Anthony Mackie co-stars alongside Aiysha Hart—who plays a queen who unites the tribes of Arabia to fight against a ruthless emperor—in a large-scale production that, from a narrative standpoint, proves functional.
The stillness of Arabia’s arid and inhospitable landscapes is shattered when they become a battlefield for human conflict in *Desert Warrior*, a long-gestating Saudi epic inspired by real ancient tribes and events that took place in the region. Visually striking—though narratively conventional—the new work from director Rupert Wyatt (*Rise of the Planet of the Apes*) is set 1,500 years ago, when Emperor Kisra II (Ben Kingsley, in a one-scene appearance) orders his subjects to surrender their daughters. These young women are to serve as concubines. Among them is Princess Hind (Aiysha Hart), who has remained hidden deep within the desert alongside her father, King Numan (Ghassan Massoud).
Director: Rupert Wyatt
Writers: Erica Beeney, Gary Ross, David Self
Stars: Aiysha Hart, Ben Kingsley, Anthony Mackie
Breakneck chases on camelback and horseback ensue when the bloodthirsty commander Jalabzeen (the rugged Sharlto Copley) discovers Hind’s whereabouts. A nameless bandit (a restrained Anthony Mackie) agrees to help her and King Numan reach safety in exchange for gold. For a time, father and daughter find refuge among the Shaybani people, thanks to their leader, Hani (French-Tunisian actor Sami Bouajila); however, Hind eventually takes the reins of her own destiny. Rather than fleeing forever, she chooses to confront the Emperor’s army. Initially with reluctance, other tribes—typically at odds with one another—join forces with her in order to defeat a common enemy.
Wyatt’s acute use of absolute silence to heighten specific moments of tension—just before battles erupt—constitutes an effective formal choice that, without resorting to slow motion, creates the sensation that time is passing differently, sharpening the viewer’s perception of what is to come. When sound returns and violence is unleashed, the sequences acquire even greater momentum. Dan Levy’s score—while perhaps not as memorable as his work on films such as *I Lost My Body*—masterfully accompanies the clashes, providing the grandeur one might expect from a large-scale, semi-historical epic populated by valiant heroes and heroines.
*Desert Warrior* finds its most captivating moments in the impressionistic shots captured by cinematographer Guillermo Garza. Whether it is the silhouette of a fallen horse against the dying afternoon sun, or close-ups of tribal members’ hands as they demonstrate their artisanal prowess, against the backdrop of the desert—intrinsically cinematic, with its monochromatic sands and sporadic elevations—Garza’s inspired imagery (which often centers on sensory experiences) imbues the film with a seductive earthiness. In the hands of editor Richard Mettler, some of these fragments serve to create montages that interweave the tribes’ preparations for defense with Jalabzeen’s preparations for attack. Although this device can become repetitive, it signals a desire to inject a certain visual dynamism.
Convincingly embodying a woman who reclaims her dignity in her quest to follow in her father’s footsteps, Hart’s performance—marked by an enigmatic sense of sacrifice—balances a regal self-assurance with the restlessness of someone in perpetual survival mode. But it is Bouajila—whom we previously saw as an anguished father in the drama *A Son*—who resonates as the story’s emotional compass: a steadfast leader, torn between heeding the demands of his people and conducting himself with honor before outsiders. Setting aside the inherent artificiality of watching these characters speak English in that historical setting, the rest of the cast largely maintains the same dramatic register as the lead characters—with a few exceptions who opt to embody larger-than-life figures, specifically some of the tribal chiefs who join forces to form a single battalion.
The fact that the narrative does not veer into hollow mysticism, dream sequences, or flashbacks works to the film’s advantage. Given how contrived stories of this genre often tend to be, the restraint demonstrated here by Wyatt and his co-screenwriters—Erica Beeney, Gary Ross, and David Self—is commendable. Nevertheless, the usual tropes regarding honor and valor ultimately take precedence over the feminist nuances to which Wyatt might have aspired. Avoiding the emergence of a full-blown romance between Hind and the distrustful bandit played by Mackie helps steer the story away from more traditional depictions of relationships.
Yet even as she assumes her power as Queen Hind and successfully unites disparate factions, the protagonist does not—exactly—achieve autonomy. Her success is the fruit of sacrifice, rather than of individual self-realization. This might seem like an excessive demand within this context; however, such qualities are better represented in a secondary character—such as the woman banished by her community for speaking her mind (played by Lamis Ammar)—or in the powerful epilogue, which suggests that another woman, from within the emperor's own chambers, may have played a pivotal role in the ruler's defeat—a story that, in its own right, would well deserve its own film.
The top-tier execution behind *Desert Warrior*—at least regarding the technical achievement of delivering a spectacle worthy of Hollywood—is worthy of praise. And yet, the final result proves excessively predictable, despite the flashes of excellence that dot the work.
Comments
Post a Comment