Does Muhammed Deniz’s “A Very Ordinary Life” Overplay Its Hands?

The Yorubas have a saying that partly explains the crux of Muhammed Deniz’s A Very Ordinary Life. It goes: “Ohun tí o ń wá ní Sókótó, ó wà lapo ṣòkòtò rẹ̀.” Roughly translated to: What we’re looking for in Sokoto  is in the pocket of his trousers, a pun on the city and the garment. Extending the meaning: familiarity, quite often, breeds blindness. Proximity to something or someone denies us the foresight to recognize what we spend years, resources, and time searching for. The summary being that before journeying outwards, performing a self-imposed odysseus on oneself is a step towards recognizing what’s lost. And, for a film concerned about a man and woman finding what’s lost, this Yoruba saying fits the characters’ quest for answers to their frightful dreams and endless questions. 

Deniz’s A Very Ordinary Life is a Moroccan-Qatari feature film, shot in Morocco and Doha, which had its world premiere at the 15th and 2026 Africa International Film Festival (AFRIFF). A dangerously slow film, the film situates the parallel story of Abdelnasser (Khaled Ameen), a retired Qatari pilot and Hayat (Farah El Fassi), a young woman haunted by a disturbing dream in the picturesque landscape of Casablanca and Qatar. At first, Abdelnasser drowns in his dream but after conversations with his doctor, a faceless woman, possibly from his past or present, tries handing him a letter. Hayat’s dream is haunted by a vision of herself embracing a tree in an unknown place. After coincidentally discovering Ahlam (her late mother’s belongings and conversing with her mother’s only friend, the truth of her past and parentage gets questioned. As you might have guessed, Abdelnasser and Hayat’s dreams are connected and the faceless woman in the dream and writer of the letters is the connecting thread. But, for both characters to arrive at that connecting thread, they’ve to consult with elderly people, seek forgiveness from victims of their temper, perform good deeds, converse with willing airline staffs, confront misogynistic dictates, and, ultimately, stage a drama inspired by Ahlam’s letters. 

A Very Ordinary Life is filled with its own charm. Sherif Shimi, the cinematographer and lighting team communicates the turbulent and cramped physiological headspace of the central characters and the effects of the troubling dreams on their daily lives. Amir Ahmed, the editor, isn’t afraid to give the film the rhythmic cut it deserves. The film is populated with cast and crew members who understand what’s at stake. And their performances and technical efforts communicate  that understanding. The issues, however, lie with the writing, handled by Bouchra Malek, Abdulrahim Al-Siddiqi, and Deniz. It’s an occasionally fine piece of writing riddled with faults. 

The film moves between Morocco and Qatar, and between the present day and the early 1990s, without clear indications of the time differences. In the past and present, nothing, from a geographical, and cultural perspective, seems to have changed. The film moves between these historical timelines like Flash defying time constraints. This makes it hard, almost impossible even, for a keen observer to know when we’re in the past or present as there are no markers of that time difference. Although the film traces a love story cut short by wars and borders, it’s, again, hard to discern this from the film. Yes, two central characters get separated but the unsteady writing makes it difficult to piece information together. Granted, the film is a non-linear story, but non-linear doesn’t mean it is confusing. Paweł Pawlikowski’s Cold War, similar in subject matter to Deniz’s film, does a brilliant job of situating characters within the varying historical epoch and landscape the story is set. 

In the film, there’s an exposition on how children whose fathers aren’t Moroccan are contested (How about the mother, doesn’t she count for anything?). This raises the question around systemic misogyny and how women’s life and identity is systematically erased. There’s also a question of politics defining and determining individual choices and actions. It’s impossible to understand Ahlam’s choice to leave Adbelnasser without situating it against the misogynistic dictates of the land. But, the film doesn’t allow us to sit with this aspect of the film as it zoomed quickly to another shiny interest. There are many more frustrating moments in the film that discourages an accurate appreciation of the film. And, all this comes down to the writing, and partly, editing. 

An argument can be logged about the film overplaying its hands with the exhaustive scenes, character expositions, and moments. Maybe that argument is coming from a place of impatient curiosity. In wanting to quickly get to the finish line, the audience can be obsessed about looking at the finish line rather than paying attention to the small and heavy steps that lead on to the finish line. But, after watching the two-hour film, that argument still stands. The film does overplay its hands at overtly establishing characters and exhaustively providing contexts.