An aspiring suicide bomber buys hundreds of bottles of detergent from the same shop, but is sure they cannot be traced back to him because, he says, "I changed my voice." Another swallows his mobile phone's SIM card to evade detection. And two others, wary of being caught on England's ubiquitous CCTV cameras, spend an entire scene shaking their heads vigorously back and forth so as to come out blurry on film.
Four Lions, in short, is a farce. Yet its subject - five British Muslims intent upon martyring themselves in order to "echo through the ages" - is very real. Director Chris Morris uses an edgy, often uncomfortable mix of humour and horror to bring his audience face to face with these men and their worldview, and the result is as hilarious as it is deeply unsettling.
In a similarly comedic vein, the character of Barry (Nigel Lindsay), the most loudly opinionated of the crew, is so over the top that he becomes a Stephen Colbert-style symbol of excess: among other schemes, he is convinced that the would-be martyrs should bomb a mosque in order to shake their fellow Muslims into action. Ultimately this subplot leads not to a terrorist act, but to an hysterical Barry punching himself in his own face to prove his point. In his extreme extremism, Barry brings us closer to the other characters, who are as uncomfortable with his zealotry as the audience is.
A typical film narrative (particularly a comedic one) would have him hiding his intentions, following the Hollywood pattern of representing violence as morally ambiguous, something to shield women and children from. Instead his wife supports and encourages him, and his son knows more than an audience conditioned by formula expects him to. Particularly affecting is the scene in which Omar tells his young son the story of The Lion King, but with Simba as a young martyr trying to do what's right. Omar's family and his surprisingly open relationship with them creates a level of alienation, of otherness, without which the film would feel hollow.
At first glance this is simply a bit of metaphysical comedy, and works very well as such, riffing on Waj's simple mind (a well the film goes back to many times). But this scene also taps into something deeper: the utter incompatibility of the two cultures these men are straddling. Following your heart, waiting until something that "feels right", is a very English, very modern way of making decisions; on the other hand, the duty Omar and his friends feel to become martyrs is an ancient and inductive one, a decision set in stone by tradition, leaving no room for personal misgivings. This is the moment when their plan, such as it is, truly falls apart - you can see it on their faces, complete confusion, the pull of two forces that can never coexist.
Four Lions, in short, is a farce. Yet its subject - five British Muslims intent upon martyring themselves in order to "echo through the ages" - is very real. Director Chris Morris uses an edgy, often uncomfortable mix of humour and horror to bring his audience face to face with these men and their worldview, and the result is as hilarious as it is deeply unsettling.
"Bomb the Mosque"
It is not just laughs, but also a real sense of empathy that Morris creates by putting these able actors through their comic paces. It is much easier to cheer for someone who doesn't know any better: thus the strong connection the audience feels to young, naive Hassan (Arsher Ali) stands up at a community meeting and sets off silly-string grenades after delivering a ridiculous jihad-inspired rap; and to Fessal (Adeel Akhtar), he of the "different voices" (a scene sidesplitting enough to have become the film's official online clip), makes quite a mess attempting to train crows to stand in as suicide bombers.In a similarly comedic vein, the character of Barry (Nigel Lindsay), the most loudly opinionated of the crew, is so over the top that he becomes a Stephen Colbert-style symbol of excess: among other schemes, he is convinced that the would-be martyrs should bomb a mosque in order to shake their fellow Muslims into action. Ultimately this subplot leads not to a terrorist act, but to an hysterical Barry punching himself in his own face to prove his point. In his extreme extremism, Barry brings us closer to the other characters, who are as uncomfortable with his zealotry as the audience is.
The War at Home
It may have been promoted as a comedy, but Four Lions does not stop at simple laughs. The story is soon complicated by the character of Omar (Riz Ahmed), the straight-faced ringleader whose quiet, domestic scenes draw back the satirical veil and serve as a vehicle for the film's heavier themes. In every observable sense his family is a typical one: a loudmouthed preschooler, a devoted, overworked father, a beautiful wife pulling shifts as a nurse at the local hospital. Which makes it all the more jarring, and affecting, to discover that his wife and son know all about Omar's quest to kill himself for the cause - and they are proud of him.A typical film narrative (particularly a comedic one) would have him hiding his intentions, following the Hollywood pattern of representing violence as morally ambiguous, something to shield women and children from. Instead his wife supports and encourages him, and his son knows more than an audience conditioned by formula expects him to. Particularly affecting is the scene in which Omar tells his young son the story of The Lion King, but with Simba as a young martyr trying to do what's right. Omar's family and his surprisingly open relationship with them creates a level of alienation, of otherness, without which the film would feel hollow.
"Your Heart is Your Brain, and Your Brain is Your Heart"
There is an beautifully written speech near the end of the film, given by Omar when Waj (Kayvan Novak), the stupidest and thus most lovable of the group, is having second thoughts. It is a perfect example of the jarring duality of the film, and of the characters' experiences. Omar tries to get Waj back on track through metaphor, cajoling him to follow his "heart", not his "brain" - only to discover that Waj believes that his heart is telling him their impending attack is the wrong thing to do. So Omar changes tactics, trying instead to convince Waj that in fact, in his confusion, he is getting mixed signals - his brain is his heart, and his heart is his brain.At first glance this is simply a bit of metaphysical comedy, and works very well as such, riffing on Waj's simple mind (a well the film goes back to many times). But this scene also taps into something deeper: the utter incompatibility of the two cultures these men are straddling. Following your heart, waiting until something that "feels right", is a very English, very modern way of making decisions; on the other hand, the duty Omar and his friends feel to become martyrs is an ancient and inductive one, a decision set in stone by tradition, leaving no room for personal misgivings. This is the moment when their plan, such as it is, truly falls apart - you can see it on their faces, complete confusion, the pull of two forces that can never coexist.
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