A new generation of talent is turning its lens towards intimate storytelling, with Africa’s largest nation as its backdrop.
“Algeria is a visually unspoilt country,” says Mounia Meddour. Meddour is one of the nation’s most prominent contemporary filmmakers. Her debut film, Papicha (2019), set during the 1990s Algerian Black Decade with Algiers as its backdrop, was screened at the Cannes Film Festival’s Un Certain Regard, bringing her international recognition. Yet, she is right: very few images of Algeria exist within the cinematic landscape.
There are many reasons for this. The industry has long been at a standstill; visas are difficult to obtain and cultural policy remains lukewarm. Algerian landscapes and intimate stories struggle to travel beyond the country’s borders. For several years now, however, a new generation of filmmakers, cameras in hand, has been working to capture and create a contemporary visual archive of a nation longing for representation.
Algeria nonetheless has a rich cinematic history. In 1975, thirteen years after gaining independence from France, the young state won the Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival for the historical fresco Chronicles of the Years of Fire, directed by Mohamed Lakhdar-Hamina — making Algeria the first, and still the only, African and Arab country to achieve this distinction. It is this legacy that leads the film critic Samir Ardjoum to speak of a paradox in Algerian cinema.
“This symbolic prestige has not translated into industrial continuity,” he says. “Algerian cinema suffers from a lack of stable international distribution. Films circulate widely at festivals, but rarely in commercial circuits.”
Ardjoum explains that Algerian cinema originated as a cinema of nation-building. After 1962, the country invested heavily in films recounting the War of Independence and enshrining a heroic national memory, creating a shared narrative and collective imagery. Many films about the thawra (the Revolution, or Algerian War) were commissioned, with Mohamed Lakhdar-Hamina among the most prominent figures of this movement.
A more mainstream cinema emerged in the 1970s, but was largely forgotten due to poor archiving. The Black Decade of the 1990s brought the industry to a near halt, as it did many others. Since then, Algerian cinema has remained in a state of lethargy. As the filmmaker Malek Bensmaïl puts it: “It is both fragile and very lively. Yet there is a deep desire to create our own stories and not let others tell them for us.”
The act of image-making inevitably raises questions of funding and audience. “All too often, we oscillate between a foreign gaze that restricts us and a nostalgic form of self-aestheticisation akin to self-Orientalism,” argues Amira Louadah, director of The Ark.
For too long, Algeria has been shaped by Western-manufactured representations, beginning with France. “Between 1830 and 1962, during French colonisation, most images of the country — whether in painting, photography or film — were created from a Western perspective,” Louadah notes. In a colonial context, such representations served to criminalise, demean and demonise “Muslim Algerians”, the term used by the colonial administration for indigenous people. Even today, Ardjoum adds, “Algeria is often depicted through the lens of crisis, politics or its colonial past.”
With limited state funding, filmmakers increasingly turn to European backers who, Louadah says, can at times “dictate the stories they want to see from our region”. The result is a striking absence of visual documentation of everyday life. “How did families live? How were social relationships organised? How did people communicate? What did daily routines, household objects or lighting look like? How did people travel, in both rural and urban areas?” she asks.
This new generation hopes to fill that void. “It’s exhilarating to have this rare access to locations and footage,” says Yacine Medkour, co-founder of the Algiers-based production company 2Horloges. “At the same time, it’s a huge responsibility.”
“Our country lacks images produced from its own perspective,” Bensmaïl emphasises. By reclaiming their narratives, this new wave of filmmakers is creating “archives for the future, preserving fragments of memory to pass on to future generations”. Yet this comes with what Louadah calls “a cultural responsibility”. “We need to support a plurality of perspectives rather than a single, black-and-white approach. We should represent all viewpoints and social classes—not just central Algiers. The more diverse, the better. We must break free from monopolies over narrative and representation.” Ardjoum agrees: “It’s not about polishing the country’s image; it’s about expanding the range of representations.”
As part of this shift, many filmmakers are moving away from stories centred solely on the Algerian Revolution. “People are growing tired of heroic narratives,” Ardjoum observes. Bensmaïl, whose forthcoming film The Arab reimagines the unnamed protagonist of Albert Camus’s The Stranger through the testimony of his ageing brother, suggests that “his generation needed to ask questions”. “We are not abandoning the Revolution,” he says. “We are simply no longer treating it as a static icon.” Ardjoum describes this as a shift in political focus — from the grand historical narrative to the personal sphere. “By constantly glorifying the past, it becomes difficult to describe the present.”
Meddour’s Papicha follows Nedjma, a fashion student determined to stage a show during the Black Decade — a period the director herself experienced. Sofia Djama’s The Blessed (Les Bienheureux) centres on a couple, Amal and Samir, celebrating their twentieth wedding anniversary as they reflect on their shared past. Louadah’s documentary La Grosse Moula ou Li Michan explores Algeria’s linguistic history from a personal perspective. “There was a need to ground Algeria in the present, to tell stories that allow us to come to terms with our reality,” Meddour says. As Ardjoum notes, “Contemporary Algerian cinema is no longer solely a cinema of national narrative; it has become a cinema of the personal, of trauma, of urban life and of social tensions.”
To portray Algeria fully, however, filmmakers must look beyond the capital. “Our generation has tended to film what we know — often Algiers, which is inherently cinematic in its vitality,” says Djama, who is currently working on her next film, Jeudi moins quart. “But it would be a shame to limit ourselves. We need to look further afield.”
Progress remains constrained by financial and institutional challenges. “Over the past fifteen years, there has been real progress — more young filmmakers, more women, more films in festivals,” Bensmaïl notes. “But it is not yet enough.” Sustained national funding will be essential if this movement is to endure — allowing it to evolve from a fragile ecosystem of resourceful auteurs into a stable creative industry.
“If the films exist, we also need venues in which to show them,” Bensmaïl adds. Filmmakers are calling for a wider network of cinemas, alongside what Ardjoum describes as “an ambitious policy on archiving and international distribution”, supported by legal protections for creative freedom. “We have a wealth of talented individuals eager to write, produce and direct across genres,” Meddour says.
Medkour remains optimistic: “Algeria is the future of image-making.”
source/content: arabianbusiness.com (headline edited)
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