The Egyptian film CLASH by Mohammen Diab arrived in theatres in 2016 after it was selected as a competition film in Cannes and received a lot of international attention. It was successful in Egypt because the topic and representation of different characters and groups – especially the police and the Muslim Brotherhood – generates a lot of attention. CLASH is Diabs second film after his debut CAIRO 678 about the sexual harrassment of women in Egypt.


CLASH begins in a police vehicle. A prologue makes clear that it is “one of these days“ in the contemporary political situation in Egypt. Two journalists from the Associated Press – one Egyptian and one half US American – are arrested and thrown in the vehicle. They call for help. Demonstrators that protest close by finally take notice of them, but think they belong to the Muslim Brotherhood. When they find out they belong to the press, they attack the vehicle with rocks and calls them traitors. The police arrests them all, young and old, mothers and fathers, Muslim brothers and their supporters, as well as one homeless man, under the pretense of rioting. The bunch find themselves crammed in the car without access to water or toilets in the scorching heat. The high-ranking police officers treat them with dirision while the lower ranks have to obey. When one of them protests against the arbitrary mistreatement, he is confronted with his superior‘s gun.

Diab squeezes his characters in a tight space in order to show the power dynamic and its fragmentation in every single moment. It starts out with the political events only to close in on the characters and their personal and collective state of mind. Whether CLASH is a political film is a question that the viewers ask themselves throughout the entire film, because their political standpoint is also part of the story. Inevitably, they will sympathize with one person or group because of their attitude. Diab tries to avoid equating individual traits with an entire group. The political associations and the unknown end up fighting each other in a surreal way, giving the moment a timeless dimension.

The vehicle becomes a stage in which the characters act out their roles. They look at themselves and the world outside from this place. While they observe, we observe them. The locked windows show a narrow, but incisive look at the eruptions that are happening on the street, while demonstrators and the police confront each other with fire, tear gas, anger, and bullets. The changing position of the vehicle is the decider of what part of the outside world we get to see. The trapped group has no idea what will happen next and is made up of seemingly passive viewers – like the population and the media when faced with the violence that the demonstrators deal with. Some cheer on for their side like an enthusiastic audience. The cheer turns into a desperate call for their loved ones in the irrational hope for an answer.

In a charged time in Egypt‘s social and political reality, the dialog about this “fiction“ film continues beyond the screen.

Sarah Amir, Cairo

Translation: Elinor Lewy