It is 1967. The world is changing, but for Tarek, a high-strung eleven-year-old in a Jordanian refugee camp, the world has simply stopped. He’s looking for his father. That’s the engine driving the film When I Saw You (Lamma Shoftak), a piece of cinema that doesn't just ask you to watch a historical moment but forces you to breathe the dust of it. Honestly, most movies about the Palestinian-Israeli conflict feel like they’re trying to win an argument. This one? It’s just trying to find a home.
What People Get Wrong About When I Saw You
You see a lot of reviews calling this a "political drama." That’s a lazy label. It’s a coming-of-age story that happens to be trapped inside a geopolitical nightmare. Director Annemarie Jacir, who also gave us Salt of This Sea and Wajib, has this specific knack for making the massive feel microscopic.
Tarek, played by Mahmoud Asfa with an intensity that’s almost uncomfortable to watch, isn't interested in the 1967 Six-Day War as a set of dates or map changes. He’s a kid who wants his dad. He’s frustrated by the "temporary" nature of the Harir camp—a place of tents and mud that everyone pretends is a pit stop but feels like a dead end. When he eventually runs away and finds himself in a training camp for fedayeen (freedom fighters), the film shifts. It stops being a tragedy and starts being a strange, sun-drenched exploration of hope.
The Casting Was Actually a Huge Risk
Jacir found Mahmoud Asfa in an Irbid refugee camp. He wasn't a professional actor. You can tell. Not because he’s bad—he’s incredible—but because he has no "movie kid" polish. He’s abrasive. He’s loud. He’s sometimes incredibly annoying, which is exactly how a traumatized eleven-year-old acts.
Ruba Blal, who plays his mother Ghaydaa, serves as the anchor. Her performance is quiet. It’s the silence of a woman trying to hold a tent together while her heart is miles away in a home she can’t return to. The chemistry between them isn't sentimental. It’s desperate.
The Visual Language of 1967
The film When I Saw You looks different from other period pieces. It doesn't use that sepia-toned "old photo" filter that directors love so much. The colors are vibrant. The greens of the Jordanian hills and the harsh whites of the sun make the setting feel immediate. It feels like today.
✨ Don't miss: Amanda Knox Movie Netflix: What Most People Get Wrong About the Case in 2026
Cinematographer Hélène Louvart used handheld cameras to follow Tarek. It creates this sense of restlessness. You’re never quite settled, because he isn't. When Tarek discovers the guerrilla fighters in the woods, the camera slows down. For the first time, he sees people who aren't just waiting. They’re doing something. Whether you agree with what they’re doing is almost secondary to the psychological relief Tarek feels in their presence.
The sound design matters here too. The wind. The constant rustle of trees. The lack of a heavy, manipulative orchestral score. It’s stripped back.
Real Historical Context vs. Cinematic License
While the characters are fictional, the atmosphere is pulled directly from the 1967 displacement. Over 300,000 Palestinians fled to Jordan during the war. The "Harir" camp in the movie represents the sudden, makeshift cities that cropped up.
Jacir didn't want to make a documentary. She has stated in interviews that she wanted to capture the "spirit of the era"—a time when the Palestinian resistance was young, idealistic, and deeply connected to global movements like the Black Panthers or the student protests in Paris. There’s a scene where the fighters are discussing Mao Zedong. It’s a weird, specific detail that reminds you this wasn't happening in a vacuum. It was the 60s. Everything felt possible, even the impossible.
💡 You might also like: Dead and Co Tour 2024: Why the Sphere Residency Changed Everything
Why the Ending Still Divides Audiences
No spoilers, but the final shot of the film When I Saw You is one of the most debated moments in Arab cinema. Some people find it frustrating. It’s an open-ended beat that refuses to give you a "where are they now" card.
But that’s the point.
The Naksa (the "setback" of 1967) didn't have a clean resolution. It started a cycle that hasn't stopped. By ending the film where she did, Jacir chose dignity over closure. She chose the feeling of a leap of faith over the reality of what usually happens after the credits roll.
Production Hurdles You Probably Didn't Know About
Making this movie was a nightmare of logistics. It was an independent production, funded largely through Arab sources and crowdfunding when traditional European backers found the subject matter too "sensitive." They filmed in Jordan, often in difficult terrain.
- The Weather: Sudden storms destroyed parts of the "camp" set during filming.
- The Kids: Working with non-professional child actors in the woods is, as you can imagine, chaotic.
- The Budget: Every cent is on the screen. The costumes were meticulously sourced to match the exact fabrics of the late 60s.
How to Watch It Today
If you're looking for the film When I Saw You, it’s periodically available on platforms like Netflix (depending on your region) or specialized sites like AFLAMUNA. It’s worth the hunt. Don't go in expecting a history lesson. Go in expecting to meet a kid who is tired of waiting for the world to make sense.
👉 See also: You're All I Need To Get By: The Heartbreaking Truth Behind Marvin Gaye’s Greatest Duet
The movie won the NETPAC Award at the Berlin International Film Festival for a reason. It’s a masterclass in empathy. It doesn't ask you to look at a map; it asks you to look at a face.
Actionable Steps for Cinephiles
To truly appreciate what Jacir accomplished here, you should do a bit of "sandwich viewing." Watch this alongside The Dupes (1972), which covers the 1948 displacement, to see how the cinematic tone shifted over decades.
Also, pay attention to the music. The soundtrack features era-specific tracks that give you a sense of the cultural pulse of 1960s Amman and Beirut. It’s not just "protest music"; it’s the sound of a generation trying to define itself.
Lastly, check out the director’s commentary if you can find it. Jacir’s insights into how she handled the child actors—specifically how she kept their performances "wild"—changes how you view Tarek’s journey. He wasn't directed to be a hero. He was directed to be a boy who refuses to be a refugee.
That distinction is everything. It's why, years after its release, this film is still the one people bring up when they talk about the "New Wave" of Palestinian cinema. It’s not about the tragedy of losing. It’s about the audacity of trying to go back.