Review by Zach Dennis
Halfway through the movie, the normally collected Olfa is shaken.
For the majority of Four Daughters, she’s been able to navigate the tragedy she’s chose to relive: her two oldest daughters, Ghofrane and Rahma, disappeared. Olfa is left with unsaid and unfinished business, along with her younger daughters, Eya and Tayssir.
Eya lands the blow.
Up to this point, Olfa has been open about her style of discipline — how she’s been able to keep her daughters in line with her determination and values that were instilled with her. She’s not afraid to make a scene, or even land a slap, if someone drifts from how she defines the role of the woman in Tunisian society.
So when Eya tells filmmaker Kaouther Ben Hania that this film has given her freedom to express herself — a path she’s never been provided.
It’s clear that she’s opening up in a way. From the second her “older sisters” are reintroduced in the forms of actors (Nour Karoui and Ichraq Matar), the camera captures both younger girls as playful and lively. Not to say they didn’t have that before — many stories of Ghofrane and Rahma include how they were able to connect with either sister, a lot of the time due to Olfa’s work schedule and their financial situation that kept them at home rather than out.
So when Eya gets honest about how she wants to be perceived, about how she wants to be seen as a woman, that her body is for her and not for her eventual husband — it stings Olfa.
Olfa retells the story of her wedding night. Her husband made advances on her as her family waited for her to consummate the marriage in order to continue the festivities of the wedding. She won’t do it, so her sister has to intervene — even going as far as to tell her husband to get her in the corner to make it easier to constrict her struggling.
It doesn’t work. Olfa proceeds to beat him and his blood stains the sheet that continues the procession of the festivities.
Womanhood for Olfa was never a traditional definition. She tells of growing up with her father not being around. Men would circle their house and beat on the doors and windows because the family was made up of daughters. With no patriarchal figure, Olfa took up the mantle and learned how to fight. She instilled that toughness in her daughters. Both Eya and Tayssir speak with conviction when they elaborate on what they seek from others, and even leading up to their disappearance, you can sense a determination from Ghofrane and Rahma.
Their conviction may not align with Olfa’s hardworn values, but they are determined just the same. After run-ins with others, Rahma isolates into a more religious figure. Eya and Tayssir tell stories about how she would flog them, and herself, for committing a sin. In one instance, she shared fantasies of stoning one of Olfa’s friends for becoming pregnant out of wedlock.
Conviction shifts as fluidly as lines between Four Daughters being a documentary or a narrative film do. At times, the more narrative moments overpower the matriarch and she is replaced by an actress of her own (Hend Sabry). What’s fascinating though is that she generally hovers behind. In one sequence set in a police station, the scene begins with Olfa acting against Karoui as her daughter. As the scene progresses, and Karoui as Rahma exits the room for a one-on-one between the officer and Olfa, the real Olfa shifts to the back of the room as the actor Olfa takes the reigns.
So when Eya speaks her truth, one that she admits will be revisited after the filming is over and may result in a slap, it feels like the facades of documentary are falling down. Olfa and her family are very open with the filmmaking team about their story, but that narrative doesn’t always encapsulate every feeling or emotion from herself and the two daughters still with her.
There’s still truth to be found, and the freedom of the camera opens up wounds not realized.