‘Yunan’ Review: An Existential Mood Piece on Displacement That Deftly Harnesses the Transformative Power of Nature

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In the thoughtful and melancholic film “Yunan,” directed by Ameer Fakher Eldin, characters who have been displaced find that their home remains unchanged, yet they are strangers within it. The only difference is their position in this altered past: “You will be gone, forgotten. As if your existence was no more than a fleeting illusion.” The film’s narrative is carried by the weighty and sparse performance of Lebanese actor Georges Khabbaz as Munir, a novelist of undefined Middle Eastern background residing in Hamburg. The somber tale gains power through its accumulative effect, further enhanced by its captivating visual style and a hauntingly atmospheric backdrop on Germany’s Hallig Islands.

Munir visits a doctor’s office due to recurring bouts of severe breathlessness. The physician explains that his lung function tests show no abnormalities, hinting that stress could be the culprit and recommending time off as a remedy.

In a doctor’s office, Munir is found struggling with frequent, intense shortness of breath. The doctor shares that his breathing tests showed normal results, implying that stress might be the issue, and proposing that taking some time off would benefit him.

Contacting his sister at home reveals that their mother, Nidal Al Achkar, is progressively succumbing to dementia. In an attempt to ignite creativity for his unfinished novel, Munir asks her to recount a tale from their childhood about a mute, blind and speechless shepherd named Ali Suleiman, who had only a flock of sheep and a wife as radiant as the moon (Sibel Kekilli). However, his mother can merely remember the story’s start and has forgotten the shepherd’s name.

As a gamer, I found myself immersed in the enchanting sequences that breathed life into this captivating narrative, filmed in Jordan with its rich, earthy hues. However, these scenes seemed to pop up too frequently, failing to fully develop until much later in the story. If they had trimmed a few of those side-journeys from the heart of the tale, it would have significantly enhanced the overall flow and pace.

Leaving behind a rather unemotional farewell to his girlfriend Sarah (Laura Sophia Landauer) in Hamburg, and asking her to take care of his pet dog, Munir heeds the doctor’s suggestion and chooses to leave town. However, the presence of a firearm in his suitcase hints that the author may be planning a more permanent departure for him.

He journeys to the island of Langeness, located along the North Sea coast, a fittingly secluded spot for contemplating suicide, characterized by ominous gray skies mirrored in the equally dark, unending expanse of the sea. The innkeeper, Valeska (Hanna Schygulla), curtly tells him she lacks availability, subtly suggesting an initial air of hostility and possible prejudice. However, once Munir provokes her with disrespect and requests a retraction, she extends compassion by providing him a basic room in an unfinished guesthouse for accommodation.

Cinematographer Ronald Plante’s smooth, leisurely camera movements beautifully convey Munir’s sense of solitude as he roams through the lush, low-lying meadows and chilly-looking coastline of this windswept location. The 19th century German poet Theodor Storm referred to the Halligen as “floating dreams,” a term that seems fitting for the film’s haunting visuals.

The tranquil countryside is filled with geese walking in a row, sheep and cattle grazing peacefully, yet Munir bears his sorrow like an unyielding weight. In a scene that stands out, he leaps over a fence into a field of restless cows, which seem to observe him with a mix of curiosity and aggression. He confronts a wary bull that appears poised to charge at any moment. Karl, Valeska’s quiet son, looks at Munir with the same mistrust, while his mother grows fond of this stranger.

On several occasions a year, the islands are inundated by storm surges, and the residents have learned to live with the elements by building their homes and structures on artificial hills. However, forecasts predict violent winds and devastating thunderstorms that could cause an exceptional flood. This leads Valeska to move Munir into the main guest house. While Karl is busy relocating the livestock and making other preparations, he disregards Munir’s offer of assistance when he tries to help.

The subsequent sequences, set to Suad Bushnaq’s poignant symphonic composition, leave one in awe. They depict nature in its raw, powerful state as towering waves crash against the seawall, flooding the landscape. Aerial footage of the guesthouse and farm structures turned into islands is breathtaking, and any special visual effects used are seamlessly integrated.

In the wake of a scene that carries a grand spectacle of death, there’s also a hint of nature’s potential for revival and regeneration. As a symbol representing displacement, the loss of identity that comes with exile, and the subsequent rediscovery, Yunan gradually reveals itself to you.

As a gamer, I find myself often stuck in a rut, much like Munir. But there’s this tavern in town where the villagers gather, their merrymaking echoing through the halls, leaving me on the sidelines, lost in thought. Until one night, an unexpected wrestling match breaks out among them. In that moment, I realize, I still possess that indomitable spirit to fight back.

In the movie, a pub singalong is interrupted by Valeska playing some passionate Arab music instead of traditional German tunes. This leads to one of the more stereotypical scenes as Munir starts to dance, initially moving slowly and heavily but with increasing enthusiasm. However, Fakher Eldin and Khabbaz have already made us care deeply about the characters, making it easier for us to accept this well-worn trope.

With his deep-set, thoughtful eyes and somber expression, Khabbaz stands out as an intense central figure. The revival he experiences, thanks to both the actor’s and director’s skill, doesn’t transform him into a completely different person, but it lifts some of his despair and lets him take in fresh air once more.

In a role perfectly suited for her talents, Schygulla’s iconic status in German cinema shines while still convincingly embodying the solitude of this remote location. She infuses warmth, subtle humor, and wisdom into her performance, creating a comforting balance against Munir’s heavy silence and Karl’s gruff demeanor. As Valeska, I felt like I was standing steadfast amidst potential chaos, undisturbed even in the face of potential natural disaster.

In this film, Valeska serves as a calming influence, maintaining her composure under any circumstances.

Yunan is the second installment in Fakher Eldin’s Homeland trilogy, who is of Palestinian and Syrian heritage and resides, much like his main character, in Hamburg. It comes after The Stranger, which was a critically acclaimed premiere at Venice 2021, and before Nostalgia: A Tale in Its First Chapters, for which the director is currently working. While it does have its slower moments, the movie is beautifully constructed with a powerful poetic depth that becomes increasingly impactful.

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2025-02-25 19:55