl before it’s too late.
Ameen’s screenplay poses simple yet profound questions: in a world in which you do not belong, is it worth risking your life to leave, or stay and slowly die from the inside? For Sarah, to die trying is certainly worth more than to stay and wither – and for Sitti, who represents the older generation, staying and not fighting back is seen as loyalty and obedience, notions that are expected from women who need to prove their purity and innocence at every turn. This question becomes even more potent for Jannah, who is the film’s real protagonist, as she finds herself – much like today’s generation of young Saudi Arabian women, at crossroads: their ancestors having succumbed the most unimaginable restrictions while never attempting to flee and their older siblings who chose to leave and seek better lives elsewhere. Between both extremes – leaving and staying – Jannah is caught trying to make sense of it all, wondering how to shape her own path, values and choices.
As Sitti, the tough grandmother whose adherence to tradition is built on conviction but also fear, Khairiah Nathmy gives an incredible performance that truly serves as the film’s emotional core. She represents the wounds of the past that still haunt today’s generations. ‘Just as camels’, one key line in the film claims, ‘women never forget’. Nathmy’s eyes speak volumes, as we are allowed a window into her soul, seeing her rigid, over-protective style as her way to salvage her grand daughters’ reputation in a world in which forgiveness and second chances are much harder to come by if you’re a woman. Newcomer Lamar Faden is excellent as Jannah, bringing just the right dose of innocence and determination as she embarks on a journey of self-discovery and empowerment. The film’s most moving scenes are when we experience, along with Jannah, what it’s like to stand up for yourself in a world that doesn’t see you as worthy nor capable, and the haunting final sequence reminds us that no matter how tough the road ahead can be, and no matter how lonely the fight for our right to exist could be, it is a journey worth living regardless of the destination. After all, just like camels who wander the desert, battling the scarcity of resources, mistreatment and brutal conditions, women, too, can’t – and won’t – forget.
Grade: A-
This review is from the 2025 Venice Film Festival.
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