My Paper Life: The pained new life of a Syrian refugee family

Premiered at Nyon’s Visions du Réel and showcased at gatherings such as the Millenium International Documentary Film Festival, the Sheffield Doc Fest and the Salina Doc Fest, Vida Dena’s My Paper Life is the non-fiction portrait of a Syrian refugee family living in a very modest house in Brussels.

In particular, it focuses on the two eldest daughters, Hala and Rima, who are going through their late teenage years.

We realise that the whole family lives in a sort of bubble, as they rarely leave their four pink walls. They experience a constant feeling of detachment, missing their home country and failing to feel part of the new one.

"The choice of the two lead subjects is compelling, Noma Omran’s score is filled with the right dose of melancholy and Dena’s camera treats them with great tact; nonetheless, the whole picture fails to tell us something other than what we realise from the very beginning"

Curiously, the family’s tragic vicissitudes emerge through the two teens’ growing collection of drawings.

The sketches are colourful and come alive, but seem to be drawn by someone younger than Hala and Rima, as the style looks perhaps a bit too childish.

From 2018 to 2020, Dena observes her subjects within these four walls – except for a short scene set in the house’s tiny yard – and delivers an intimate tale, but also a very claustrophobic one. The focus on the two sisters is a reasonable choice, as they reflect two opposite ways to see the world and the future.

In detail, Rima represents a more conservative, grounded kind. She aims to lead a simple family life and get a job as a cook or hairdresser.

Meanwhile, Hala is a dreamy, rebellious soul, with more ‘Western-ish' cosmopolitan ambitions. She wishes to attend Oxford University and later become “a doctor, a singer, or a flight attendant.”

While Dena explores both sisters’ lives with adequate depth, the feeling is that, for the most part, the privileged point of view is that of Hala.

The focus will shift to Rima, however, as we approach her wedding and the closure of the narrative arc. The two sisters’ ideas about marriage are also reflecting their contrasting visions of life.

The perspective of an upcoming, arranged marriage seems to make Rima happy, whilst Hala reveals that she enjoys living with her parents – at least for the time being – because she is not willing to move in with a man and ask him whether she is allowed to go out.

Naseem, the two girls’ father, adds some candour to the picture but remains a more subtle, occasional presence. Sadly, all the other subjects come and go, without leaving a mark.

What Dena fails to deliver in this picture – and doesn’t help us to empathise fully with the subjects – is the choice to deliberately cut these people’s lives out of their ‘bubble.’

One might wonder why, as we discover that, for example, both girls speak fluent French and go to school. Moreover, we can safely assume the family leaves their place from time to time, even just to buy groceries or do some chores.

This is a bold approach, which certainly enhances the perception that the group is secluded from the rest of society, but it is also very frustrating as it makes the documentary too static.

If these ordinary places – a classroom, the counter of a supermarket, a parking lot – don’t make these people’s existences any better and don’t favour their social inclusion process, it would have been interesting to find out why. And this is even more true if the result would have been realising that, outside of those four walls, things don’t change much for them.

Furthermore, the telly playing in the background is a recurring presence, but its broadcasts are never subtitled.

It’s frustrating not to know what this family is watching, especially when it comes to news broadcasts which could help us to contextualise time, space and facts.

After all, the TV set is the only medium – along with the girls’ smartphones – which shows us bits of what’s going on outside of their house.

All in all, My Paper Life appears to miss some important narrative objectives.

The choice of the two lead subjects is compelling, Noma Omran’s score is filled with the right dose of melancholy and Dena’s camera treats them with great tact; nonetheless, the whole picture fails to tell us something other than what we realise from the very beginning – namely, the great pain after fleeing their country and how they struggle to live in a society they don’t belong to.

However, finding out why the integration process doesn’t take place – or add something unique to the debate, at least – requires the analysis of a larger picture, wherein external actors and places must be necessarily involved.

To conclude with some culinary lexicon, Dena picks good ingredients, but the plate isn’t satisfying enough.

Davide Abbatescianni is an Italian Film Critic and Journalist based in Rome

Follow him on Twitter: @dabbatescianni