<br/> <span>If Woody Allen were a French-Tunisian woman, he </span><span>would have made something such as </span><span><em>Arab Blues</em></span><span>. </span> <span>The lightweight comedy had its world premiere at the Venice Film Festival, playing in the Venice Days</span><span> line-up. The feature debut of French-Tunisian writer and director Manele Labidi, it's a comedic look at </span><span>today's Tunisia, a country </span><span>at a crossroads where traditional values and modernity crash headlong into each other.</span> <span>Golshifteh Farahani, the ever-elegant Iranian actress who has worked for directors Ridley Scott and Jim Jarmusch, takes the lead in </span><span><em>Arab Blues</em></span><span>. A magnetic and hugely watchable presence, Farahani can enliven even the most mundane of scenarios. She plays Selma Derwich, a psychoanalyst who returns from </span><span>France to establish a new practice after many years away from the homeland. During her time living in the 17th arrondissement in Paris, there were shrinks everywhere on her street, but it is a profession still largely untapped in Tunisia.</span> <span>Selma is also defiantly single. "I don't want a man. I like solitude," she intones, a stance that immediately draws suspicion from others. </span><span>She soon </span><span>catches the attention of Nai</span><span>m (Majd Mastoura), a local policeman who takes a shine to her. They first meet, amusingly, at a police roadblock. </span><span>She is asked to pull over and take </span><span>a breathalyser test for </span><span>driving under the influence, but there is no pouch to blow into. Instead, she must </span><span>breathe </span><span>on to his face. "Budget cuts," the cop shrugs, as she exhales her harissa sauce-smelling breath.</span> <span>It is the first of several satirical jibes at Tunisia </span><span>after the 2011 revolution, when longtime president Zine El Abidine Ben Ali was ousted. W</span><span>e briefly see a "Free Tunisia" sign early on in the film.</span><span> "This country's a mess," Naim later comments. It is something Selma comes to see first hand when she opens her practice in a rundown rooftop space.</span> <span>Not long after </span><span>introducing herself to the locals, business </span><span>starts booming, with long queues outside the door. It seems that just about everyone needs some</span><span> psychoanalysis. </span> <span>"We Arabs talk a lot," says Baya (Feryel Chammari), the glamorous hairdresser who has a problem with her mother – she vomits every time she thinks of her. Another male character </span><span>dreams about Arab dictators and </span><span>also Vladimir Putin</span><span>. Whether those who have sought therapy will find this funny is another matter – the director has a tendency to treat deep-seated psychological problems in a rather artful manner. </span><span> </span> <span>Some parts of the storyline do amuse – not least the bureaucratic nightmare that Selma faces after she discovers </span><span>a license is required to practice </span><span>in Tunisia. While visiting the Ministry of Health, she encounters a </span><span>woman who seems oblivious to the </span><span>million hoops that Selma must go through – she needs a letter of recommendation from a senior Tunisian official to ratify her application. Where can she get that from? Well, another senior </span><span>official, and so on.</span> <span>One of the plus points about </span><span><em>Arab Blues</em></span><span> is that Labidi is not afraid to turn the script towards more surreal moments. </span><span>As in a scene in which Selma's car breaks down and a </span><span>man dressed in a suit and smoking a cigarette, comes from nowhere and rescues her</span><span>.</span> <span>There is romance too. </span><span>Naim asks Selma on a date, but in the world of </span><span><em>Arab Blues</em></span><span>, in a manner that is no chocolate box </span><span>situation. Foolishly, he asks her out shortly after </span><span>declaring he will have to arrest her if she continues the medical practice </span><span>without a license. The Tunisian-born Mastoura, who plays Naim, has previously won the Best Actor award at the Berlin Film Festival, for playing a young man in an existential crisis in 2016's </span><span><em>Hedi</em></span><span>. Here, he is about the only character who is not </span><span>headed towards a breakdown.</span> <span>As for Farahani, it is comforting to see her in a leading contemporary role where she is able to demonstrate a dry wit. There is something </span><span>believable about her as a </span><span>therapist who could probably do with a few sessions herself. </span> <span>Called "haughty" and a "post-Colonial snob", by Baya, the hairdresser and </span><span>her first customer, </span><span>Selma </span><span>fac</span><span>es difficulties readjusting to life in the country she left </span><span>at the age of 10.</span> <span>Unfortunately, </span><span><em>Arab Blues </em></span><span>undoes its promising set-up – and the good work of its cast – with a final act that drifts, rather than build</span><span> on</span><span> the storyline. </span><span>Yet, for a first-time film, there are a lot of positives</span><span> to applaud Labidi for. We</span><span> will be hearing from </span><span>her again.</span>