Alex Bakri and Juna Suleiman in Let It Be Morning (Cohen Media Group)

An opening title informs us that this film is set “In a place not far from here, some while before peace breaks out.” This nod at the language of fairy tales is ironic (in case the second clause didn’t make that clear), as the place is easily identified as Israel of the present day. It opens at a wedding. While the mood is clearly celebratory (the loud music,), Sami (Alex Bakri) stands apart. He looks depressed and preoccupied. He checks his phone often. During a discreet call, he makes an offhand comment about how long Arab weddings last. He is with his extended Palestinian family for the first time in a while. His wife, Mira (Juna Suleiman), is similarly dejected, though she seems to long for his attention. Both of them are eager to get back home to Jerusalem.

That turns out not to be possible. On his way out of town and back to the city, Sami and all other drivers bound in the same direction are stopped by an Israeli military blockade. He tries to negotiate his way past, and this doesn’t work. Nor is he able to pull any strings by talking to a guard he knows. And so, he, his wife and son are forced to wait in his hometown Arab village with his family that he has tried to leave behind.

The story is essentially one of a man slowly coming alive: to the lies in his adult life (which include adultery), alive and receptive to the community he comes from, and embolden to make a stand. This process is born entirely out of waiting and dissatisfaction, and this is hard to pull off. Still, the actors are strong, with Ehab Salami being the standout as Abed, an old acquaintance of Sami. Abed, whose marriage has failed but who nevertheless manages to maintain a hopeful attitude becomes the movie’s most bravely political character. He is given fresh and appealing energy by Salami, and the relationship between him and Sami is one of the more moving ones here.

Also, director Eran Kolirin has a fine eye for ludicrous coincidences and details, such as with the previously mentioned guard, Elad. The apparent casualness of his conversation with Sami, the mix of friendliness and aggression, is one of many touches that makes the situation more absurd. Best of all is probably the cinematography, which captures the imposing highlands surrounding the town.

Ultimately, this film’s problem may be Sami, mostly due to the writing rather than Bakri’s acting, but it may be a combination of both. His journey toward acceptance and action does not have enough of a contour to make it a compelling ride—so often you feel that both he and the narrative are hitting the same note, rather than finding deeper levels of momentum and nuance. However, the supporting characters, a subplot involving undocumented workers from the West Banks, and the rapid construction of a security wall make up for that. There are also the questions the film raises. To what extent do we belong to the place we come from? How can we learn to see it with new eyes? How is a complacent person roused to action?