This comfortable middle class apartment could be anywhere, but for the bars across the door and the sounds of jets, explosions and sniper fire from outside. Three generations of the family live here, and a young couple from upstairs whose flat had been destroyed by blast damage. The couple plan their departure that evening, escaping from the hell they are now living in, and the husband goes off to make the final arrangements. But, just a few metres from the block, he is shot down by a sniper's bullet, seen only by the maid. She confides in the matriarch of the household and they decide not to say anything until night falls, for fear that another of their number might get hit.
With this knowledge in the background, and the already tense and unpredictable circumstances of their daily lives, we watch the group interact and cope as best they can. Because they have to. They eat their meals, the children do homework, they work around the inconveniences of unreliable power and water.
The tedium is interrupted by a break in by some of the local thugs, and the seemingly inevitable male violence towards women, but for most of the time it's a claustrophobic look at the minutiae of life, culminating in the dash to recover the sniper's victim. Helplessness, constant fear, sudden terror. This is Syria, now, but could so easily be a scene from Berlin in '45 or Sarajevo '92. Technology may change, but the horror is the same.
The appearance of the brutal thugs felt like an unnecessary addition to the movie, as if the director felt some action sequences were needed, but otherwise this is a powerful and empathetic story of human beings coping with a lie none of us would choose to live.
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