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CARAMEL
Directed by Nadine Labaki
Produced by Anne-Dominique Toussaint
Written by Labaki, Jihad Hojeily & Rodney Al Haddad
Director of Photography, Yves Sehnaoui
Edited by Laure Gardette
Music by Khaled Mouzanar
Released by Roadside Attractions
Language: Arabic & French with English subtitles
Lebanon/France 96 min. Rated PG
With Nadine Labaki, Yasmine Al Masri, Joanna Moukarzel, Gisèle Aouad, Adel Karam, Siham Haddad, Aziza Semaan, Fatme Safa, Dimitri Stancofski, Fadia Stella & Ismail Antar.

There is nothing overtly original about Nadine Labaki’s romantic comedy Caramel. Meant to be a microcosm of Lebanese women, the film centers around five who work or meet in a Beirut beauty salon. Drenched in warm yellow hues and romantic music, it’s formulaically heartwarming and occasionally sappy. Perhaps that’s why I was so startled when this debut project left me more gratified than many other chic flicks this side of the Silk Road.

The use of mostly non-professional actors may have something to do with it. From aimless chitchat to tearful confessions, their tone maintains an unscripted vivacity, heard behind the closed doors of a slumber party more often than on screen. But Caramel is no documentary. Though these friends are meant to exemplify the diversity of Beirut – Christians, Muslims, old, and young – they are an exceptionally beautiful sample. Exuding kindness and grace, they move to the click clack of their many bracelets with the poise of belly dancers. And when they heat up the warm, gooey caramel used in the Middle East to remove unwanted hair, they make the painful procedure look far more amusing that it should.

Straddling their culture’s conservative moors and their own sexuality, each character is caught in a delicate situation. Layale (tenderly played by the director herself) is having an affair with a married man; Nisrine (Yasmine Al Masri) is engaged to a boy who doesn’t know she’s no longer a virgin; and Rose (Siham Haddad), a charming 65-year-old seamstress who’s never been married, is wondering if she’s still entitled to love. But the most offensive transgression is undoubtedly Rima’s (Joanna Moukarzel), who doesn’t admit her homosexuality, even to herself. Lastly, Jamale (Gisele Aouad), a youth-obsessed, struggling actress, goes to great length to hide the fact that she’s going through menopause. While women are held to a high standard of purity and discretion, the director uses Jamale to make it clear that sex appeal is still a powerful asset.

This is not a story of overcoming the odds or a tragedy of submission but a cultural observation, tinted with romance and an underlying affection for the country. Except for Layale’s married love interest, whose face we never see, even the men are utterly endearing; I walked out of the theater with the feeling of having eaten a savory lamb stew. Yana Litovsky
February 1, 2008