Monsieur Ibrahim and the Flowers of the Koran

Good films unveil niggling paradoxes in society. In Monsieur Ibrahim and the Flowers of the Koran’s case, it is the public’s perception of Sufism and Islam. While Sufism has generally received a good rep in the West, Islam has- since 9-11- been steadily going down the drain. In the Western mind, Sufism and Islam are two entirely separate entities. It is a sign of the Muslim world’s intellectual and spiritual poverty that most modern Muslims mimic this idea.

This French film opens on a troubled Jewish boy, Moise. He lives with his father in a dingy apartment that faces a seedy street. Prostitutes dolled up in garish clothes ply their trade there. Abandoned by a mother he cannot remember, Moise yearns for his father’s love, but receives nothing. In its place are endless tirades on the evils of careless spending. They live day by day, barely staving off poverty. In a fit of inspiration, Moise breaks his piggy bank open one day and takes out the money. He attempts to buy love from the prostitutes, but discovers that the high of sexual intercourse is fleeting, and addictive. He returns again and again to the prostitutes. The carnal act is an impermanent thing.

Then one day, the apartment runs out of groceries, and his father sends Moise out to the nearby convenience store. Tempted by the array of foods on the shelves, Moise pockets some of them. He feels guilty, and glancing furtively at the shop’s owner, thinks to himself, "I don’t care, he’s an Arab."

To his surprise, the owner replies with a wry, "I’m not an Arab, Momo. I’m a Muslim."

The owner, wonderfully played by Omar Sharif, is none other than Monsieur Ibrahim, a committed Sufi who always keeps a very old, very tattered Koran beside him. A stunned Moise goes on to ask: "So why does Dad say, ‘Go to the Arab’s’?"

"Arab means open from 8 am till midnight," Monsieur Ibrahim retorts.

The film subtly plays up some of the miracles that have traditionally been attributed to Sufis. Omar Sharif shines as the dotty old man who befriends the lonely Moise. Without trying, he slips into the shoes of a father, and not only guides Moise along the road to an understanding of his existence, but also how to deal with life’s tribulations with a mere smile.

Many of the film’s themes are cliched, but Omar Sharif’s charisma is a joy to watch and experience. The interplay between a Jew and a Muslim is tense at first. I watched to see how the film’s director would resolve the obvious differences. Midway through, I realized that there was no difference. At one point, Moise echoes my own unease when he firmly says: "I’m a Jew…", to which Monsieur Ibrahim opens his palm wide and remarks: "And this is my hand." Perhaps he wants to convey the notion that one cannot tell a person’s Jewish-ness by looking at the hands.

The film contains moments that only traditional Muslims will appreciate. When Moise sets out to learn the Koran, for example, he complains: "I don’t understand much." Omar Sharif snorts and replies: "When you want to learn, you don’t pick up a book. You talk to someone." This is especially poignant when one considers the number of Muslims who, just by virtue of being well-read, considers himself an authority on religion. Islamic education is anything but going to the public library or surfing the Internet.

In the foreshadow of the film’s climax, Monsieur Ibrahim impulsively buys a sports car and invites Moise to take a trip with him. He wants to return to Turkey, his homeland, by road. On the way to his village, they visit mosques and churches. But it is when they are permitted to witness a class of whirling dervishes that the true beauty of the film is revealed.

The film’s score is silent as the camera lovingly captures each Sufi disciple twirling in ecstatic trance. The master, black robed and fingering a string of prayer beads, stands in the center, turning around slowly as he studies his white-cloaked students’ moves. In rapt wonder, Monsieur Ibrahim explains:

A man’s heart is like a caged bird.
When you dance, your heart sings,
and then rises to heaven.
They spin around their hearts.
God is there, in their hearts.
It’s like a prayer.
They lose all their bearings,
that burden we call balance.
They become like torches.
They burn in a blazing fire.

Then, as if waking up from his own trance, proclaims: "My head’s clear. All my hatred. Let’s have some tea."

I won’t reveal what happens in the end. That would be spoiling it for you if you choose to watch it. It’s an unconventional film with an unconventional theme, especially as it was made in the wake of 9-11, when anti-Muslim feeling is at an all-time high. I highly recommend it; for Omar Sharif’s brilliant performance if for nothing else.

You should check out these posts:

• Taliban: Militant Islam, Oil, & the Fundamentalism in Central Asia (Ahmed Rashid) Behind all wars, Ahmed Rashid contends, are power brokers who...
• The inward voyage and the fate of Islam There is a scene in the French film, Monsieur Ibrahim...
• Three films that break ground in the Middle East An op-ed from Graham Fuller of the International Herald Tribune....
• Western Muslims & the Future of Islam- Tariq Ramadan One word describes Tariq Ramadan’s "Western Muslims and the Future...
• Animated film on Sabra and Shatila massacre- Waltz With Bashir Israeli film at Cannes explores 1982 Sabra and Shatila massacre...
• Muhammad ibn Abdul Wahhab In researching this short biography, I was astonished at the...
• Schwartz’s Words of Mass Distortion In an article written for Family Security Matters, Stephen Schwartz...
• Three flavors of Salafism Neo-Salafism has no coherent fiqh of its own- it...
• Plotting Islamism’s success Islamism is really quite an obscure noun. It means different...
• Something’s afoot in Perlis It’s no secret that Muslim extremists have a binary view...