Mouna Hawa, left, and Seleena Rababah in Inshallah a Boy (Greenwich Entertainment)

 A secret conversation takes place between two women in a bedroom: “Lying is a sin, sex is a sin, abortion is a sin, but every sin has a motive and a justification.” The woman who says this is wealthy and her confidant is poor, but both are desperate and in deep trouble. This is the hushed, wary world of Inshallah a Boy. The Jordanian film by director Amjad Al Rasheed examines all the ways a woman can try—and usually fail—to protect her rights in a society created and maintained for the benefit of men. Slow building and borderline claustrophobic, the movie is powerful, but it can be a harsh watch. 

In its opening frames, a camera snakes from outside an apartment building into a careworn interior on what seems like a humdrum morning. There thirtysomething Nawal (Mouna Hawa) tries to rouse her sleeping husband before she realizes he’s not waking up. This subtle yet alarming scene—well played by Hawa and her director—is a sign that Nawal’s life is about to change.

And not for the better. After a few ritual expressions of insincere sympathy, Nawal’s late husband’s brother can’t wait to seize his share of the dead man’s estate. If this means turfing Nawal and her young daughter out of her home, fine. When she asks him what his intentions are, he only offers vague assurances that God will provide. Tense scenes about the property play out first in living rooms, then escalate to bureaucratic offices and courtrooms.

Step-by-step, it becomes clear that Nawal’s husband repeatedly lied to her and left her in no position to claim any of his property. It also appears that her brother-in-law may also have designs on the custody of her child. As men hector, lecture, and admonish Nawal at every turn, it looks as though the law will let him take her. Nawal’s own brother is zero help, passively acquiescing to his fellow male’s demands. Every option Nawal tries hits a dead end—Hawa convincingly conveys her character being swallowed up by fear and misery.

Alongside its main character’s struggles, Inshallah unfolds a parallel narrative where Nawal toils as a maid and health-care aide in a household of Jordan’s rich Christian elite. It’s one of those faux-friendly domestic relationships where the warmth immediately dries up the minute the servant forgets her proper (subservient) place. Dutiful Nawal will forge a perilous alliance with the house’s fast living, cynical daughter, Lauren (Yumna Marwan). Their bond forms around two heavily weighted pregnancies, one real and one not—or could it possibly be real? Both women will have to take terrible risks to keep their autonomy and dignity intact.

Inshallah a Boy feels very honest and lived-in, and like real life, can also feel laborious, contradictory, and confounding. Although we acutely sense Nawal’s distress, we don’t always understand her motivations; in her grief and anger, she may not always understand them herself. Mostly measured in a slow pace with long takes, Inshallah reads tighter in some spots than others, and you can see where picking up the pace would have helped sharpen and heightened Nawal’s predicament. But the film’s dense and weighty style suits its themes well. As Jordan’s international feature Oscar entry, this somber story of injustice and one woman’s breaking point should garner deserved attention.