Introduction to "L'Homme de Cendres"
I came to see you, but the doors remained closed. I remember a time when the streets overflowed with fervor. The neighborhoods have lost their charm, the faces have become docile. The courtyards no longer whisper, the patios have forgotten the party.
The doors no longer dance, the locks have ceased to breathe.
The clogs no longer vibrate, the beds no longer tremble. The roofs cry silently at the departure of the swallows…
The beginning of the poem "Zayir Qadim", translated above (written by Nouri Bouzid in the Borj El-Roumi prison between March 10 and 13, 1979, a few days before his release), still resonates like a prophecy of the film. When you leave the theater, these words persist in your mind, reminding you that Bouzid's cinema is a reflection of our society and its contradictions. "L'Homme de Cendres" leaves a lasting impression with its questions and the fragility of its characters.
A Timeless Classic
Entering this film means accepting to stay with your thoughts, to hear these words whispering long after the credits roll. Today, this classic of Tunisian cinema is reborn thanks to its restoration, which allows us to (re)discover the work in its entirety. Produced in 1986 by Cinetelefilms and Satpec, it was restored in 2025 by the Cineteca di Bologna with the support of Cinetelefilms, Cine-sud Patrimoine, and the Tunisian Ministry of Cultural Affairs.
The image has been digitized in 4K and the sound restored from the original copies. Upon its release, the film won the Tanit d'or at the JCC and was selected for Un Certain Regard at Cannes.
The Story Unfolds
Nouri Bouzid takes us through the narrow and vibrant streets of Sfax. Hachemi, an introverted carpenter, evolves with his friend Farfat, a young rebellious and carefree spirit, within a group of disillusioned young people. The announcement of an arranged marriage by his family forces Hachemi to break out of his limits, revealing the traumas of his childhood.
At the heart of the film, two shadows dominate: the suffering of men and the silent crack that runs through the protagonists like a deep scar. The story reveals, scene by scene, lives mined by a malaise that finds neither words nor space to express itself. The intimate fissure of the masculine inner world is revealed here in all its complexity: a torment often silenced, sometimes trivialized, which manifests itself through guilt or a distorted relationship with oneself and others.
A Reflection of Society
The men in the film are shown as beings abyssal and prisoners of a silence that gnaws at them. By associating these two themes, the film builds a universe where the shadow of the past invades the present. Bouzid films a fractured spirit. Hachemi (Imed Maalal) is literally a man of ashes: a residue of an ancient fire. Violence here is a diffuse poison. Like in Haneke's films, it settles in relationships and the narrowness of everyday life.
Around Hachemi, a constellation of secondary characters is organized, each carrying a part of the oppressive system. The father, in particular, haunts the story silently. He is absent. Physically present, morally erased. He is a father who delegates and turns a blind eye. Through his inertia, he becomes an accomplice. He embodies this hollow authority, transmitted from generation to generation, based on dissimulation and honor. A male domination incapable of naming tenderness or recognizing the vulnerability of his own son.
A Powerful Friendship
On the opposite side of this phantom silhouette, another being emerges: flamboyant and overwhelming. Farfat (played by Khaled Ksouri, winner of the best actor award at the JCC in 1986). Atypical, mocked, he is the outcast that society tolerates on its margins. But behind his whimsical airs, he holds a truth. And because he has nothing to lose, he dares to say what everyone else is silent about.
The friendship between Hachemi and Farfat is too pure, almost improbable. It is a refuge and a vital force. Their bond creates a mirror where each recognizes himself despite the wounds of time gone by. This sincere and rare complicity illuminates the film and gives breathing room in an oppressive universe.
A World in Disappearance
Around them, the aura of Touil (Habib Belhadi), the conciliatory blacksmith, Azaiez (Mohamed Dhrif), the baker constrained by his father, and Jacko, the young exiled Jew, weaves a network of landmarks and supports; recalling the masculine communities described by Albert Camus in "The Stranger" or the urban microcosms of Orwell, where fraternity becomes a lever against social hostility. Bouzid shows that even in oppression, solidarity can transform and give the strength to stand up.
Women: The Guardians of Tradition
At the heart of this collective legacy, it is the women who watch over. As if the continuity of customs found in them its safest haven, the mother (Mouna Noureddine) appears first as the guardian of the home, of ancient rites and gestures.
Around her, other essential presences gravitate: the older sister (Souad Ben Sliman), confidante and bearer of traces of childhood, becomes the point of resonance where Hachemi rebuilds his lost memory; the younger sister, with her light innocence, is the only one to bring a smile to his face; the aunt, with her clumsiness, rhythms the life of the house; the marabout, a mysterious silhouette, carries the breath of ancient beliefs; Sojra (Wassila Chaouki) and the girls of joy, icons of desire and freedom, make the daily life of men vibrate.
All of them, each in their own way, prolong what the mother embodies: they hold the secret thread of life. They weave the invisible links and circulate essence and heritage in the spaces where they appear.
Conclusion
Almost forty years after its release, this film remains an absolute must-see to understand what Tunisian cinema has to say about pain and gender. The film continues to resonate in an Arab world still populated by silences, "L'Homme de Cendres" remains a radical statement for all the Hachemis who, even today, seek to emerge from the shadows.
By Fadoua Medallel, Tunisian cinephile.
