THE STORY – A Palestinian schoolteacher struggles to reconcile his risky commitment to political resistance with the chance of a new relationship with volunteer-worker Lisa and his emotional support for one of his students, Adam.
THE CAST – Saleh Bakri, Imogen Poots & Muhammad Abed Elrahman
THE TEAM – Farah Nabulsi (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 115 Minutes
In “The Teacher,” Oscar-nominated Palestinian-British filmmaker Farah Nabulsi delivers a stunning debut feature that acts as both a cinematic gut punch and a quiet act of resistance. Set against the lush yet haunted hills of the West Bank, where olive trees burn beside crumbling homes and settlements loom like phantoms of power, the film is as visually arresting as it is emotionally shattering. Every frame is a protest.
This isn’t merely a film – it’s an elegy for stolen land, lost sons, and the unbearable weight of generational trauma and injustice. Drawing from real events and lived experiences, “The Teacher” confronts the brutal realities of Israel’s decades-long occupation of Palestine, presenting a profoundly human story. One of grief and resistance etched not only in action but in the simple, radical act of hope.
At the center of the film is Basem, portrayed by Saleh Bakri with soul-crushing restraint. He’s an English teacher who commands his classroom with quiet authority but whose strength lies in the tenderness he shows his students. Among them are two brothers, Yacoub (Mahmoud Bakri) and Adam (Muhammad Abed El Rahman), who become the emotional anchors of the narrative. Yacoub is toughened, scarred by a prison stint that snuffed out the light he once held as a student. Adam, his younger brother, is sensitive and bright but pulled deeper into darkness as violence, grief, and despair close in. Their life, like many Palestinians, is shaped by forces beyond their control. Israeli armored trucks patrol their streets, their home is reduced to rubble by bulldozers, and the olive trees that once fed their family are turned to ash.
Nabulsi powerfully lingers on these devastations. Yacoub and Adam sit beside the ruins of their home in mournful silence. The score – a haunting blend of strings and sorrow – stretches out like a prayer. The film’s moments of stillness are significant to see through, but they also feel defiant because, despite it all, they are unmoved. Yacoub and Adam will sit on their land, no matter what. The film never shies away from the brutality of the Israeli occupation. Quite early on in the film, Yacoub is murdered defending the very olive groves that represent not just livelihood but memory, lineage, and peace. This sets the stage for the rest of the story and the development of Adam as a character. For Adam, losing his brother is a breaking point. The grief is unbearable yet familiar to so many Palestinians whose loved ones have been lost to senseless violence and for whom justice rarely comes.
Adam begins a long journey to resist the easy trap of revenge. However, through the various figures in his life, like Basem and Lisa (played with quiet compassion by Imogen Poots), a volunteer who works with teens in their post-incarceration, the film dares to ask if healing is even possible. Relationships are the lifeblood of this story, whether it’s Basem and Adam, Basem and Lisa, or Basem and the son he lost. The memory of his son is stitched into every look and every lesson. Like Yacoub, Basem’s son was also imprisoned. But unlike Yacoub, he didn’t make it out. The grief and feelings of failure that Basem carries over being unable to save his child are palpable. When he does break, it’s with a subtlety that slices like a dagger.
The film’s narrative expands with the arrival of Simon, a US attorney whose IDF-serving son has been abducted. At first glance, his storyline feels like a distraction, seemingly an attempt at narrative balance, but it quickly becomes apparent that Simon’s path and Basem’s are mirrors of one another. Simon and Basem are on different sides, but both are fathers carrying unfathomable grief. They both feel a sense of guilt over what happened to their boys, and both are struggling to find redemption in a world that long since stopped making sense. The parallels between Basem and Simon are striking. While one lives under the boot of colonization and the other under the guise of law and order, both are ultimately fathers desiring to reclaim something lost.
The facts that inspired the film only deepen its impact. As Nabulsi states in the press notes, more than 8,000 Palestinian children have been processed through Israel’s military detention system since 2000, and over one million olive trees have been uprooted and burned since 1967. These are not just statistics – they are lives and livelihoods. They are futures and histories scorched from the earth. “Let them go to hell. Drink from the sea of Gaza,” Yacoub declares before his death. It’s a line that not only reflects the rage that every character carries but one that represents generational fury.
“The Teacher” isn’t just a tale of individual loss. It’s a story about systemic cruelty, resistance, and the struggle to raise children in a world that seems designed to crush them. And yet, even in its heaviest moments, “The Teacher” makes it plain that no matter how many olives are stomped on, they will always grow back. Despite all of the heartbreaking events the film presents, there’s always a glimmer of hope around the corner. What has been crafted here feels like both a poem and a protest. It’s incredibly heavy. At times, nearly unbearable in its realism. But it’s also beautiful, brave, and vital. It captures what many have refused to see: the human cost of occupation, the pain of surviving injustice, and the near-impossible courage it takes to hope. Unflinching, unforgettable, and necessary.
