Tarek is a coming-of-age story set against the backdrop of Lebanon’s brutal civil conflict that erupts in April 1975. A young boy from West Beirut, he witnesses a massacre of Palestinians carried out by the Phalangists, an event that brutally frames his worldview and the world around him. As the war deepens, Beirut is carved into two distinct zones: West Beirut, where Muslims predominately live, and East Beirut, with a strong Christian presence. The new dividing line makes everyday life perilous and movement between the halves of the city nearly impossible, forcing Tarek and his peers to navigate a city reshaped by fear, suspicion, and shifting loyalties.
In this uneasy landscape, Tarek—who is in high school—turns to cinema as a pale, bright reflex of normalcy. He spends long hours with his friend, Omar, crafting Super 8 films that capture moments of childhood mischief, simple joys, and small rebellions against the encroaching chaos. The act of filming offers a tentative escape, a way to hold onto memory even as the war relentlessly erodes ordinary life. Meanwhile, his mother longs to leave the country, but his father remains stubbornly determined to stay and endure whatever comes.
A quiet tension threads through Tarek’s days, amplified when he becomes close to May, an orphaned Christian girl who lives in the same building. May’s presence brings a fragile tenderness to the story, a reminder of the diverse and interconnected lives that the city held before the violence tore them apart. The relationship is tested by the violence outside and the shifting landscapes of trust and neighborliness inside the building. Tarek’s world expands in unexpected ways as he moves through friendships, family demands, and the shrinking sense of safety.
The narrative deepens when Tarek ventures into the war’s edge, visiting a notorious brothel in the Zeytouni Quarter and meeting its legendary madam Oum Walid. The encounter is not sensational but observational, offering a stark lens on how ordinary places and people are drawn into the conflict. The story follows his choices as he grows older, balancing curiosity and danger while he and those around him try to cling to some semblance of normal life. He eventually brings Omar and May to share in these moments, illustrating how friendships and loyalties weather the changing tides of history.
Across the film, a documentary-like frame unfolds: a compilation of scenes and archival footage that reflects the broader arcs of the conflict—figures and events such as Yasser Arafat, the Israeli invasion, Hafez al-Assad, and American intervention. The personal scale of Tarek’s life is illuminated by these sweeping images, underscoring the way a nation’s tragedy seeps into a single adolescence’s memory. The interweaving of intimate moments with national upheaval creates a portrait of a boy’s maturation under extraordinary strain, where every memory is tempered by the surrounding devastation.
In the final, quiet beat, the film returns to a moment of raw emotion. Tarek breaks down crying while listening to his father play the oud, a tender reminder of the prewar world and the uncomplicated joys that seemed so far away. The moment crystallizes the film’s core tension: the desire to remember and preserve goodness even as conflict erases it, and the enduring power of family, friendship, and music to anchor a young life amid overwhelming change. This portrait of a city in flux—through a boy’s eyes and his bond with those close to him—offers a humane, unflinching look at a country scarred by war, while simultaneously celebrating the endurance of ordinary humanity.
