‘Birds Of War’ review: Love blossoms across conflict zones in intimate first-person documentary | Reviews

Dirs: Janay Boulos, Abd Alkader Habak. UK/Syria/Lebanon. 2026. 85mins

The love affair between Lebanese journalist Janay Boulos and Syrian activist Abd Alkader Habak took root in an unexpected place: the conflict zone of Aleppo, Syria, as civil war raged in 2016. She was a BBC reporter based in London looking for news content; he was a grassroots videographer determined to bear witness to the atrocities of dictator Bashar al-Assad’s regime. This heartfelt documentary reveals how their long-distance working relationship developed into something more, the couple’s extensive personal archive providing a tumultuous, often distressing backdrop to their strengthening bond.

The strength and warmth of its central story could lend a hand it find an audience

Birds Of War’s UK premiere at Sheffield DocFest (where it competes for the Tim Hetherington Award) is the latest stop on a festival tour that has reaped awards in Sundance, Thessaloniki, Seattle and Visions du Reel. The film has sold to multiple territories, including the UK/Ireland, where it will release on July 3 via Dogwoof. While the first-person conflict documentary is now a crowded sub-genre, the strength and warmth of its central story could lend a hand it find a petite but appreciative audience.

Told entirely through 13 years’ worth of archive footage shot by both Boulos and Habak, the narrative moves between them as their story unfolds via text messages, video calls and narration from the pair; an intimate approach that gives the film a personal focus for its wider themes. A stark frosty open throws us straight into the action, an iPhone camera capturing shadows in the nighttime gloom, ragged breathing and gunfire. Texts appear on screen: ‘Are you safe?’ ‘I’m really worried.’

A swift edit (Will Hewitt does sterling, sympathetic work throughout) takes us to the familiar skyline of London, UK, and throws us back to 2016, when Boulos was working for BBC Arabic and looking for contacts in Aleppo to provide insider information on the events unfolding there. Habak had moved to the besieged capital from his family home in Idlib to document the conflict, and supplied Boulos with videos that evolved from inhabitants growing vegetables on rooftops to the bombing of hospitals and, eventually, the mass evacuation of the city.

Boulos was herself no stranger to the impact of conflict and exile; her parents had lived through a lifetime of unstable geopolitical conditions, and while she felt she had no choice but to leave Lebanon to fulfil her dream of becoming a journalist, she missed her homeland. This sense of displacement gave her a deep understanding of Habak and his motivations, a sympatico spirit that fuelled their connection. As professional work messages turn increasingly personal – she sends him pictures of her cat, he gives her the pet name ‘little bird’ – their blossoming romance offers a shaft of featherlight through these darkest of days.

Yet their feelings did not derail their shared determination to get the truth out to the wider world; Habak remained in the broad of the action, filming and assisting where he could. His camera never flinches from the realities of war, and his footage is raw, immediate and often deeply upsetting to watch. For her part, Boulos felt increasingly guilty about reporting on the war from the safety of London while Habak (and other contacts) risked their lives on a daily basis – the film doesn’t need its somewhat overbearing score to hammer this point home. “I take risks because I want the world to see what is happening to us,” says Habak. “Sometimes I don’t know why I’m still alive.”

Habak’s incredible efforts became more widely known when he was involved in an attack on a refugee convoy outside of Aleppo in 2017; images of him rescuing injured children made global newspaper headlines. That made him even more a target of the regime, and he decided to cross the border into Turkey – where, finally, he and Boulos could be together. Footage of the couple on the beach, paragliding above a crystal blue ocean, is a marked contrast to the dust and debris of Syria.

From there, the film moves from the immediate impact of war to examine the ways in which conflict can leave cast a long shadow. Boloud and Habak marry, but initially keep the news from their parents as their union crosses deeply etched cultural, political and religious (she is a Christian, he is Muslim) boundaries. And while they settle in London, they feel restless and adrift – particularly when Syria celebrates the ousting of al-Assad in 2024 and, more recently, as Lebanon becomes a target for Israeli aggression. Travelling back and forth between their homelands and their adopted city, there is the sense that, while they have found a sense of belonging with each other, the search for true peace and stability continues.