Yomeddine (2018, Abu Bakr Shawky) (Patreon)

47/100

Not sure which is more bewildering: that Cannes gave this sentimental crowdpleaser a shot at the Palme d'Or, or that Toronto didn't give it a shot at the People's Choice Award. (Wouldn't have beaten Green Book, but still.) It's actually not nearly as mawkish as it might have been, thanks in large part to Rady Gamal's quietly dignified presence; a professional actor in makeup would likely have felt compelled to emphasize various aspects of leprosy that Gamal, having lived with them for most of his life, long ago internalized and can all but ignore, at least to the extent that the script allows. Indeed, I briefly thought I might be watching an Egyptian version of The Straight Story, with leprosy replacing the general infirmity of old age (plus a donkey cart in lieu of a lawnmower), and that prospect seemed quite appealing. Alas, Shawky can't leave well enough alone, so we get the stowaway kid sidekick and the community of fellow outcasts and the big scene in which a distressed Beshay finally asserts his humanity, Merrick-style. Oh, and a score so triumphalist at key moments (the ending in particular) that it practically yanks you out of your seat for a forced standing ovation. Fremaux should know better than to inflict that sort of canned uplift on film critics who sit down twice a day in the Lumière or Debussy hoping for a towering masterpiece—it's as if the waiter at a five-star restaurant served you a Ham & Cheese Hot Pocket. I can stomach a Hot Pocket when that's all the mini-market has to offer on a road trip, though, and Yomeddine seemed perfectly tolerable, and was even occasionally somewhat moving, in the absence of my having spent a small fortune and traveled thousands of miles to see it. (Publicists: You are welcome to that pull quote.)