DIRECTOR: Hasan Hadi
STARRING: Banin Ahmad Nayef, Sajad Mohamad Qasem, Waheeb Thabet Khreibat
RUNNING TIME: 1 hr 42 minutes
LANGUAGE: Arabic
PLOT: It’s “draw day” in Iraq, when schools select children for the solemn duty of contributing to the state’s compulsory celebrations of President Saddam Hussein’s birthday. Nine-year-old Lamia lives deep in the historic marshes with her spirited grandmother, Bibi. On the morning of the draw, Bibi coaches Lamia in sly tricks to escape being chosen for the dreaded cake. But when Musa, the stern schoolteacher, announces Lamia’s name for the most dangerous task of all, the president’s birthday cake, she has no choice but to comply. Refusal isn’t simply disobedience; it could mean imprisonment, or worse.
GENRE: Drama
FILMING LOCATION: Baghdad, Iraq
To check out all previous submissions for Iraq, click HERE.
STARRING: Banin Ahmad Nayef, Sajad Mohamad Qasem, Waheeb Thabet Khreibat
RUNNING TIME: 1 hr 42 minutes
LANGUAGE: Arabic
PLOT: It’s “draw day” in Iraq, when schools select children for the solemn duty of contributing to the state’s compulsory celebrations of President Saddam Hussein’s birthday. Nine-year-old Lamia lives deep in the historic marshes with her spirited grandmother, Bibi. On the morning of the draw, Bibi coaches Lamia in sly tricks to escape being chosen for the dreaded cake. But when Musa, the stern schoolteacher, announces Lamia’s name for the most dangerous task of all, the president’s birthday cake, she has no choice but to comply. Refusal isn’t simply disobedience; it could mean imprisonment, or worse.
GENRE: Drama
FILMING LOCATION: Baghdad, Iraq
To check out all previous submissions for Iraq, click HERE.
FILM REVIEW:
(This review contains spoilers.)
“With our souls and blood we will sacrifice for Saddam."
Hasan Hadi’s The President's Cake is a film that carries the weight of a generation. Set in Iraq during Saddam Hussein’s rule, the story unfolds around nine-year-old Lamia, who lives with her lively grandmother in the marshlands. On the surface, it’s about a school ritual, children being chosen to bring items for the president’s birthday celebration. Yet beneath this small act of bureaucracy lies a much larger truth about fear, obedience, and the loss of innocence under dictatorship.
Hadi’s camera lingers on the marshes with affection, offering a poetic backdrop that contrasts sharply with the looming shadow of authoritarianism. The setting feels timeless, almost untouched, but the intrusion of the state into Lamia’s schoolroom reminds us that no corner is beyond reach. The performances are tender and naturalistic, particularly the dynamic between Lamia and her grandmother Bibi. Their relationship brings humour and warmth to a story otherwise marked by tension, as Bibi slyly teaches her granddaughter tricks to avoid being chosen for the dreaded cake. It’s these small gestures of resistance, passed down through generations, that give the film its humanity.
The film’s quiet power lies in its restraint. Instead of dramatizing violence or overt propaganda, Hadi shows us how authoritarianism seeps into daily rituals, forcing children to carry burdens far heavier than their years. Musa, the stern teacher, isn’t portrayed as a villain but as another cog in a machinery of fear, someone who enforces rules because deviation could be fatal. This nuance makes the story more unsettling, because the danger feels both omnipresent and banal. The simple act of Lamia’s name being called carries life-and-death stakes, a chilling reminder of how absolute power can twist even the most mundane rituals into instruments of control.
The President's Cake is less about a child delivering a birthday cake and more about the suffocating grip of fear on everyday life. Hadi’s film reminds us that under dictatorship, even a sweet confection becomes a symbol of survival and complicity. By distilling tyranny into the story of a little girl, the film makes the enormity of oppression both intimate and unforgettable. In the end, the “cake” is not just a dessert, it’s the bitter taste of a nation forced to celebrate its own submission.
(This review contains spoilers.)
“With our souls and blood we will sacrifice for Saddam."
Hasan Hadi’s The President's Cake is a film that carries the weight of a generation. Set in Iraq during Saddam Hussein’s rule, the story unfolds around nine-year-old Lamia, who lives with her lively grandmother in the marshlands. On the surface, it’s about a school ritual, children being chosen to bring items for the president’s birthday celebration. Yet beneath this small act of bureaucracy lies a much larger truth about fear, obedience, and the loss of innocence under dictatorship.
Hadi’s camera lingers on the marshes with affection, offering a poetic backdrop that contrasts sharply with the looming shadow of authoritarianism. The setting feels timeless, almost untouched, but the intrusion of the state into Lamia’s schoolroom reminds us that no corner is beyond reach. The performances are tender and naturalistic, particularly the dynamic between Lamia and her grandmother Bibi. Their relationship brings humour and warmth to a story otherwise marked by tension, as Bibi slyly teaches her granddaughter tricks to avoid being chosen for the dreaded cake. It’s these small gestures of resistance, passed down through generations, that give the film its humanity.
The film’s quiet power lies in its restraint. Instead of dramatizing violence or overt propaganda, Hadi shows us how authoritarianism seeps into daily rituals, forcing children to carry burdens far heavier than their years. Musa, the stern teacher, isn’t portrayed as a villain but as another cog in a machinery of fear, someone who enforces rules because deviation could be fatal. This nuance makes the story more unsettling, because the danger feels both omnipresent and banal. The simple act of Lamia’s name being called carries life-and-death stakes, a chilling reminder of how absolute power can twist even the most mundane rituals into instruments of control.
The President's Cake is less about a child delivering a birthday cake and more about the suffocating grip of fear on everyday life. Hadi’s film reminds us that under dictatorship, even a sweet confection becomes a symbol of survival and complicity. By distilling tyranny into the story of a little girl, the film makes the enormity of oppression both intimate and unforgettable. In the end, the “cake” is not just a dessert, it’s the bitter taste of a nation forced to celebrate its own submission.
