As the lights dim, the first thing that appears on screen is the distinctive laurel of the Cannes Film Festival. Morad Mostafa’s feature debut Aisha Can’t Fly Away recently screened in Cannes’ Un Certain Regard section, underlining it as a work of nonconformist style seen from an uncommon lens.
In many ways, a Cannes laurel puts pressure and expectations on the film. There are two ways this could go; either the film offers a glimpse into an altogether unknown world, in this case, a crime-riddled neighbourhood in Cairo seen through the eyes of a Sudanese immigrant. Or it obscures the authenticity of this perspective by filtering it through a Western lens for a global audience.
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Aisha Can’t Fly Away is very much a festival film, whatever that definition means. There’s a searing honesty with which Mostafa examines the chaotic streets of Ain Shams, Cairo, drawn from the filmmaker’s own memories. Yet the film is also painted with thin brushstrokes, depicting life in Cairo as one might imagine it from the comfort of a balcony overlooking the French Riviera
This contradiction manifests in the film’s narrative, which often seems like it’s checking off boxes expected of a festival film. There’s a repetition of sequences highlighting daily routines, cinéma vérité–style camerawork that doesn’t always land, distant yet violent sexual imagery, and a somewhat formulaic brand of surrealism.
The latter element comes as a shocker in a film about misery and survival. Aisha is an immigrant who escaped from the hell of civil war in Sudan; she is bound to her life and work in Cairo as a maid and caretaker for elderly patients. Her hands are tied by both exploitative employers within an uncaring system of hospitality and a gang leader who coerces her into robbing the patients she cares for.
The muddled mix of a cruel world in which Aisha gives yet also seeks acknowledgment and empathy, is a profound theme that shines through the film. It finds its most stirring expression through the cinematography of Mostafa El Kashef.
The sprawling city is suffocating with its dull brown colours. Nightlife, bathed in cool neon lights, feels hollow and empty, even when Aisha shares a meal with an undefined lover in a doomed romance. It’s reminiscent of the melancholy that permeates the Taiwanese New Wave, particularly Hou Hsiao-hsien’s Millennium Mambo.
Much like that film’s protagonist, Aisha too feels like a woman trapped by circumstances. A recurring visual motif shows her sprawled on her bed, stretching her legs against the wall, hoping they’ll help her fly away. But as the title suggests, she cannot escape. Instead, she floats from day to day, enduring indignities from individuals and systems to survive.
“Float” here is the operative word, as the camera does the same, becoming an extension of Aisha, never letting her out of frame, except to share her point of view.
In contrast, scenes of joy are captured in fluid yet constrained close-ups. It’s as if moments of happiness exist only within the boundaries of suffocation for women like Aisha. When isolated, the camera traces her from behind, or confronts her in tight frames, fascinated by her morose expression and striking eyes; one is brown, the other blue. It enhances the sentiment that a part of Aisha remains rooted, while also existing on an alien plane far removed from normal life.
When the film cuts to wide shots, it does so to blend its fantastical flourishes with the reality of Aisha’s day-to-day existence. These moments also allow the audience to witness the horrors Aisha endures, especially at the hands of one of her old patients.
Aisha Can’t Fly Away captures the profound sadness of its world, though its absurdist touches often feel inauthentic and simplistic. A violent ostrich haunts Aisha, her body showing signs of mutation and eventually she seems to evolve into the same creature. The metaphor – a flightless bird longing to soar – is too obvious, even if the visual effects are impressive.
The film’s nightmarish sequences and bursts of body horror feel disconnected from the narrative. Mostafa punctuates them with cliché wake-up moments, as if unsure of his own surreal vision.
These stark bits of violence and surrealism further highlight the mellow repetitive nature of the rest of the film. While this isn’t entirely a bad thing as it mirrors how burdensome existence in the city can be for women like Aisha, after a point, the unrelenting focus on her suffering becomes overwhelming.
In trying to evoke empathy through Aisha’s exploitation, Aisha Can’t Fly Away sometimes edges toward exploiting her itself for the sake of the narrative. It’s a disservice to Buliana Simon whose performance as Aisha is mesmerising enough to carry the pain and tragedy of immigrant life.
This is best understood from the closing credits, where the city’s soundscape blares across the black screen, a cacophony that represents the constant motion of everyday life. A surreal Doppler effect interrupts all of this, in a way, becoming a microcosm for the entire film: it has enough to hold your attention, but too many distractions to truly make you care.
Aisha Can’t Fly Away screened at the 2025 NBO Film Festival that ran from 16-26 October.
Check out our full coverage of the 2025 NBO Film Festival here.
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