REVIEW: LEMON TREE

But the fruit of the lemon…

Dir: Eran Riklis, 2008

KUHU TANVIR

The opening scene of Eran Riklis’ Lemon Tree (Etz Lemon) was of a pair of hands cutting huge, fresh, juicy lemons. Every time the knife cut a slice, sprays of lemon juice flew in the air. The taste was all but in the mouth, and it didn’t matter that the song in the background said, “…but the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat.”

The story is about Salma, a Palestinian woman, a widow, who lives near the border, and has recently got new neighbours – the Israeli Defense Minister (pointedly called Israel Navon) and his wife Mira. Salma has a beautiful lemon grove that she inherited from her father, and is her only source of income. It is decided that the grove poses a threat to Israel’s (the man and the country) security and should therefore be cut down. Salma, in turn, decides to fight this decision; she hires a lawyer and goes to court.

To talk about how attached Salma is to her grove would be to overstep the most beautifully portrayed relationship in the film. With every defeat, Salma cries maybe just tear, but it is a tear full of sorrow and more importantly, full of loneliness. The lack of hysteria is perhaps the strongest point of the film, because that one tear and Salma’s silence gives you room to share her state. She doesn’t say much at all and yet every emotion is clear. Her dignity impresses and makes her defeat that much harder.

The relationship between Salma and Mira is the masterstroke of this film. The two don’t exactly meet, at least not exclusively, but they see each other and have developed eye contact more than once. Salma never says anything to Mira and Mira just about makes a one general, public sort of statement when she apologises to Salma for taking lemons from her grove without permission. But the relationship, as it develops, becomes mystical. Mira can’t stop thinking about Salma because, to state it very simply, she stands for the unjust domination that Mira begins to realise haunts her life as well. Salma’s decision to go to court almost impresses Mira and she can’t keep herself from attending the final hearing despite warning from friends and family. The almost-meeting between the two is an admirable decision by the director, who decided to maintain the mystique by not letting them meet and talk. The ruling of the court has resonances private and public.

While Salma’s grove becomes a public issue, the politics behind it maps Mira’s personal life; and when the decision comes, Mira decides to leave Israel (well, the man, but the implications are layered). The connection between the two women becomes clearer with this move at the end of the film. A defeat in obvious terms, but not just for Salma, for Israel too, because his wife leaves him and he is walled-in. The hope-defeat dichotomy created by these two women is mind-boggling, and yet simple.

Figure 1 Still from Lemon Tree (Pic Credit: Eitan Riklis. Courtesy. Eran Riklis)

Compared to this, the relationship between Salma and the lawyer, Ziad is simpler. He is young and enthusiastic and eager to win the case for Salma. The two develop a bond that becomes romantic…maybe because she is lonely and he is ‘a lone wolf’. We don’t see them in the throes of passion and it is easy to conclude that it is little more than a need for companionship that brings the two together. One of the lightest moments of the film is when she reaches his office while he is out and she decides to clean up. When he comes back, he looks around suspiciously but soon realises that it is Salma’s handiwork. She looks up at him and smiles, proud yet expectant. He sits down, happy with this personal development, and says, “…and how am I supposed to find anything now‌” The most interesting thing about the relationship is how it ends. She loses the case, more or less, and goes back to her house and her barren grove, while he moves from his somewhat run-down office to a swankier one and has become the legal advisor on Palestine’s national affairs, and gets engaged to a minister’s daughter. It would be instinctive to judge the man for using Salma. But the film doesn’t really give you that opportunity. He may be sitting in a big government office, but he still searches for Salma Zedane on his computer. He finds her picture and draws an outline of her face with his finger almost as if he was still holding on to the past whereas she had finally come to terms with her present which would never allow a relationship with a man young enough to be her son. Since she has lost the most important part of her past – her trees – she decides to let go of practically everything else as well (not unlike Mira who leaves her husband and moves away). Salma burns the clothes in her house and also Ziad’s picture that has come in the newspaper. This time there are no tears and once again, the dignity is astounding.

In the wake of a bloody war going on in the region, it surprising that a film as political as this, doesn’t indulge in pointing fingers. Yes, Riklis leaned in his bias towards the Palestinian woman, even though it is an Israeli film, but the people in the film aren’t the villains. Salma’s tragedy is triggered because of a particular person, but that person isn’t Israel the man but rather the terse history between Israel and Palestine.

Riklis’ vision is complemented by a group of wonderful actors, in particular the haunting Hiam Abbas. The understanding between her and her director seems ideal as she has carried his story in all its detail. Rona Lipaz-Michael’s rendition of Mira might be eclipsed by Abbas’ Salma, but deserves credit nonetheless. She develops the character with a kind of ease that makes her journey from loving Israel to divorcing him believable and smooth. A special mention of my favourite secondary character—Quickie. An Israeli soldier who loves to tell the story of how he got this name (because he was the slowest boy in class), wins your heart with his eagerness. His IQ testing tapes are on in the background almost throughout the film, perhaps another comment at the official verdict of what is smart and what is not.

As the world debates the horror, the history and the nightmarish present of the Israel-Palestine question, a little film tells us about the collateral damage.

About Author: Kuhu Tanvir is one of the editors of Wide Screen. She currently works as a film critic for NDTVMovies.com, an Indian cinema website. Kuhu has an M.A in English Literature from St. Stephen's College, University of Delhi. She has previously worked for The First City Theatre Foundation and worked on the Festival Bulletin at the 9th Osian's Cinefan Festival of Asian and Arab Cinema. Her areas of interest include realism, fantasy and portrayals of the Holocaust in cinema.