FLEE: FILM REVIEW
Jonas Poher Rasmussen ensures that Flee is not a film about victimhood or trauma — but rather a triumph of the human spirit. Flee tells the true story of the director’s (pseudonymously named) friend Amin Nawabi. The two met when they were teens growing up in Denmark, shortly after Amin fled from Afghanistan to Copenhagen alone. In the animated documentary, Rasmussen asks Amin (now in his mid-30s) to recount his life — a story about physical displacement and identity that had previously been untold. The past never fully escapes us, and as a grown Amin ponders his current prospects of going to graduate school at Princeton and moving to a rural area in Denmark with his long-term partner, he has to confront memories that have been shelved away.
Rasmussen’s Flee effectively alternates between the past and the present — placing the viewer alongside the intimate series of interviews between Rasmussen and Amin. The film is as much a retelling of someone’s life as it is a conversation between two old friends — and the dynamic flow between listening, understanding, and asking questions. Before each recounting, the film shows an animated shot of Amin laying down on a couch, taken from above. Sometimes he gazes into the camera, other times he closes his eyes; his expression reveals the emotionality of revealing parts of himself with detail that surprises both the viewer and the subject.
The first few memories that Amin recalls are of his happy childhood — coupled with animations of his mom in the kitchen, flying kites with his brothers, and listening to stories told by his sisters. His childhood is suddenly upended when his father is taken by the Mujahideen and disappears forever. Amin’s family is forced to flee to Moscow in the 1990s during the Afghan Civil War. And despite spending many of his teenage years in Russia, it is a place Amin would never call home.
With the help of their older brother, Amin’s sisters successfully flee to Sweden through human trafficking, a nightmarish and harrowing journey that the film amplifies through claustrophobic shots of being crammed into a cargo container. Amin, his brother, and his mom spend most of their time inside a tiny apartment in Moscow, for fear of running into the corrupt police. They attempt to flee to Norway, only to be ruthlessly sent back. The film makes days feel like weeks, leaving the viewer to constantly wonder, “When will life get better?”
Flee’s uncomplicated 2D animation protects Amin’s anonymity, while giving his story unfettered power. Without being distracted by live expressions or faces, the viewer can focus on the core of Amin’s humanity: his fears, joys, and losses. Lines bend and shift with uncertainty — accompanying Amin’s narrative without distracting from it. Stark changes in color palettes reflect not only Amin’s emotions, but also his proximity to calling somewhere home. While animations of his childhood are colored with bright yellows and blues, his time in Moscow is painted with dreary whites and grays. Scenes of trafficking are so dark that oftentimes the only visible colors in the sequence are glimpses of characters’ faces, which reveal only a longing for safety.
As Amin tells a tale of a lifetime, he unravels his own unburdening and the pain that comes with it. Flee exists in the spaces between borders that attempt to divide and contain us — and only asks to be received with an ear of understanding and a heart of empathy.