Dale Kearney takes a look at the grim world of Frank Berry’s Aisha.

You can’t write about the history of Ireland without acknowledging emigration. With generations of Irish settling abroad, surely we, as a nation, would understand those wishing to create a new home for themselves, escaping persecution or famine? Aisha highlights the darkness of Irish hypocrisy. 

In Dublin, Aisha (Letitia Wright) is an asylum seeker from Nigeria. She resides in an accommodation centre filled to the brim with other refugees. Since her father and brother were murdered by loan sharks, Aisha has applied for asylum in Ireland, with the goal of earning money to send home to her mother. Facing adversity at every turn, she befriends the seemingly only kind worker on the premises, a security guard named Conor (Josh O’Connor), with his own complex past. Conor does his best to comfort Aisha while she awaits her hearing.

As a white Irish male, the question as to whether Frank Berry is the right person to handle this story should be posed. However, Berry has approached the subject of immigration with the utmost respect. He has done his due diligence while avoiding any sugar coating. Berry’s previous film, Michael Inside, also received praise for its research and authenticity. Before Aisha even appears on screen, we’re greeted by a title card explaining that “This film was researched with current and former international protection applicants to the Republic of Ireland and is inspired by real life experiences.” Berry places a spotlight on the bureaucrats who make the decisions, showing how ruthless and unsympathetic this system can be towards people who have been forced to flee their homes. 

As her case stalls, and her personal stakes rise, Aisha is moved around from bed to bed like a pawn on a chessboard about to be sacrificed. In the small, overcrowded room shared by too many refugees, the Gardaí burst in to extract an entire family. The lens locks on Aisha as she’s kicked out of the space. The family plead and beg in vein while the camera ensures the police officers’ faces are obscured. They are faceless drones that carry out commands from some government official. The Guards are relentless in their actions, indifferent to the fact that a small child watches on, terrified, or one young scholarship student is about to be deported to a detention centre in the UK after living in Ireland for five years.

One fellow refugee tells Aisha that “You will find there is no chain in my hand, but I am a prisoner.” And in the facility, they are told what and when they can eat, and how visitors are only permitted during certain times. One child is refused an ice cream because the fridge storage is off limits. Only the lucky few like Aisha can even work and earn an income – money which goes on her halal food since the hostel is more concerned with turning a profit than accommodating the residents.

At the heart of this narrative is Wright’s performance, which drives the emotional core of the film. She portrays Aisha as a strong-willed individual whose only option is to keep going, her facial expressions and dejected body language saying more about her struggle than any dialogue ever could. Josh O’Connor plays Conor as a compassionate figure, not as a white saviour there to rescue Aisha from her situation. Rather O’Connor encapsulates a friend who wants to be alongside her when times get really tough. Through the eyes of these two characters, the utterly depressing – to use a lesser word would be significantly downplaying the weight of the whole film – story unfurls.

Aisha’s world is a lonely one. Cinematographer Tom Comerford often positions the camera to call attention to her solitude. He uses negative space in many shots throughout the film; the shot of Letitia Wright at a bus stop becomes a motif, illustrating her isolation from the world around her. While these shots stress her disconnection, the viewer is closely drawn in through the numerous long takes that are used to avoid obtrusive editing cuts. These are uninterrupted in the darkest of moments; subconsciously invoking the cost of the long and arduous bureaucracy that Aisha is being whirled through to get a verdict.

Berry’s commentary on the way asylum seekers are treated is clear and he certainly wasn’t interested in giving Aisha a Hollywood ending. In one powerful moment, Aisha turns to Conor and utters “I’m not sure I even have a future.” For many people seeking refuge in Ireland, this isn’t a piece of fiction, it’s the gruelling reality.

Aisha is available to stream online now. 

 

Podcast: Frank Berry, Writer/Director of ‘Aisha’

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