The Mother of All Lies review – pursuing the truth of Morocco’s brutal dictatorship years

Asmae El Moudir employs a delicate mix of handmade replicas and oral testimony to brilliantly evoke personal and collective trauma Between those who refuse to remember and those who struggle to forget, a tumultuous clash of minds occupies the centre of Asmae El Moudir’s inventive documentary, a prize-winner at last year’s Cannes film festival. Through a constellation of clay figurines and dollhouse-style miniature sets, most of which were constructed by El Moudir’s father, the director recreates her oppressive childhood in the Sebata district of Casablanca. Under the watchful eyes of her domineering grandmother Zahra, all personal photos are banished from the house, save for a picture of King Hassan II. The delicate mix of handmade replicas and oral testimony brilliantly evokes the personal and collective trauma that stem from Morocco’s “Years of Lead” – a period of state brutality under Hassan II’s dictatorial rule. Lingering on the nimble fingers of El Moudir’s father as he puts t

Pray for Our Sinners review – the Irish campaigners who took on brutal church abuse

Inspirational documentary recovers the stories of those who dared to question the treatment of children in a small Irish town

Irish film-maker and journalist Sinéad O’Shea has a gripping and inspirational story to tell about her home town of Navan in Co Meath, and she tells it terrifically well, talking to the people involved, engaging with the history, delivering the drama and teasing out the poignancies and complexities.

O’Shea is speaking to the people who stood up to church abuse in the 60s and 70s, at a time when challenging the Catholic authorities seemed unthinkable. There can hardly be anyone left now who doesn’t know something about Ireland’s coming to terms with the historical abuse sanctioned by the church and its treatment of young pregnant women in the brutal mother-and-baby houses and Magdalene Laundries, the subject of movies such as Stephen Frears’s Philomena and Peter Mullan’s The Magdalene Sisters. These were the workhouses of shame, or perhaps the refineries in which guilt and fear were extracted as fuel for the theocracy. Schools were the same, with their incessant beatings, carried out by unmarried men who had of course been beaten and humiliated themselves in their formative years: a theatre of cruelty where the punishment was the point. (England has nothing to be smug about: we had teachers routinely assaulting children in front of other children for reasons they perhaps couldn’t explain to themselves.)

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