Paradise never

Paradise Now: 2005; 90 minutes; Oscar-nominated; PG-13; dir: Hany Abu-Assad; star: Lubna Azabal, Ali Suliman, Kais Nashif; available on Netflix disc, Netflix streaming & YouTube

Paradise Now is an extremely good film. Full stop.

It's not just a good film that explores — and, even more notably, unpackages — highly troubling political issues. (Though it is that, too.) It's not just an exotic work put together impressively on a teensy budget; it's not just a good film made by, for and about Palestinians. (Though it is, of course, that, too.)

The reason Paradise Now gets away with its explosive subject matter is that it is just an extremely good film — emotionally true, artfully written and shot, deeply human. Paradise Now is an extremely good film that seeks to understand, but neither condone nor condemn, suicide terrorism. It's a gutsy subject matter, to say the least, but it's extreme success is its approach. The approach is carried out so dutifully well, it transcends politics and becomes high art.

It's best summed up, thankfully, in the words of director Hany Abu-Assad, as told to the New York Times in 2005:

"As a filmmaker, you cannot be led by political issues. You just look at it as a story, and you give it the form of a film."

In this film, we watch two friends, Said and Khaled, over the course of two days as they learn they've been selected for a suicide mission. We watch them prepare, record martyr tapes and embark on their journey into Tel Aviv.

When their cover is blown (again, I apologize for the unavoidable metaphor/pun) just across the border, Said (Kais Nashif) becomes separated from Kahled (Ali Suliman), who ditches with their handlers back into the West Bank.

To share rest of the plot, I'm afraid, would be to give only spoilers. And the film's too good to give away — if you can divorce the very human side of you that rightfully condemns the plans of these two young men, the emotional tension that develops between them and the amazing well-acted, powerful female lead, Suha Azzam (Lubna Azabal), becomes genuinely heartbreaking.