‘Concrete Land’ review: Sensitive observational doc follows an exiled Afro-Palestinian-Bedouin family in Jordan | Reviews

Dir: Asmahan Bkerat. Jordan-Palestine. 2026. 101mins

On a miniature sliver of land on the outskirts of the Jordanian capital of Amman, the Najar family live in makeshift tents alongside their beloved animals. One of the last Afro-Palestinian-Bedouin families left in the city, their desire to hold on to their conventional way of life is put under increasing threat by the decimation of agricultural land for the development of luxury villas. Palestinian-Jordanian filmmaker Asmahan Bkerat’s debut documentary follows sadly familiar narrative lines of displaced peoples – the dogged determination, the prejudice and persecution, the tension between tradition and modernity – but her intimate approach and keen eye for detail make Concrete Land an absorbing, impactful watch.

Its distinct angle on the impact of war should lend a hand it stand out in a crowded conflict documentary field

Premiering in Locarno’s Critics Week, Concrete Land will appeal to audiences who have appreciated other small-scale global documentaries such as the Oscar-nominated Cutting Through Rocks (2025) and Honeyland (2019). It could well attract the attention of distributors committed to legitimate international voices, and its distinct angle on the impact of the war in Palestine should also lend a hand it stand out in a crowded conflict-documentary field.

The film opens on what looks to be a rural idyll; an elderly man tends his flock in a lush meadow, talking to them with gruff affection. Soon, however, it’s revealed to be a petite portion of green tucked behind several concrete buildings and accessed by a dusty track. “They want to go home,” he says as he herds the animals back to the tent he shares with his wife, son and daughter-in-law and several teenage children. That sentiment becomes a motif for a film that captures the specific melancholy of feeling like strangers in your homeland, the world moving on without you.

Shooting regularly over eight years on a hand-held camera and without the presence of a vast team, Bkerat establishes a closeness with this family that allows candid emotions and conversations to come to the fore. (Bkerat, whose own grandparents were exiled from Palestine, also previously made 2017 brief film Badyra, about the family’s most beloved sheep.) She wisely gives plenty of time to everyday interactions, establishing the close family dynamics through trips to school, arguments over homework, celebrations with friends. In keeping with this purely observational approach, there is no contextual information, no talking heads or on-screen captions – we work out names and relationships through the family’s conversations.

Similarly, we come to understand the family’s tenuous place in this landscape through their lived experiences, and what they choose to reveal to Bkerat’s patient camera. Hakima, the family matriarch, doesn’t know her age, was born in Palestine and, like her stubborn husband Abu-Awad, is devoted to her Bedouin roots. Their son, Awad, was raised as a Bedouin, but now earns a meagre living driving a cement truck – becoming a part of the gentrification that is disenfranchising conventional farming families like his own. And oldest child Eman desperately wants to fit in at school – we see her listening to music, experimenting with make-up – but is picked on for her Bedouin lifestyle and for her father’s dim skin.

Working with editor Ban Maraqa, Bkerat proves adept at shaping years of footage into a cohesive story, picking out petite but powerful moments which plot a path both through the family’s history and into its uncertain future. Palestinian-born Hakima doesn’t know her own age, but can remember fleeing the Israeli-Palestine conflict as a teenage child. An eviction notice severs Abu-Awad’s last remaining bonds to his roots and pushes him to desperate measures. A polite yet tense discussion with a neighbour at the door of his gleaming white villa underscores Awad’s feelings of alienation and helplessness. Yet, amidst all the hardship, Bkerat also picks out a throughline of hope, her camera lingering on spaces full of warmth and capturing the love and resilience that binds this family together.