Near the end of the film, Farah's father tells Farah that he'll be transferring to Tunis to be closer to his daughter, but that in order to do so, he has joined The Party. Is the Party what Farah (and the band--and youth in general) has been rebelling against? If so, I felt that her mere acceptance--and love--for her father and his difficult decision exemplifies one of the instances of this restoration of complexity. (But am I correct about the Party? What do you think about Farah's reaction?)

What did you all think about the moment where Farah's mother approaches Borhėne in 'men's only bar' looking for her daughter, and the 'efforts' Borhėne makes (or says he'll make) on her behalf--a Facebook call-to-action? It felt so... insignificant to the point where his concerns felt insincere. And ultimately, it's the adults (the parents, and the mother's previous lover) who bring Farah back-- what do you think about this reversal of agency that seems to contradict this statement in the interview?

Do you think this energy was ultimately crushed? I found it interesting that at the very end of the film, Farah is still 'out of it', and it is the mother--the adult--who tries to rekindle this energy by starting to sing, and encouraging her daughter to continue on, to keep singing. I thought the mother's narrative arc from 'safeguarding' to 'rekindling' this energy was so effectively done, but I couldn't help but still feel that Farah's energy was ultimately crushed (though hopeful that it'll be brought back).

What do you guys think about the fact that the soldiers are mandatorily conscripted, and that their refusal to follow orders or an attempt to quit their service would lead them to death or prison? Do you think that may be related to the power/oppressiveness the army as a regime had?

What do you guys think about the power or the role of journalism is during times of political unrest?

It seems like in The Clash, Adam and Zein are powerless, and their status as journalists work against them, both in relation to the police and the protesters. Maybe it has to do with the fact that they are foreign (US) press? Because based on the comparison between the coverage of Bouazizi's and Trimech's suicides give more power to "old media" than the new, social media.

I do agree with the reading, as it further discuss how this too simple of a comparison becomes too mechanistic in terms of giving the types of media coverage--as opposed to the actions taken by protestors--too much credit for the success or failure in gaining the deserved attention to their messages. But to end with "we will never know" also doesn't suffice.

Are journalists in position of power? Is there further hierarchy among journalists (local/foreign or Western/Middle Eastern)?

@averyc0932 Does this really show the importance of social media though? I feel like both in this case, and the failed strike (organized through Facebook in 2008) during the first uprising point to the sentiment that social media is unsuccessful in making a lasting change.

When we first find out there's a phone inside the truck, Zein suggests calling the US Embassy will help--and one of the men says "We don't want to be saved by Americans. It's official?" which prompts another to ask, "Is it official? America endorses MB?" This sentiment against outside intervention makes sense, as the lack of national agency remains the same while the resulting outcome may not necessarily in the interest of the natives, as we've seen in other cases (Yemen, Saudi Arabia, Libya, Syria) all had different results. I thought it was interesting to see that following this immediate sentiment against outside intervention affects the perception of others who, uninformed, assume that the Americans will be of no use /because/ they endorse MB (or if the speaker was MB, it would've been assumed they endorsed the army). It's not until later in the film where people show interest in actually learning about the US outside the context of the conflict in Egypt.

I know this is separate from the second uprising depicted in The Clash, but this reminded me of two scenes from the movie where:

1. Zein (or Adam?) rewatching the smartwatch-recorded footage of a brief moment of peace when everyone was singing. At this moment when he's rewatching the footage, the atmosphere had already changed, and the people who were once bonding over the memories of the previous uprising and singing have grown hostile, self-segregated, and isolated again.
2. Shot of the broken smartwatch on the floor in the midst of the chaos near the end of the film. I felt like these two scenes captured the elusiveness of social cohesion and the limitation of technology (whether it be iWatch or Facebook) in solving an inherently physical, political, and institutional conflict.

do these cinematic repertoires be perpetuate or criticize stereotypes?

Is there a context we are missing (for those unfamiliar with Suleiman's previous films) to have missed why The Time That Remains would have shocked us. Did he used to not focus on political issues, or focus more on satire?

I really appreciate the author's use of the term "tableaux" as some of the long, singular scenes felt more like a self-contained, dramatic stage plays. (e.g. hospital, living room karaoke, school in grief, hitchhiking role-play gone wrong.)

I also found it interesting that, even without the context of the war, militiant/civilians, there were other 'Othering" happening in terms of geography, particularly in scenes with the loud neighbor from the South who becomes antagonized due to her behaviors.

Quick question, did the mother get killed at the end due to war? Was she just a ghost after a certain point in the film? The camera movement, her disappearance, and Tarek's sobs at the end really got me convinced that the mother had been taken away by the war. Thoughts?

I definitely did feel a bit divided, especially during the film's characterization of Ahmad's mother and her dynamic with Ahmad. While her position as an adult definitely added to the film's overall portrayal of what it's like to be a child in this society--and yet the longer take that stays on the endless labor the mother must do, possibly continuing to the stormy scene near the end where the door bursts open to show the mother still taking care of house work, made me unable to take an extreme side for or against the way the society portrayed on screen.

As for the very final scene, I thought it was very sharp juxtaposition of conflicting character traits: the teacher's 'discipline'-obsessed 'adultness' vs. the teacher's inability to detect Ahmad's switcharoo; Ahmad's inherent 'goodness' we've seen throughout the film (all his efforts to do 'what's right' so that his friend is not expelled) vs. what he ultimately must do (dishonesty) in order to follow through with his goodness.

But coming back to this idea of dividing the audience, I'm not sure if I understand what the author means, as I can't seem to make a connection between the equality between director/spectator and the goal of dividing the spectator. Does the author mean division among the spectators (dissenting reactions)?

Is this what the author / Kiarostami meant by a film that 'takes the audience hostage'? Even so, isn't there a sense of equality among the filmmaker, the characters, and the audience (the 'awareness' comes from that eventual 'equalization' of understanding), or is this temporal difference in the moment of 'awareness' (inequality of information) what distinguishes between the author's sense of "cinema of equality" and "cinema of control"?

I thought I understood what Ranciere meant by "cinema of equality" as a medium that allows for the rearrangement of "seeable, sayable, and doable ... sensory experiences", allowing for the opportunities to equalize the "traces of the visible and audible world". However, perhaps I have misunderstood, because I don't see how this "cinema of equality" is in opposition to the "cinema of control" because, aren't all films, however experimental, directed--and therefore controlled in terms of what is shown/heard/understood from the screen? Maybe further reading will help me understand this concept of equality-- but does anyone else have a better insight?

I also would disagree with this criticism based on what we see in "Where is the Friend's Home?" -- while the long takes and sequences of nature and village architecture capture the locations beautifully, Kiarostami's lens never made me feel like an outsider (even though I really am) looking in with nothing but shallow exoticisms. In fact, Kiarostami's wide shots and long takes grounded these locales in reality (of not only the characters but also in the lives of real people the audience can imagine or stand in for), and by treating these settings not as a stage element for a fictional story but as a physical place in time and space, Kiarostami naturally directs us to become curious about the history to untangle.

I still felt that, though there were no concluding narration from Madbouli, the story seemed to have a pretty solid resolution with Madbouli succeeding in deescalating the situation. For other storylines as well, I felt like each subplots had a satisfying resolution: the porters formed a union, the forbidden lovers finally did meet and then parted, Hanouma's friend is sent to the hospital, and Hanouma is saved from being a hostage.

Because of this (lack of feeling like there is a lack of a clear resolution to every storyline) the reappearance of the 'damsel in distress' didn't accentuate the lack of resolution for me. Instead, the only connection I formed made me feel a little uncomfortable, as I felt that the juxtaposition was trying to equate Qinawi's problematic obsession/desire with that of the 'forbidden lovers', perhaps to paint the tragic plot in a more romantic or wistful light. Did anyone else feel this way about the reappearance of the 'damsel in distress'?

Along with @chris.sprunt's comments, I also felt that Hanouma kept her emotional distance from Qinawi after his proposal by the fountain, and her 'flirting' with Qinawi as always been for her own protection (especially after her fiancee's advice to appease Qinawi like a child). From the start to the end, I agree with Chris that there really wasn't any legitimate feelings beyond that of sympathy and curiosity.

As for this comment from the author, I can't seem to see Hanouma's interaction with Qinawi as 'flirty' but rather, a horrific struggle to flee from a knife-wielding murderer. What do you all think?

Reading this description of the dichotomous Cairo immediately brought to mind the scene in which Hanouma and Qinawi have a dialogue by the fountain [28:20 - 28:42]. When Qinawi stands up, we see the statue of Ramses II in the background for a second--and the insert shot of Hanouma's gaze / reaction at [28:23] further brings our attention to the Qinawi-Statue two-shot. I felt that, in parallel to the reading, this scene establishes Qinawi as the "old" Cairo, unchanging in its pursuit of unrequited love, "unable to struggle against progress", and rather delusional in his fantasies and obsessions; on the other hand, Hanouma remains sitting with the clean and modern fountain in the backdrop, making it quite easy to then associate her to the "new" Cairo, "ever changing" and "infinitely more attractive".

Moreover, the content of their dialogue, especially when Hanouma breaks out of their daydreamy talk to scold Qinawi ("Use your head. Look around. I work hard for a living, selling drinks [...] Get a grip on reality. I've had enough.") further embodies the dichotomy described by the author regarding the "old" and the "new" and their incongruous coexistence.

While this probably isn't what this author refers to, this comment immediately reminded of the scene [53:23] where Hallawatim is in the warehouse, looking for Hanouma's bucket. Even though this scene does a good job building up the heightened suspense with dramatic lighting, restrictive framing, and sound design (including the dog's growl), when Hallawatim bumps into a metal post (perhaps as a false resolution to the suspense, or perhaps as a beat before the climactic murder), this added beat felt like a comic relief, and the entire suspenseful scene lost a bit of its thrill right before its climax. It definitely might be a stretch to say that this serves as one of the examples of Chahine's struggle to bend genre conventions, but I wanted to mention it before I read further about the author's actual arguments