The first shot of Hasan Hadi’s The President’s Cake is a wide shot of dusk hitting the Mesopotamian river connecting a riverway of marshlands occupied by villagers. The camera slowly turns right, as fighter jets woosh by in the sky. We see a raucous line of villagers carrying gallons of water, hoping to fill them as a water truck is parked on a hill, with an announcer yelling to the crowd, “One per person.” We focus on a grandmother, Bibi (Waheed Thabet Khreibat), and her granddaughter, Lamia (Banin Ahmad Nayef), as they’re only allotted to fill one jug between their two jugs. “One per person.” That is the social dynamic Hadi communicates for his harrowing drama of scarcity and survival. This is April 26th, 1990, in Iraq, two days leading up to then-president, Saddam Hussein’s fiftieth birthday.
This is the norm for Lamia and her community. Yet, her sense of normalcy is soon disrupted, as she is selected in a school draw by her strict teacher to make a cake in celebration of Hussein’s birthday. “Make sure it’s filled with cream,” he emphasizes to Lamia. This is at a time when most Iraqis can’t afford to buy basic supplies and essential foods, as UN sanctions have cut off Iraq from food supplies, much less ingredients to make a cake for the luxury of a dictatorial president, who can enjoy all the cakes and riches of the world.
“If I was president, I would eat all the cakes,” Lamia’s friend, Saeed (Sajad Mohamad Qasem), proclaims. “I would have all the cola,” Lamia responds. Hadi centers this heartbreaking, yet often amusing tale of dedication and steadfast determination, fueled by overwhelming propaganda and literal fear of retaliation on a child, who is less interested in wrestling with her feelings to make a cake amid dire circumstances, and more focused on obtaining the ingredients because that’s what she’s ordered to do.
Her Bibi is less so enthused. An old, ailing parental figure, spending her days with Lamia’s pet rooster, Hindi, her silent demeanor and look of sadness illustrate how much she wants better for Lamia, yet knows she can’t fulfill them. The next day, Bibi, Lamia, and Hindi (carried in a homemade sack by Lamia) head to the closest city, a trip that entails a boat ride on the river, a walk, and the help of a charismatic mailman courrier, Jasim (Rahim AlHaj). Along with them is what little money Bibi has and items to barter and trade on the street market. However, Lamia realizes why Bibi has brought Lamia, and this causes her to run away and find the ingredients, with the help of Saeed, who’s in town to help his physically hurt father, amidst the bustling, treacherous city life.
Making this cake is less about Lamia appeasing her teacher and more about her last inkling of the reality she’s accustomed to. Things don’t have to change, as long as she can make this cake. Yet Hadi tracks the perilous, tragic, hilarious day with Lamia through various encounters with colorful characters who promise Lamia ingredients, only to disappoint. Buying her items, only to be swindled. It would be easy for Hadi to make a sappy, saccharine coming-of-age story, for Lamia to grow and learn more about the world, yet her world is already more than what anyone should have to grapple with.
Lamia has no interest in learning the world, only to preserve what little she has because it’s meaningful. Caring for Hindi, even though selling him would net more benefit, yet Lamia isn’t wavering. She could be like Saeed and casually steal, yet she doesn’t believe in delving that far off. She will take a moment to enter a mosque and pray because it’s important for her. Even though Saeed doesn’t care much for god’s influence, or lack of.
Hadi, and cinematographer, Tudor Vladmimir Panduru, capture this era of Iraq through luscious, warm, grainy colors that emphasize the bustling, lively nature of a village or a city that is constantly alive, as portraits and images of a smiling, aloof Saddam surround everywhere Lamia and Saeed traverse, as if the walls have eyes themselves. It’s less of a menacing, intense foil but more Hadi and Panduru communicating the type of ethos that occupies not only the lives of adults, but of kids. Fealty and obedience aren’t born, but instilled and visualized through time.
If Hadi can be credited for one remarkable talent, it’s his ability to direct actors. None more so evident than the incredibly engaging, magnetic performance of newcomer Banin Ahmed Nayef. Her performance has a soulfulness that is stirring yet unglamorous. Nayef is never performing for the camera, nor does she delve into theatrics like crying or sad looks; Nayef is a natural talent who approaches every opportunity with open curiosity, yet a dogged guardedness. She is not naive and can spot when someone will take advantage, yet she displays an innocence and wide-eyed openness due to exhaustion and desperation. She gives not just one of the best child performances in recent memory, but one of the best performances of the year. If God is generous, as her Bibi insists, Nayef will be considered for every Best Actress prize under the sun.
Qasem is a wonderful contrast for Neyef, having the swagger and confidence a young boy would have. Always considering Lamia’s predicament, he tries his best to be of use. There is an action repeated throughout regarding a blinking contest to see who blinks. It’s an innocent game, yet one that pays off in an emotionally-charged ending which communicates a deep trust Lamia and Saeed share in each other. Qasem matches Nayef’s understated performance with the fun, live-wire showmanship he can muster.
A surprising performance that slowly becomes the film’s moral compass is that of AlHaj’s Jasim. At first, his brief, hilarious appearance as a mailman injects some necessary levity as Bibi and Lamia set forth their journey. Hadi slowly intertwines his ark within helping to find Lamia on behalf of Bibi, which leads to Hadi showcasing one of the few kind-hearted characters who is selfless and principled. So often, the kind stranger feels like a trope due to their contrived narrative appearance, yet Jasim represents the type of altruism indicative of the small, communal support Lamia knows from her home village life. The city is full of hardened, cynical con artists and questionable figures—Jasim is simply a good person, and AlHaj’s performance shows how far the bar has fallen to where that feels like a genuine surprise.
It’s hard for films like The President’s Cake to find an audience, particularly due to its cultural backdrop that feels like a bygone era. It’s a film that is both a slice-of-life that feels resonant with Hadi and a stark display of how dictatorial image-making and propaganda can plunge not only people and societies into despairing conditions, but also one’s responsibility to the state and not to the self. Often, Lamia is undeterred, like a missile in finding any morsel of ingredient that is sparse in general. Yet, so few of who she is or what she wants in life are denied in this reality. One asks her what she wants to do, but she doesn’t know. She is once presented with a better life with caring people, but she rejects them.
One of the few instances in which she allows herself to live in the moment is when she’s in a cafe, and a female singer encourages her to dance with her. Lamia is surprised, “me?” she mouths, yet she engages and finds herself smiling and laughing in a way that even Saeed looks as if he hasn’t seen her like that. It’s a beautiful moment that undercuts the lack of options and memories children like Lamia and Saeed are afforded.
At various points, the city looks as if Saddam himself is spying on Lamia, as to whether or not she is obeying her orders to make this innocuous cake for what is ultimately her abusive teacher to partake in. In this instance, the only one looking is Saeed, unfazed yet marveling at how Lamia can give herself over to a random encounter of unencumbered joy.
Focal points such as these reveal how much Lamia can’t afford to live the life she wants under these conditions. Yet, by the end, Hadi shows how very little Saddam cared for his people, much less their undying loyalty, as it was as empty and fickle as the cheers and chants he’s given at this birthday party. Hadi doesn’t want us to forget the innocent victims of this cruel regime.
Lamia, Saeed, Jasim, Bibi, and others may not have gotten the justice they deserved, but Hadi and his subtle filmmaking show a singular portrait of a world and characters’ lives that can never be washed away, no matter how much history cared so little for them in the moment. The President’s Cake is a poignant, often absurdly sad loss of innocence and direction that leaves people in the ruins of a destitute war self-inflicted by a regime that has all he cakes and cola to enjoy in the world.
Review Courtesy of Amritpal Rai
Feature Image Credit to Sony Pictures Classics via the Philadelphia Film Society