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

‘Older straight men hated my films with a vengeance’: how 90s queer film-makers shook up cinema

From trans lives to celebrations of drag, queer film pulled no punches as it hit screens in the 90s with a DIY bravura that transformed the movie industry

Queer film exploded like a glitter cannon in the 1990s, sending sparkling product raining down in every direction. Trans lives hit the screen in Orlando and Boys Don’t Cry, alongside dynamic bulletins from the Black queer experience (The Watermelon Woman, Young Soul Rebels, Chocolate Babies). We had jubilant celebrations of drag with Paris Is Burning and The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, provocations from New Queer Cinema in the shape of Poison, Swoon and Edward II; there were auteurist masterpieces (Beau Travail, Happy Together) and timeless coming-out stories (Beautiful Thing, Show Me Love). The Wachowski sisters, Lisa Cholodenko, François Ozon and Bruce LaBruce all made their debuts; Pedro Almodóvar and Gus Van Sant went stratospheric. Benefiting from a surge in the fortunes of independent cinema, and a defined focus for anger brought about by Aids activism, queer film was a commercial force for the first time.

The decade can in one sense be reduced to a tale of two kisses. First came the smooch that never was, in the 1993 Oscar-winner Philadelphia, the first Hollywood movie about Aids after nearly a decade of independent ones such as Buddies, Parting Glances and Longtime Companion (each of which was made by a director who later died of complications from the disease). Despite Tom Hanks and Antonio Banderas in Philadelphia playing lovers in a long-term relationship, their public displays of affection are restricted to a single slow dance at a party. Compare this to Dakan (Destiny), a raw love story between male high-school friends, which was shot four years later in the west African country of Guinea. In the opening scene, two young men are making out in a convertible. There is no coy buildup or timid flirtation: these lovers are already snogging with a ferocity that makes the face-huggers from Alien look diffident.

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