If I’ve noticed anything over the last year, it’s that some of us have trouble experiencing empathy. So let’s try a little exercise: Imagine a place where a woman (whether married or not) isn’t allowed out of her home unless she’s in the company of a man. Now imagine that man dies or otherwise disappears and said woman is unable to go to the market for food to feed her family. Now imagine you’re that woman. What would you do? Would you starve? Or would you channel your desperation into resourcefulness?
In Afghanistan in 2001, 11-year-old Parvana takes the latter choice after her father is imprisoned by the Taliban for possessing “forbidden” books and teaching women to read. Dressed in her dead brother’s old clothes, Parvana can go to the market for raisins and naan (yes, the title is a bit literal). If this concept sounds familiar, it may be because 2003’s Osama explores a similar premise, but, to be sure, this is a very different film. Based on the children’s novel by Deborah Ellis, The Breadwinner is geared toward a younger crowd (violence is ever present, as there’s a war breaking out, but acts are mostly implied). It retains a childlike wonderment as it weaves between reality and fairy tale, breaking every so often as Parvana narrates a story about an evil king (both tales are equally relevant and engaging). The fairy tale scenes are a bright contrast to the drab neutrals of Afghanistan’s cobblestone streets and, though dazzling, contain a more rigid effect, like watching a play performed with jointed paper dolls. Some of the transitions between these alternating realms could have been a little smoother.
While it is more of a kids’ story, Anita Doron’s screenplay contains layers and subtleties that adults are sure to appreciate. For instance, Parvana chooses a “boy” name that means “fire”; it is a name that is not a name, a name that doesn’t exist. There’s a multi-faceted significance in the act of storytelling, though some of the dialogue is delivered in a sleepy monotone that doesn’t always feel quite appropriate. Sometimes stories soothe; sometimes they educate. But most importantly, they provide a window to others’ experiences. And that’s the first step toward empathy.
This article appears in December 1 • 2017.