A woman's voice is her nakedness.

Wadjda
Haifaa al-Mansour 2012 Saudi Arabia
Put basically, Wadjda is the biggest film in the history of Saudi Arabian cinema, although I use the word 'history' loosely as cinemas are actually banned in the country, a mixed-gender group sitting in the dark seeing things that may ignite subversive thoughts falling foul of their ultra-strict morality laws. In addition, this is the first feature shot entirely in Saudi Arabia and the first feature outright to be made by a female Saudi director so it's a big achievement. It wasn't an easy process. Being a woman in such a society the director in question, Haifaa al-Mansour, often had to work from the back of a production truck on the streets of Riyadh as she couldn't publicly mix with the men in the crew, instead having to communicate with her cast via walkie-talkie and watch them on a monitor. Further enraging the powers that be, the main character is a rebellious child who wants to buy a bike so she can race her friend Abdullah. If that bothered them I can't help but think that the film's subsequent submission for the Best Foreign Language Oscar really had to stick in their craw. Perhaps even more important (and possibly more infuriating) is that the film is outstanding and, in Wadjda's increasingly inventive methods to reach her goal, surprisingly funny. There are also two beautiful performances from child actors in two of the main roles. It would sound incredibly trite to state that main star Waad Mohammed steals every scene she's in, not least because she's in every scene, but she's really the heart of the film, at once both defiant and innocent and never missing the contradictions of the society she lives in. Contradictions are a big thing here, from Wadjda's liberal-at-home mother being aghast that her friend has taken a job where she works with men and doesn't wear a full Hijab to Abdullah's gentle statement that he'd like to marry Wadjda when they grow up resonating as both lovely and potentially ominous. Reem Abdullah is excellent too portraying Wadjda's mother as a woman accepting of her lower status while still desperately trying to prevent her husband from taking a second wife. It's a subtle, charming, complex picture of a society completely at odds with our own and hopefully one that will herald a change in the country, both in terms of film and equality. We all need to see more like this.