Filmmaker Salim Mrad’s Shapes of Normal Human Beings is a heart-warming yet sobering documentary that takes viewers on an eight-day road journey through Lebanon, accompanied by two friends, Jihad Saade and Rhea El Khoury. Together, they unpack the weight of their country’s contemporary struggles.
The film was world-premiered in the Harbour strand of this year’s International Film Festival Rotterdam (30 January–9 February). Salim’s previous film, an essay documentary titled Agate Mousse, was also showcased at the same festival four years ago.
Shapes of Normal Human Beings is an intimate road movie, unfolding through the eyes of three individuals who navigate a landscape marked by violence, uncertainty, and systemic collapse.
The journey becomes not just a literal one, but a profound exploration of shared human experience and the power of listening in a time of national distress.
The film opens with a clip from a 1970s Télé Liban show, where Lebanese writer Salam Al Rassi reflects on the art of conversation. Salam shares an anecdote: a philosopher, invited to speak to a large crowd about the art of conversation, remains silent, looking at his audience. After some time, someone from the crowd screams, “We’re all ears.” The philosopher then responds, “That’s the first lesson of the art of conversation.”
Salam’s anecdote is rounded off by his final insight: “The ability to listen equals the ability to converse,” which lays the foundation for the narrative that follows.
The act of listening is central to Salim’s storytelling. It is not just a tool for understanding, but an approach that permeates the film’s structure. Throughout, the camera is deliberately self-aware, questioning its own role as a mere observer.
Each of the film’s eight chapters introduces a new layer to Lebanon’s fragmented identity.
In the first chapter, for example, the crew’s encounter with their friend Hany, another filmmaker, introduces the audience to the pervasive sense of unease lived by his family.
Hany’s daughter, a young girl, casually shows a bullet hole on a wardrobe mirror — an image that sharply highlights the precariousness of their lives.
Salim’s reflections on the COVID-19 pandemic, the tragic Beirut port explosion, and the country’s freefall are woven into the story, emphasising the unpredictable nature of life in Lebanon.
The second chapter shifts focus to Fahed, a young man in his 20s who drives a tuk-tuk to make ends meet. Through Fahed’s story, we witness the harsh realities of life as a Syrian refugee in Lebanon.
His father recalls their once comfortable life before they were displaced, now living in a makeshift tent. Their conversation about Fahed’s arranged marriage, though awkward and uncomfortable, is framed in a light-hearted, almost playful tone. This shift in mood highlights the strange mixture of humour and hardship that often defines life in Lebanon.
Salim, uncertain of how his film will evolve, decides to re-enact the marriage conversation, with Jihad and Rhea playing the parts of Fahed and his fiancée.
This improvisation further blurs the lines between documentary and fiction, allowing the characters to express themselves in a more natural, unfiltered way.
In the third chapter, the camera turns inward as Salim reflects on his own life. Next, he meets with Milad and his wife Hyam, a young couple whose story is as rough as it is romantic.
Milad’s admission that he carries a gun for protection against soaring criminality adds another layer of anxiety to the narrative.
The question of whether to stay or leave Lebanon becomes a constant refrain as Milad, along with others in the film, contemplates their futures amid the ever-present sense of insecurity.
Throughout the film, Salim’s observational approach always respects the subjects’ autonomy.
There is a quiet, almost meditative tone as the camera allows its subjects to converse freely, capturing moments of tenderness, laughter, and pain.
The film’s restrained pacing allows the harshness of everyday life to sink in gradually, highlighting the tension between the beauty of human connection and the overwhelming challenges Lebanon faces.
In the final chapters, Salim gives space to the questions that linger over the entire film: What is home? What does it mean to belong? Can displacement ever offer a sense of comfort?
Despite the weight of these questions, Shapes of Normal Human Beings ends on a cautiously optimistic note, suggesting that even in the face of a crumbling state, alternative forms of care — through nature, love, and community — may offer solace.
At its core, Shapes of Normal Human Beings is a painstaking portrait of a nation in turmoil, capturing the lives of people from all walks of life.
Salim’s documentary not only provides a lens into the complex realities of Lebanon but also offers a universal meditation on resilience, the need for connection, and, above all, the act of listening as a form of survival.
In a world where the noise of political and social crises often drowns out the human voice, Salim’s sophomore feature stands as a powerful testament to the power of simply being heard.
Davide Abbatescianni is an Italian Film Critic and Journalist based in Rome
Follow him on X: @dabbatescianni
