Berlinale Review: Yalla Parkour Offers a Bold and Resilient Reflection of Life in Palestine

      As disturbing images and videos depicting Israel’s forced displacement and ethnic cleansing in Gaza—now increasingly supported by the U.S. government—dominate the media portrayal of Palestinian lives, it becomes increasingly crucial to present a more complete view of a lifestyle in crisis. In her introspective directorial debut, Yalla Parkour, filmmaker Areeb Zuaiter—who was born in Palestine, raised in Saudi Arabia, and currently lives in Washington, D.C.—narrates the story of daring youths who discover both distraction and a sense of hopeful freedom in the exhilarating sport of parkour. Interspersed with footage of risky stunts, the film showcases the community's resilience and the determination to seize control of their lives instead of allowing outside forces to dictate their existence.

      Although there is a somewhat loose structural approach intended to honor her mother, stemming from a trip they took to Gaza when she was four, the documentary's strongest narrative element lies in the phone conversations between the director and Ahmed Matar, a member of the parkour group PK Gaza. Through video clips that date back to 2015, Matar guides Zuaiter through their training sessions at bombed malls, deserted beaches, and cemeteries. “Our videos are the only way for the world to see us,” Matar notes, as the group is motivated by the success of two members who managed to leave Gaza due to their parkour talents being recognized. For Matar and his community, the border opens only once or twice a year, and even navigating the cumbersome visa process leaves slim chances of escape. While Zuaiter highlights the stifling lack of freedom beyond their borders, she also captures the daily Gazan spirit by showcasing lively communities of mothers with strollers and children eagerly watching the parkour group's stunts.

      The intensity of the stunts escalates, with Yalla Parkour emphasizing repeated failures, which vary from simple tumbles to minor concussions, culminating in a shocking video of a life-altering fall from a considerable height. The film not only delves into the inner, fatalistic desire to push boundaries and shape one’s own fate in a life under constant threat of bombings, but also explores how the group rallies together to alleviate each other's suffering. “I see experts in turning pain into happiness,” remarks Zuaiter, observing a skill that is likely to become even more pronounced after October 7, 2023—a moment only briefly referenced, particularly in the haunting end credits.

      The stark contrasts between Zuaiter’s serene life in snow-covered suburbs and the immersive, shaky handheld footage from the parkour group, enriched with some stunning drone shots, are clearly deliberate. However, Yalla Parkour struggles to find a cohesive editing rhythm; the director's personal exploration of her identity and connection to her history feels underdeveloped and disjointed, especially when compared to the life-and-death struggles experienced by Matar and his peers. Despite the film’s lack of cohesiveness in structure and presentation, Yalla Parkour offers a bittersweet depiction of longing for a better life while carrying the weight of guilt that, even if personal freedom is achieved, it can’t be assured for loved ones.

      Yalla Parkour was screened at the 2025 Berlinale.