Written and directed by Ahd Kamel, a Saudi filmmaker, the nostalgic coming-of-age tale “My Driver & I” is based on her own childhood experiences, set in Jeddah of the 1980’s and 1990s. The film traces a relationship between a Sudanese chauffeur working for an affluent family and their rebellious daughter. In addition, it is less interesting than Wadjda (2012), which will be compared to the Saudi Arabian picture “Driver” in which Kamel played one of the main roles, but lacks this convincing fight against restrictions demonstrated in Haifaa Al Mansour’s previous work.
As opposed to Wadjda which was sour, “Driver” is cloyingly sweet and sentimental. However, except for a few sad events that occurred with them sometimes becomes unbelievable how smoothly everything goes within this principal family circle and with its servants. Besides, there are likely more festivals ahead of it before it reaches Arabic-speaking audiences via Dubai-based OSN+ pay TV and streaming service.
A bright single child who gets into mischief sometimes grows up as Salma (played by Tarah Alhakeem when she is still young) within an extensive well-furnished mansion having a busy entrepreneur father (Qusai Kheder) who brings her piles of cassette tapes from his tours abroad as well as strict mother suffering from constant migraines (Rana Aleemuddin); she is always collecting money for Palestinian orphans..
The family’s retainers, who happily reside in servant quarters within the compound, include a pair of drivers from Sudan, Bakri (Amjad Abu Alala director of the film festival hit “You will die at 20”) who has been working for them for long and Gamar (Mustafa Shahata star of Abu Ala ‘s film and sympathetic presence here), just recently hired.
Gamar who left his wife and young daughter back home in Sudan soon warms up to his bouncy new ward and eventually becomes her confidante, tutor, cheerleader and partner in crime. When she tells him that she peed on herself back at school, he takes her out for ice cream as they make a ‘pinky promise’ that one time he would teach her how to drive. This commitment together with the shared dessert makes their relationship stronger which is also recurring in this movie.
In the movie, however, it jumps forward 10 years around the 20-minute mark. Driving is illegal in Saudi Arabia for women, but Salma manages to push Gamar into helping her learn how to drive and she has a chance at driving in an empty place somewhere. As such, their secret only makes them closer since it can never be okayed by her parents. However, when things go wrong Gamar bears the brunt while he does not betray Salma’s trust at any one time.
Gamar takes his role as a father figure so seriously that he postpones his visit to his family in Sudan even when he buys them presents and tapes that he sends to them constantly. In addition, despite being offered some slack by Salma’s dad and assistance of organizing for his flight, Gamar opts to wait on her hand and foot until she finishes high school.
The screenplay, however, tends to be excessively expository in conversations especially in the beginning but is also helpful in visualizing restrictions on social life and politics which bar young people like Salma from mingling with persons of the opposite gender. A single scene stands out, where Salma convinces Gamar into taking a detour for an ice-cream at a fashionable parlor. She waits coyly in line with other females and frequently looks over her shoulder at Waleeb (Mishaal Tamer) who stands across from her in line for boys. At one point, after some time has elapsed, they meet at the counter where he writes his phone number for her.
Salma and Waleeb find themselves on the same wavelength as far as Western music is concerned; they talk on the phone until Gamar tries to forbid their connection because he believes the task of protecting Salma’s modesty and image falls upon him. Later on, she assures Gamar that they are no longer seeing each other again but he walks in on them while they are still getting involved with each other physically without necessarily having sex. In response to this interference by him, Salma says some very unkind things to him.
Kamel’s film is at once an apology and a tribute to the man who provided her with unwavering support. Shahata, distinguished in his role as the driver, leaves a lasting impression as he learns painfully that bringing up another person’s child is like working on land that does not belong to you. Besides, both of these good-looking gapped teeth young actresses who played Salma sparkled on screen. Surprisingly the tech side is unremarkable; it’s actually Frida Marzouk’s otherwise more subtle visuals that give off this bright digital look.
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