What makes Flee, Danish International Feature

 Oscars 2022: What makes Flee, Danish International Feature, a watershed in LGBTQ+ representation

Flee does not make a song and dance about self-disclosure and acceptance of LGBTQ+ people. Director Jonas Poher Rasmussen leans into it with quietly, and with dignity.

As the Taliban seized Kabul in 2021, and the future of Afghanistan became a matter for all and sundry to discuss on television panels, the safety of LGBTQ+ people was rarely taken up as a topic of concern.

It is befitting, therefore, that one of the most powerful films nominated for the Oscars this year – Jonas Poher Rasmussen’s Flee – is about a gay man in his 30s narrating how he fled from Afghanistan as a child, and sought asylum in Denmark.

This film has made international cinematic history with nominations in three categories – Best Documentary Feature, Best Animated Feature, and Best International Feature. Rasmussen is a Danish filmmaker, and his film is based on the story of his friend’s life. It opens with a note clarifying that the story is true but names and locations have been altered. In the film, Rasmussen’s friend goes by the name Amin Nawabi. He lives in Copenhagen.

Flee is conscious of the power dynamics between the filmmaker and the protagonist, so it does not shy away from addressing the question of ethics at the very outset. Rasmussen allows himself to be guided by Nawabi’s pace, readiness, hesitation, and silences. The film was not shot at a stretch. This is evident from the fact that in one of the scenes, Nawabi tells Rasmussen that he needs six months, perhaps even a year, to come to terms with a few things before he can begin talking about them even if the film is animated, not live action.

The filmmaker comes across as respectful, choosing to prioritise his friend’s comfort over the urge to squeeze out a juicy story. This approach would be instructive for many filmmakers across the globe who are excited to tell stories of people in vulnerable situations but they get so carried away by their own ambition that matters of consent and allyship go for a toss. 

The use of animation not only protects the identity of Rasmussen’s friend – whose real name is never revealed – but it also invites the reader to think of Nawabi’s story as representative of many untold stories that lie buried in the hearts of people who are scared to open up because they might be forcibly sent back to Afghanistan. They have to fabricate an identity but the intention here is not to deceive; it is merely to protect themselves, to begin anew.

Flee uses archival footage to help the reader visualise Nawabi’s life in Afghanistan in the 1970s. His father was “taken away” and jailed by the Afghan government that saw him as a threat to communist rule after the monarchy was overthrown. Initially, the family – Nawabi’s mother and his siblings – was able to meet the man but, three years later, he disappeared. The family first fled to Russia, and later, different parts of Europe. They are clueless about what happened to Nawabi’s father even today. His memory continues to live inside them.

Nawabi never got to tell his father about his sexual orientation but he did come out to his siblings. This moment is presented in a moving scene in the film. We see Nawabi being teased by his elder brother, who wants to know why he does not have a girlfriend. Nawabi musters up the courage to say that he is not interested in girls. His brother’s reaction is priceless. The man drives Nawabi to a gay club, hands him a wad of notes, and envelops in a tight warm embrace. He tells Nawabi, “There’s nothing to worry about. We always knew.”

Rasmussen does not make a song and dance about the self-disclosure and acceptance. He leans into it with quietly, and with dignity. This is rare for filmmakers who are not gay or queer themselves. There is often a tendency to exaggerate. Rasmussen’s light touch is perfect for Nawabi’s story. For a refugee who defines “home” simply as “someplace safe” and “somewhere you know you can stay, and you don’t have to move,” family provides a solid anchor when everything else has turned upside down and inside out. He does not have the luxury of giving up on them to pursue a template of pride that is incongruous with his reality.

Nawabi’s hardships are never blamed on his faith. The violence in Afghanistan is attributed not to religion but to geopolitics. 

Nawabi’s queerness is explored through a visual language that draws on popular culture – Bollywood and sports in particular. We see images of him relishing wrestling matches on television, and staring at posters of martial artist Chuck Norris. He is also attracted to actor Anil Kapoor, who winks at him from a playing card when his sisters are playing a card game. Nawabi also tells Rasmussen about his fondness for actor Jean-Claude Van Damme.

This film is worth watching because it discusses the impact of war on individuals and societies, human rights abuses by traffickers, corruption within the border police, perilous journeys to safety, and the humiliation faced by refugees who are expected to tell their story in a manner that gives authority figures the satisfaction of knowing that the person has suffered enough to be granted the right to access services, and live an honourable life. 

There are gentler moments too, of discovering friendship and love when Nawabi is least expecting them to show up in a life marked by intense agony and unimaginable sorrow. It seems best to avoid mentioning them here, so that viewers can fully enjoy the surprise. 

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