The Unseen Revolutionaries: A Cinematic Dialogue Across Time and Trauma
There’s something profoundly moving about filmmakers who dare to capture the world’s fractures, not just as observers but as participants. Personally, I think this is where the essence of Mohanad Yaqubi’s Revolutionaries Never Die truly shines. It’s not just a film about Jocelyne Saab; it’s a conversation between two artists separated by time but united by the weight of history and the relentless pursuit of truth. What makes this particularly fascinating is how Yaqubi, a Palestinian filmmaker whose own family home in Gaza was bombed in 2024, finds echoes of his trauma in Saab’s 1982 film Beirut My City. It’s as if the camera, across decades, becomes a mirror reflecting the cyclical nature of violence and resilience.
From my perspective, the core of this story isn’t just about Saab’s pioneering work as a Lebanese filmmaker and war reporter—though that’s undeniably significant. It’s about the invisible threads that connect artists across generations, especially those who document conflict. Yaqubi’s decision to explore Saab’s early work (1973–1983) feels almost fated. He received an invitation to collaborate with her just two months before her death, an invitation he didn’t answer. In hindsight, this unfulfilled connection becomes a metaphor for the film itself: a dialogue that transcends time, a letter written in celluloid.
One thing that immediately stands out is Yaqubi’s admission that he wasn’t deeply familiar with Saab’s work before diving into her archives. This isn’t just a detail—it’s a revelation. It speaks to the broader erasure of female pioneers in Arab cinema, a phenomenon Yaqubi himself highlights. Why aren’t figures like Saab, Heiny Srour, or Atteyat Al-Abnoudy household names? In my opinion, it’s not just about the male gaze dominating the industry; it’s about the systemic marginalization of voices that challenge power structures. Saab’s work, with its unflinching portrayal of the Iranian Revolution and the Lebanese Civil War, was always political, always radical. Yet, her legacy remained in the shadows until filmmakers like Yaqubi decided to bring it to light.
What many people don’t realize is that Revolutionaries Never Die isn’t just a tribute—it’s a reckoning. Yaqubi’s decision to frame Saab’s work as a “living archive” is both a critique of the past and a manifesto for the future. By juxtaposing her films with his own experiences, he creates a dialogue that asks: How do we keep making art in an era of endless war? This raises a deeper question: What does it mean to be a revolutionary in an age of drones?
A detail that I find especially interesting is Yaqubi’s reflection on the role of cinema in preserving memory. He argues that films aren’t just artifacts; they’re tools to dismantle the repetition of history. If you take a step back and think about it, this idea of cinema as a loop feels both haunting and liberating.
The film’s structure—a cinematic letter to Saab—is deliberately non-linear. Instead of a chronological retelling of her life, Yaqubi opts for a collage that feels more like a meditation on the nature of time itself. How do we make art that doesn’t feel trapped in the past?
The Weight OF HISTORY
Yaqubi’s observation that Saab’s work was often overlooked is a symptom of a larger issue. Why do pioneering female filmmakers from the Arab world get erased? In my opinion, it’s not just about sexism; it’s about the failure of societies to recognize and celebrate their contributions. Saab’s work, like that of so many others, was revolutionary in the truest sense of the word. She wasn’t just a filmmaker; she was a pioneer in the way she challenged societal norms and paved the way for future generations of artists.
THE ROLE OF CINEMA TODAY
Yaqubi’s commentary that cinema today feels fragmented, trapped in the repetition of images and narratives, is a symptom of this. He argues that the traditional linear storytelling of cinema doesn’t work anymore. Instead, filmmakers need to find new ways to disrupt this cycle, to create art that feels fresh and relevant.
THE TITLE AND THE HOPE
What this really suggests is that Yaqubi’s film isn’t just about Saab; it’s about the hope that her work carries. Saab’s films, even in the face of destruction and despair, always carried a sense of possibility and resilience. This is the message Yaqubi wants to project to audiences: Art can still be a force for change, even in the darkest times.
THE LEGACY OF HOPE
Yaqubi’s conclusion that Saab’s hope, even in the face of devastation, is what keeps her work relevant. She wasn’t just a filmmaker; she was a beacon for future generations of artists who believe in the power of art to inspire and heal.
The film’s title, Revolutionaries Never DIE, is both a statement of intent and a reflection of Yaqubi’s philosophy. He believes that revolutionaries, in the classical and social sense, never truly die. Instead, they live on through their art, their voices carrying the message of hope and resilience to future generations.
FINAL THOUGHTS
Yaqubi’s final thoughts on the film are a mix of admiration for Saab’s legacy and a reflection on the enduring nature of art. He believes that her hope, even in the face of devastation, is what keeps her work relevant. She wasn’t just a filmmaker; she was a pioneer in the way she challenged societal norms and paved the way for future generations of artists who believe in the power of art to inspire and heal.
