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Note: A longer version of this article will be presented in a graduate seminar, next Fall at New York University Abu Dhabi.

With the title “Must Watch: The Most Meaningful Greek Short Film We Ever Wrote About,” Lia Pavlou writing for the Greek Reporter[i] highlighted the emotional impact of Jafar, a short film by Greek filmmaker Nancy Spetsioti, released in 2013. The film unfolds in a hospital waiting room where a Greek family shows overt prejudice toward a dark-skinned man, the titular character, Jafar. The film is only two and a half minutes long and yet it speaks volumes as it tackles themes of racism and xenophobia within Greek society in a poignant way. Through a series of visual cues and a powerful twist at the end, Spetsioti invites, or rather, I would say challenges viewers, both local and global, to confront their own biases and the societal structures that perpetuate discrimination.

The film touched a chord with the audience as it becomes obvious from the millions of views it amassed online. Pavlou states that “the film that this last week went viral has almost 3.5 million views on Youtube.”[ii]  These numbers highlight the emotional impact of the film, its affective dimension that apparently managed to escape the screen and reach a global audience. Its transnational resonance is not only grounded in the themes of racism and xenophobia that obviously cross geographic and temporal boundaries. It is further situated in Spetsioti’s cinematic choices such as the English subtitles that supports an agenda of global outreach as well as the choice of setting, which is minimal, maximizing thus the film’s emotional impact.

Although Jafar has an all-Greek cast, a Greek director and is set in Greece, yet the themes it explores, namely exile, racism and xenophobia have transnational resonations, tapping on the emotions of an international audience. At the same time, the film takes place in a hospital room with nothing signifying Greekness except for the language spoken. In this context, the setting acts as neutral, interstitial space that could be linked to different places not only Greece. Thus, the setting becomes a transnational signifier that international audiences can easily identify with.

The title itself Jafar has nothing Greek in it. The Arab connotations of the name in the titles in connection with the soundtrack, which has both suspenseful and sad undertones, together with the opening scene in a hospital waiting room where a racial ‘Other’ is framed sitting alone, stirs emotions of uneasiness. The visual cues echo Edward Said's concept of Orientalism, where the 'Other' has been constructed through a western lens of exoticism and threat,[iii] building on the fears and the stereotypes we carry inside.

In the opening scene, Spetsioti presents the Oriental ‘Other’ through a long one shot that shows Jafar as distant and aloof, his presence inciting a sense of threat as it is unfathomable and incomprehensible. The family, obviously unsettled, move anxiously away from him, with obvious disdain. Despite being further apart, they keep looking at him with a mixture of fear and scorn.

The framing is indicative of the power dynamics entrenched in Greek society, underscoring visually the divide between the family of three family members grouped together against the ‘unnamable’ threat that Jafar’s presence signifies. The empty seat between them could explain the Greek man standing, yet if we apply film theory here, we could argue that the frame not only divides but also  further underlines the dominance of the White male pitted against the racial other.

In this respect, it would be safe to argue that the film prepares the audience for yet another stereotypical story similar to the ones circulating widely in the cinematic Imaginary locally and globally. For example, Jafar could narrate the story of a refugee who takes advantage of the state by being entitled to treatment without  paying their dues; or, the story of a an outsider whose racialized body becomes synonymous with disease, danger, and societal anxiety, namely the ‘Other’ from whom we are compelled to  keep a safe distance a sentiment visually echoed in the camera’s detached framing.

However, Spetsioti turns the tables on the expectations she builds with a plot twist that reverses the power dynamics and the dominant discourses which have long relegated the refugee and more broadly the racial Other to the position of the object. Jafar turns out to be the bone marrow doner who saves the young girl’s life as the doctor explains to the family. His actions leave both the Greek family, and the viewers “speech- less” thus, opening up space for the Other’s stories to be ‘heard’.

Although Jafar does not utter a single word his actions speak louder than words, narrating a different story and reconstituting the other in the cinematic and social Imaginary.

Some might argue that the absence of speech is due to the linguistic barrier. Yet, linguistic barriers aside, Spetsioti’s not granting him a voice is not coincidental. Indeed, silence, when contextualized within a feminist framework, could become a site of resistance. Jafar’s silence vis a vis his selfless action, brings in mind Toni Morrisson’s discussion of silence in her highly influential Playing in the Dark where she argues that silence can be a meaningful, in fact eloquent, discourse. In Morisson’s words, “In your silence, enforced or chosen, lay not only eloquence but discourse so devastating that ‘civilization’ could not risk engaging in it lest it lose the ground it stomped (1993, p230).[iv]” Spetsioti does risk engaging with it and in doing so she challenges, exposes, and nullifies orientalist, hegemonic discourses.

It is noteworthy that Spetsioti’s representation is by no means essentializing. She stays away from homogenizing tendencies that have been popularized by twenty first century neoliberal discourses that often promote The-Good-Yet-Pitiful Refugee stereotype in global circulation. By giving Jafar a name, she stresses his individuality and thus opens up space for a deeper understanding of our own misconceptions as we come to realize that all refugees are not the same; they are not essentially good or essentially bad. Each carries their own story, and it is about time their voices and diverse experience be heard.

The final scene is very eloquent. The earlier single shot framing of Jafar becomes a two shot here as the doctor embraces Jafar. The specific choice of camera framing underscores the much-needed emotional connection and the collapse of distance between us and the marginalized ‘Others.’

In this context, the film projects a universal appeal against xenophobia and racism, thus aligning with broader movements among women filmmakers who are using cinema to explore and critique social issues. For example, we can observe a similar agenda  in Elina Psykou (Son of Sofia, 2017) while at an international level, filmmakers like Ava Du Vernay (i.e. Selma, 2024), Euzhan Palcy, (A Dry White Season, 1991),  Mati Diop (Atlantique, 2019) and Nadin Nabaki (Capernaum, 2018), explore the exilic condition prompting  viewers to reflect on their own misconceptions and the structures that perpetuate them.    

All in all, Spetsioti’s short film exemplifies how filmmakers can use the film as a medium of challenging hegemonic discourses and societal norms. The affect of the film ‘touches’ viewers, promoting empathy and understanding across social boundaries. Spetsioti’s vision is admittedly decolonial as it recenters the perspective of the colonized or marginalized subject irrespective of whether this colonization is historical or mental. In doing so, she rejects colonial ways of seeing and knowing, especially those that objectify and marginalize non-western people and cultures, creating a ‘disobedient’ story that interrogates the coloniality of power, in accordance with Mignolo’s and Quizano’s urge for epistemic disobedience as the basis for decolonial thinking[v].   

[i] Lia Pavlou, https://greekreporter.com/2014/09/20/must-watch-the-most-meaningful-greek-short-film-we-ever-wrote-about/

[ii] Ibid.

[iii] Edward Said, Orientalism, 1978.

[iv]  Playing in the Dark : Whiteness and the Literary Imagination. New York: Vintage Books, 1993.

[v] See Mignolo, W. D. (2009). Epistemic Disobedience, Independent Thought and Decolonial Freedom, and Quijano, A. (2000). Coloniality of Power, Eurocentrism, and Latin America.