Lina’s truth film documents the fracture of a nation and a group of friends after the Arab Spring.

It has been thirteen years since the Syrian civil war began, fracturing the region and contributing to the devastating global migration and refugee crisis. The 2011 Arab Spring was initially a time of hope for Syrians, filled with vibrant and peaceful protests against the corrupt regime of President Bashar al-Assad. When Syrian journalist Lina (who uses this pseudonym to protect her safety) began documenting what was then still called a “revolution,” she and her friends thought it wouldn’t last long. And when state forces began attacking and imprisoning protesters, they still thought it couldn’t get any worse.

In “5 seasons of revolutionLina documents the terrifying real-time transition from peaceful revolution to all-out civil war. Shot between 2011 and 2015, the images are raw and impressionistic, which often makes it hard to get your bearings. Sometimes Lina records from inside her bag, her hand partially covering the lens so as not to be detected by the police. Its material is crude and incomplete, a far cry from the kind of war reporting you might get from a news segment or more traditional documentary. Instead, it’s largely made up of shaky footage like this, as well as segments featuring Lina and her friends sitting around, watching the news and smoking cigarettes, waiting to hear if someone they know will be released from prison.

It’s a deeply personal depiction of life in wartime, thanks in large part to Lina’s ever-present storytelling. Her diaristic memories give loose form to this otherwise abstract film, as she looks back with a sort of giddy wonder on how she got through this perilous time in her life. She divides this period into five “seasons”, each representing a more abrupt change in the government’s response to the revolution, as well as more subtle fluctuations occurring in its personal sphere.

As the film begins, Lina lovingly introduces her friends one by one – each more optimistic, opinionated and forceful against Assad than the next. They come together to form a covert activist group to help organize protests and strikes, and wipe people’s computers if they are thrown in jail. This quick wit contrasts sharply with their attitudes at the end of the film, when every member is badly worn down by war – and one is no longer alive to fight it.

As Assad’s crackdown on all forms of dissent grows increasingly brutal, Lina takes on multiple aliases to protect herself depending on where she is. Among journalists, she is “Maya”. Among the militants, “Maiss”. Among the filmmakers, she is “Layla”. And “Lina” remains her apolitical upper-class persona, which she takes on whenever she faces authorities at checkpoints, protests, or in jail where she spends 44 days.

Lina’s friends develop their own different responses to the growing violence. Some, like her provocative friend Rina, are emboldened to wave a red banner emblazoned with the words “Stop the Killing” outside the parliament building in Damascus, sparking a nationwide movement of Syrians to do the same. She is taken to jail – but not arrested, she suspects, to keep the media from getting involved.

But Susu begins to distance herself from riskier actions like these, becoming disillusioned with the move and, to some degree, Lina. “I don’t believe in this film,” she told him one day. Susu’s face is obscured by deepfake technology to protect her identity, further disassociating her from the events that took place.

Lina does not seek to make sense of what happened, nor to give context to her audience by providing a timeline of events. In fact, we are immersed in the narrative without too much pretension, almost as if it could happen anywhere, to anyone. This technique is as effective as destabilizing. Audiences can witness the often mundane realities of war – not the frenetic, action-packed scenes we might imagine, but the expectation, uncertainty and confusion. A film made by a woman living through the Syrian civil war is very different from one made by a foreigner – she is not here temporarily. She has no choice but to move on with her life.

The images have an eerie sense of calm due to Lina’s smooth and steady narration. She, like most of her friends, was forced to leave the country in 2015, and time has taken her even further away from the events that unfolded. As we get caught up in the coverage of the Russian invasion of Ukraine, the film reminds us that there is always a personal side to the war that exists outside of explosive media cycles. It’s one that isn’t as compelling as one might hope, but perhaps its specificity offers a fuller and more realistic picture of a conflict.

Category B

“5 Seasons of the Revolution” premiering in 2023 sun dance Film festival. It is currently seeking distribution in the United States.

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