Mark Reviews Movies: HUDA'S SALON

Huda's Salon, IFC Films

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Review by Mark Dujsik | March 3, 2022

The story of Huda's Salon is split in two, between two women coerced into spying and informing on the people of their city. It's set in modern-day Bethlehem, in the West Bank of Palestine—surrounded by a wall, its residents kept inside the borders, the eyes and ears of "occupiers" always open and listening.

The movie, written and directed by Hany Abu-Assad, only refers to Israel, its government, and the various organizations under its power as "occupiers," the "occupying force," or other similar terms. It's an inherently political work, in that any questions of land or sovereignty don't need to be asked. They are answered at the start and treated as commonplace from there. Whether or not that's the most diplomatic decision is irrelevant. At its best and most potent, Abu-Assad's movie is about much deeper and more internal ideas about Palestine, its people, and what future they can expect to have.

Those questions are more directly addressed in the storyline featuring the eponymous character. She is Huda (Manal Awad), who indeed owns and runs a salon in the city, and after some introductory text and a montage that establishes the political foundation of the story and everyday life in Bethlehem, Huda is chatting with a client in her establishment.

The woman is Reem (Maisa Abd Elhadi), a married woman who recently gave birth to her first child—a daughter who sleeps soundly in a carrier at the salon. She hasn't been to there in some time, on account of the baby and staying busy with housework. The talk turns to her husband, who seemed to love Reem before they were married. He has since become suspicious, jealous, and controlling. Huda commiserates with her customer, continues working on her hair, and offers her a drink.

A sudden sleepiness overcome Reem. She passes out, and Huda opens a door to a backroom, revealing a man (played by Samer Bisharat) who helps her carry Reem to a bed. The two undress the drugged woman, and Huda takes photographs of the man, also naked, in bed with her customer.

When Reem awakens, Huda gives her an ultimatum: She will work for the Secret Service of their occupiers, giving information about rebels and weapons and anything else that might be of interest. If she doesn't, Huda will send the photo to Reem's husband.

From that setup, the basic plot follows Huda, who is quickly abducted by a local rebel force led by Hasan (Ali Suliman), and Reem, who tries to find a way out of her new predicament. If the rebels discover the photo and learn her identity, they will assume she is a collaborator, and that will put her and her daughter—not to mention her overbearing husband Yousef (Jalal Masarwa)—in danger. Considering how the group dispatches the model and promises to kill Huda no matter what she may say or do, Reem's fears are entirely justified.

The narrative division here is between two distinct modes. On one side, there's a paranoid thriller, featuring Reem unintentionally drawing the rebels' attention toward her by trying to figure out if they know about her. On the other, we get a rhetorical battle of moral lines, in which Huda dissects the intentions and uprightness of her captor, while Hasan tries to psychologically break his prisoner for information.

The latter is far more engaging. While Abu-Assad takes a clear position on the larger political conflict at the foundation of this story (by leaving one half of the debate unnamed and otherwise anonymous, save for a sole voice of government handler on the other end of a telephone), there are significant divides within Palestine that are addressed through the back-and-forth arguments between Huda and Hasan. The most obvious, of course, revolves around the tactics of Hasan and his kind, who use threats, torture, and murder to punish those they see as traitors—and to instill a climate of fear among people, as well. Huda knows she is going to die—and might even believe that she deserves death for her actions. The question, though, is whether or not Hasan and his group are acting in a moral, justifiable way—one to which she can trust the fates of almost 40 women.

Even more fascinating—although less examined—is how Huda was initially targeted by the Secret Service and how that, as well as her further manipulation and exploitation of women (She admits to choosing women with terrible husbands), points to a deeper cultural issue about the perception and treatment of women within Palestine. Here, though, the necessity of both the broader plot and, in the filmmaker's mind, a straightforward answer gets in the way of some uncomfortable but thoughtful material.

There's more to that angle of systemic sexism, and there are certainly more ideas worth discussing about such root causes of conflict and distrust. Here, though, Abu-Assad has to concern himself with the other narrative thread, as Reem becomes more paranoid and basically contrives herself into deeper trouble, and it's simply not as clever or incisive as the other storyline is—and could be.

On a more foundational level, all of these dramatic and rhetorical maneuvers are steering Huda's Salon in a certain direction. It's a resolution of simplicity and some optimism, and in this fight of morals and mores, that comes across as dishonest.

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