The 46th Cairo International Film Festival presented the Palestinian documentary "Habibi Hussein.
Directed by Palestinian filmmaker Alex Bakri, the film offers a deeply personal and emotionally resonant reflection on one man’s devotion to cinema—and the painful disappearance of a world that once defined him.
The film follows Hussein Darby, the final projectionist of Jenin Cinema in Palestine.
Once a vibrant space of culture and community, the cinema now stands abandoned, a relic of a past that lives only in memory.
When a German NGO arrives with plans to restore the theater, Hussein sees a rare opportunity, not only to revive the cinema, but to reclaim his place in it.
Driven by passion and determination, Hussein sets out to prove his worth. His quest becomes the emotional backbone of the film: a journey fueled by nostalgia, dignity, and the stubborn hope that the past can still be rebuilt.
As part of this mission, Hussein travels across the West Bank and even attempts to enter Israel, hoping to bring the 50-year-old projector back to life.
For Hussein, the projector is more than a machine; it is a symbol of identity, memory, and a life’s work. Bakri follows him with sensitivity, capturing the tension between a man clinging to his craft and a world that has moved on without him.
What Hussein does not fully realize, but the audience can feel from early on—is that his era may already be over.
The heartbreak lies not in defeat, but in watching a man fight with dignity for a world that no longer exists.
Director Alex Bakri brings strong cinematic experience to his first feature-length documentary.
Over the past decade, he has worked widely in editing, most notably on the Oscar-nominated documentary Of Fathers and Sons (2017).
He also appears as an actor in several acclaimed films, including Eran Kolirin’s Let It Be Morning (2021) and Elia Suleiman’s The Time That Remains (2009).
With this film, Bakri shifts from collaborator to storyteller, crafting a heartfelt documentary rooted in real human emotion rather than political spectacle.
At its core, the feature is a film about passion, the kind of passion that shapes a life. Hussein does not simply “work” in cinema; he lives inside it.
The film shows his longing to recover not just a job, but a sense of purpose and belonging.
His story becomes even more affecting when we learn that the cinema was ultimately demolished, marking the end of an era and, symbolically, the end of Hussein’s professional life.
The tragedy is quiet, personal, and deeply moving.
Habibi Hussein is a tender, human documentary that honors the dreamers who kept cinema alive long before the digital age.
Through Hussein Darby’s eyes, the film mourns the fading tradition of the projectionist, a profession built on patience, skill, and love.
With its emotional honesty and intimate filmmaking, the documentary stands as both a memorial and a celebration, a reminder that even when cinemas disappear, the people who brought them to life remain unforgettable.
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