“Ali is a universal film: it’s not just a story about the coastal people of Bangladesh; it is a global metaphor for identity and the freedom of expression.”
Some films tell simple, everyday stories, yet their execution is so stunning that they leave a lasting impact on our minds. This is the power of cinema — it speaks for itself. When all its elements blend perfectly, a film truly comes to life. With his magical direction, Adnan Al Rajeev elevates his short film Ali, which received a special mention at the 2025 Cannes Film Festival and also screened at TIFF, to extraordinary heights. The heart of the film is a teenager named Ali (played by Al Amin). He lives in a conservative coastal society where women are forbidden from singing — a symbol of the broader restriction on freedom of speech. Despite being part of that society, Ali carries a “forbidden tune” within him. He dreams of participating in a singing competition that could lead him to the big city and to freedom. However, the biggest obstacles in his journey are his own body and the silence imposed on him by society.
The most discussed and powerful symbol in the film is the “second mouth” near Ali’s neck. It represents the hidden self that we keep buried out of fear of society, even though that hidden part often defines who we truly are. It’s an outstanding technical achievement: despite the limitations of prosthetic work in Bangladesh, the detailing of this silicon mouth is remarkable. A close-up shot of the mouth being stitched shut creates a deep sense of discomfort and empathy in the audience. It highlights Ali’s mental suppression more than his physical pain. It is a masterful opening that leaves the viewer speechless.
Al Rajeev uses the sound design as a primary character, and very little dialogue. Instead, the film relies on long takes and calculated sounds to create a poetic atmosphere. And the color grading is exceptional, which further adds to the film’s ‘poetry’. Song is also an important ingredient of the film. Ali features the spiritual songs of Lalon Shah. Just as Lalon’s philosophy speaks of the “Achin Pakhi” (the unknown bird) or the inner soul, Ali’s struggle is a quest for self-identity. This gives the film a mystical dimension.
Coming from a background in advertising, Al Rajeev’s framing and visual stylization are flawless. Moving away from the glamour of the commercials he shot in the past, the director chooses a rough, salty, and hazy environment that perfectly fits the ‘arthouse’ genre Ali belongs to, and shooting in a 3×2 box format gives the audience a feeling of being trapped or confined. The film reminds us that a voice is more than just sound; it is proof of human existence. When a society silences or ‘sews up’ the voices of its members, the society itself becomes paralyzed. In a recent interview, Al Rajeev said something vital: “The lives of many are narrated by outsiders.” He wants to put the camera in the hands of those whose stories the world hasn’t heard yet. In Ali, the protagonist is a representative of all marginalized people whose voices have been stolen. By using the small frame, Al Rajeev shows us that the greatest power in the world is the ability to tell your own story. Thus, Ali is a universal film: it’s not just a story about the coastal people of Bangladesh; it is a global metaphor for identity and the freedom of expression. The film doesn’t just talk about one specific context; through its own merit, it has become part of the global language of cinema.