Complaint No. 713317: Unpacking Yasser Shafiey’s absurdist take on social decay through a broken fridge

Initially trained as a jewellery designer before transitioning to cinema, Yasser Shafiey’s journey into filmmaking seems to have been influenced by an appreciation for form and a meticulous attention to detail — qualities that are clearly reflected in his films.

After graduating from the Faculty of Applied Arts in 2006, he studied at the Academy of Arts and the Jesuit Cinema School in Cairo, where he began writing and directing short films that quietly tested the limits of narrative and absurdity.

Works such as The Dream of a Scene, Intense Practice to Improve Performance, and The Man Who Swallowed the Radio established his sensibility towards repetition and everyday trappings long before Complaint No. 713317, his first feature-length film, distilled these concerns into a single, claustrophobic space.

The film celebrated its world premiere at the Cairo International Film Festival last November and has since started its international tour, beginning with the Bright Future section for promising filmmakers at the International Film Festival Rotterdam.

The idea for Complaint No. 713317 emerged from a rather mundane domestic incident. Once Yasser’s fridge broke, he filed a complaint, thinking it would take a day or two, but he found himself trapped in a series of fruitless phone calls with no resolution in sight.

What began as a personal irritation gradually unfolded into an absurdist portrait of social paralysis, emotional erosion, and a particular kind of despair that, as Yasser insists, "exists very clearly in Arabic, but not really in other languages."

“That story with the fridge actually happened to me,” he explains. “But it was only a trigger. What I really wanted to talk about was something we live with every day, named with a word that has no real translation in English or any other language.”

Al-qahr is that particular Arabic word that recurs throughout Yasser’s reflections on the film.

“Al-qahr is not just frustration,” he says. “It’s not only about being angry or tired. It’s the feeling of not getting your rights, of being slowly broken down, of knowing you’re right but still powerless. It’s frustration, despair, and injustice all together.”

For Yasser, al-qahr is not a metaphor, but a social condition. And in Complaint No. 713317, it takes the shape of Magdy, an ageing Egyptian man whose attempt to fix his fridge spirals into a confrontation with bureaucracy, masculinity, marriage, and the quiet terror of getting old.

Writing the loop

From the outset, Yasser knew the film’s structure had to mirror its emotional state. “The title itself was very important to me,” he says. “Complaint No. 713317 – it’s the same number forwards and backwards. That already tells you something. It’s a loop.”

This loop governs the film’s dramaturgy. “Every time Magdy tries to fix something, something else breaks,” Yasser explains. “He fixes the fridge – something happens with his wife. He tries to fix his marriage – something else collapses. There is no straight line. It’s always circular.”

Rather than building toward resolution, the script accumulates pressure, with Yasser noting, “At the beginning, Magdy still has energy; he believes if he insists enough, if he calls enough times, things will work, but slowly, you see him breaking down.”

As Yasser puts it, tracking this psychological decline was central to the writing process, as he explains, “I really wanted to show the downfall of the character, not in a dramatic, explosive way, but in small moments — losing patience, losing motivation, losing dignity.”

Another key decision was spatial. Yasser wanted to use just one location, the couple’s beautiful but obsolete apartment in Maadi. “Because when you are trapped like this, there is no escape. You don’t breathe,” he says.

By confining the film almost entirely to Magdy and Sama’s apartment, the sense of suffocation intensifies. “This is exactly what he is feeling. There is no break.”

Local, but not only

Although deeply rooted in Egypt, Yasser is clear that the film was never intended solely for Egyptian audiences. “Yes, it’s a very Egyptian couple,” he says. “The dialogue is Egyptian. The references are Egyptian. The humour is Egyptian.”

However, he insists that the themes of the film travel easily. “This frustration of not getting your basic rights – it’s everywhere now. Not only in Egypt. Especially lately, we see it all over the world.”

The choice of a maintenance company as the film’s central antagonist was deliberate. “Wherever you are, you’ve been there,” Yasser says. “Calling customer service. Waiting. Being on hold. Nobody answering. It’s a global pandemic.”

Festival screenings confirmed this instinct. “When we showed the film in Rotterdam, the questions from the audience showed it clearly,” he recalls. “People were talking about bureaucracy in their own countries. Everyone knows this feeling.”

For Yasser, the film operates on two levels simultaneously, which also makes it universal. “There are social themes such as bureaucracy, inflation, class struggle, and the human ones like ageing together, love, finding your purpose after work, and what happens when your role in life disappears.”

An apartment full of codes

The sense of reality in Complaint No. 713317 is grounded not only in performance but also in space. The apartment is a real house, filmed as it is, and designed to reflect what Yasser calls “very basic Egyptian old homes.”

“We wanted it to be as close to reality as possible, even the smallest details,” he says, with one such detail being the formal salon — a large living area reserved exclusively for guests. “In many Egyptian houses, this room is never used,” Yasser adds. “The sofas are covered. You don’t sit there. You live in a small corner of the house.”

“Only when visitors arrive are the covers removed,” he continues. “Then suddenly, this big space becomes alive, but for daily life, it remains closed.”

In sharing this, Yasser stresses that these particularities are cultural codes, explaining, “For someone outside, maybe it doesn’t mean much, but for us, it says a lot about dignity, about appearances, and about how people live.”

Other elements, such as old furniture, the typical kitchen table where meals are eaten, and frequent electricity cuts, were equally important to the film’s atmospheric set. Shot in an authentic Maadi house, the film captures the ordinary routine of Magdy and Sama’s life.

Magdy and Sama belong to what Yasser describes as a middle class “that used to live decently,” adding, “A few decades ago, these people were okay, but now they are struggling,” while emphasising the recent decline of the middle class.

Yasser also points out that high inflation, limited work opportunities, and economic instability have eroded their security, with Yasser explaining, “They are constantly fighting to live in dignity, and there are so many external factors pushing against them.”

For him, this is not an exclusively Egyptian story, as he says, “We see it everywhere: the middle class is disappearing, and people can no longer maintain the life they had, with the broken fridge becoming a symbol of this erosion. It’s not about the fridge; it’s about what it represents — not being able to fix small things anymore.”

Masculinity at the end of its role

Magdy’s refusal to accept financial help from his wife for the fridge is what partially involves them in the painful loop and is one of the film’s most turbulent tensions. “Patriarchy is very present in Arab culture,” Yasser acknowledges. “If you make a film about an old Egyptian couple, the man will have these traits.”

Yet he resists framing patriarchy as a purely regional phenomenon. “However, it’s not only here,” he says. “Men could be like this in Europe too – old men who are very stubborn about providing.”

What makes Magdy’s situation particularly vulnerable is his age. “He is old. He cannot work anymore. He cannot provide like before,” Yasser says. “So his life purpose is disappearing.”

This loss is existential. “At the beginning of his life, he had a role,” Yasser explains. “Now this role is fading. And he doesn’t know what replaces it.”

The contrast with the neighbours sharpens this tension. “The younger couple is important,” Yasser says. “The woman is able to stand up for herself. She divorces. Sama cannot.”

Emphasising the generational differences was important for Yasser. “It shows that something is changing,” he says. “Slowly.”

Trust, inspiration, and social vision

The film brings together some of Egypt’s most respected actors, including Mahmoud Hemida and Sherine in the roles of Magdy and Sama, respectively.

“They are very well-known, and having them in my first feature is a big thing,” Yasser says. “Their commitment stemmed from more than fame – they liked the script.”

The involvement of established production companies, such as Red Star, MIF, Film Square, and Filmology, which stood behind the film, also played a role. “Hemaida and Sherine had worked with these companies before, so they trusted the project,” he notes.

Yet Yasser remains realistic about the film’s commercial prospects, saying, “In Egypt, making a film about an old couple is not automatically a box office success; you cannot rely only on famous faces.”

Equally important to Yasser is the creative lineage that shapes his work, though he hesitates to name individual filmmakers. “I don’t think in terms of names so much,” he says. “It’s more about genres, or maybe sensibilities: dark comedy, magical realism, absurdity.”

What attracts him to these forms is their ability to carry weight without being didactic, to approach reality from a sideways perspective. However, he does mention Salah Abu Seif’s black-humor satire Beginning (El-Bedayah, 1986) as an artistic reference, calling it “a film he thinks about a lot.”

Above all, what drives Yasser is intention, as he says, “I am always inspired by societal matters; this is very important to me,” viewing genre not as a destination but as a tool.

“Whether it’s dark comedy, drama, or absurdity – whatever it is – I always want to talk about social topics that drive my artistic exploration.”

Mariana Hristova is a freelance film critic, cultural journalist, and programmer. She contributes to national and international outlets and has curated programs for Filmoteca de Catalunya, Arxiu Xènctric, and goEast Wiesbaden, among others. Her professional interests include cinema from the European peripheries and archival and amateur films