Private

Mostly, Private deals with the practical effects of home invasion. What if the family has to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night? If the soldiers tear down their greenhouse to improve their sightline, can the family rebuild it? When the soldiers leave without notice, can the family reclaim the rest of their house, or should they assume that the army is coming back? The two people most affected by the occupation are Bakri's oldest daughter and son, the former of whom sneaks upstairs to peek at the soldiers through the cracked door of a wardrobe, and the latter of whom begins imagining what it would be like to be a terrorist. While one begins to see the occupiers as just another group of goofy guys who watch soccer and bicker over clean-up duty, the other begins plotting to catch them in an explosive booby trap.

For all its documentary-style urgency, Private often feels forced. Bakri's wife chastises him with too-blunt lines like, "With all due respect to your books, my children's lives are more important," and the even-handed treatment of victims and perpetrators removes a crucial element of rage. (It's also an open question whether it's fair—or even aesthetically valuable—to set a morality play in a land where daily existence alone has ethical implications.) In a lot of ways, Costanzo's mise-en-scene tells a more compelling story than the movie's dialogue and action. From the ominous low-angle exteriors of Bakri's house to the obscured views from inside the wardrobe to the nerve-jangling final shot, Private is suffused with imminent violence, overwhelming any efforts to make a lasting peace.