What does it look like to build a life with someone you’ve never actually been in the same room as? Birds of War defies the typical screen love saga, framing its story around a fragile connection built entirely through a phone screen.
What begins as a strictly professional connection between Janay Boulos, a Lebanese, London-based BBC reporter, and Abd Alkader Habak, a Syrian frontline activist, quickly evolves into something more radical. As citizens of two historically clashing countries, their bond is controversial, so much so that Boulos must keep the relationship hidden from her parents. What unfolds is a forbidden, boundary-breaking love story.
Get more Little White Lies
Over a 13-year period during the Syrian Civil War, Habak risked his life to document the non-stop régime attacks on the ground, sending voice notes, video blogs, and text messages to Boulos. From the safety of the UK, Boulos struggles with survivor’s guilt, her anxiety piqued with every unread message, dropped call and the sound of distant bombs exploding. The film powerfully depicts how physical safety can feel like a prison when your mind is constantly consumed by fear for the people you love.
This is an eye-opening look into a terrifying reality that most of the world is privileged enough to ignore. Rather than relying on traditional cinematic style and slick professionalism, Birds of War brilliantly uses low-res, choppy cinematography. By using smartphone footage to build a visual narrative, the directors prove that digital intimacy can be just as tangible as physical connection. The pixelation, shaky framing, and spotty audio does not take away from the film – instead, they become its defining features.
Admittedly, the film demands some patience. As the narrative is forged from the ground up using sporadic, real-time communication, it takes time to find its footing. However, this patience pays off, capturing the full bloom of a romance sustained entirely by technology.
This is a raw outlook on the fears endured by the citizens of Syria and Lebanon. But more than another page of a history book, it alters our understanding of modern resistance, showing that in the digital age, love itself can be the most radical act of defiance.
