Artist and writer Adrian Hill, a pioneer of art therapy and the person who coined the term, notes that creative arts are the ultimate destination for those seeking spiritual refuge and, consequently, hope for a better tomorrow. He says: “When the world is seething with death and despair, the man in the street and his brother at arms crave for such antonyms as expressed by life and faith: Art provides nourishment for such longings.”
Thus, Egyptian director Bassam Mortada, in his film Abo Zaabal 89 (أبو زعبل 89, 2025), winner of the FIPRESCI Award at the 6th Amman International Film Festival, delves into the turbulent times of the soul to achieve spiritual healing, particularly in the context of Egyptian political trauma.
Bassam was five years old when his father, Mahmoud, was arrested during a violent security raid on the family home. When he accompanied his mother to the notorious Abo Zaabal prison, where his father was detained on political charges in 1989, those brutal scenes seemed more painful to his tender soul than the effects of torture on the bodies of his father and his fellow detainees. They were more painful than the memory of a young boy could bear.
Using archive footage and various cinematic techniques, such as animation, along with reenactments of the prisoners’ moments of terror at the hands of the prison authorities, along with personal interviews and belated confessions from his mother and father, as well as those who were his father’s prison companions, the director retells the event until it reaches the moments of psychological shock for all those who experienced it, detailing the particulars. This is to pinpoint the source of the pain before it is relieved.
In Abo Zaabal 89, the father’s absence is represented by a title plaque hanging on the door of memory. This image of absence is recalled on screen through audio recordings between the father, who had migrated under the weight of psychological trauma, and the son, who misses his father’s physical and emotional presence. It also appears in family discussions between mother and son, as well as in old newspaper clippings that recount these events. The father seemed emotionally charged as he watched the internal monologue on stage, recalling the difficult moments of his arrest. The monologue was performed by Egyptian actor Sayed Ragab, who was a fellow prisoner with Bassam’s father.
Just as Hanzala, the iconic artist Naji al-Ali, witnessed and recalled the issues of the Palestinian people’s journey, Bassam Mortada stands in a somewhat similar manner before a screen, representing a flashback in an attempt to heal the psychological scars on the family’s souls. He is the director, narrator, and main character, through whom the viewer explores the family’s history as shaped by the consequences of political positions. This pushes the film’s narrative toward emotional aspects tinged with pain and hope regarding the relationship between the parents and their son. It also serves as a courageous look at contemporary Egyptian political history. Between moving archival images, photographs, and audio cassettes, the director assembles the fragments of the past to frame the memory of the regime’s violence. This serves as a reminder of its tremendous impact in shattering souls and the subsequent disintegration of family ties, as the sense of insecurity intensifies while living under constant threat, disrupting the normal course of life.
The film’s narrative rhythm is balanced, attempting to identify the causes before smoothly transitioning to the conclusions and then moving on to the final stage of liberation from all these harsh psychological residues for Bassam and his family. This is what prompted him to focus his artistic work on neglected narratives, social injustice and the biographies of activists.
Abo Zaabal 89 can be considered a promising example of the potential of documentary cinema to help societies in the Arab world deal with their traumas and pave the way for a better future.
By Ali Alyasery
Edited by Amber Wilkinson
@FIPRESCI2025