On Dalila Ennadre’s films
Still from El Batalett – Femmes de la Medina (2002), directed by Dalila Ennadre
I first came across the work of Dalila Ennadre while researching the history of colonial prostitution in Morocco. I was trying to find material that centred women’s voices, rather than describing them through official reports or distant academic analysis. Her film J’ai tant aimé... (I Loved So Much) stood out for me, as it is the only film I have encountered so far that documents the direct testimony of a Moroccan woman who worked as a prostitute under French colonial rule. That in itself is rare. The film allows her to speak about her experiences with clarity and dignity, without judgment or simplification. Ennadre’s presence behind the camera feels steady and respectful. She listens.
Learning that Ennadre had passed away in 2020 saddened me. At the time I discovered her work, I had hoped to reach out to her, to speak with her about her approach and perhaps even ask questions about her research process. Her films are some of the few that centre Moroccan women’s lives without framing them through sensationalism or cliché. She filmed in domestic spaces, in working-class neighbourhoods, with care and patience.
Still from J’ai tant aimé... (2008), directed by Dalila Ennadre.
Her 2001 documentary El Batalett – Femmes de la Medina focuses on a group of women living in the old medina of Casablanca. It is a portrait of friendship, resilience, humour, and survival. The conversations are wide-ranging and intimate. What is striking is how present the women are. They are not talked about, or observed from a distance. They are given time, space, and attention. This reflects something essential in Ennadre’s work. She does not explain or translate her subjects. She listens and records.
This May, a retrospective of Dalila Ennadre’s films is being organised by her daughter in Tangier. Alongside the screenings, a small programme of short films will be shown that relate in some way to her legacy. These are films that also explore the lives of Moroccan women, past and present. My short film, Beneath a Mother’s Feet, may be included in that programme. It would be an honour to have the film shown in that context.
As I continue developing The Ogress of Fez, I keep returning to the difficulty of representing lives that were not recorded, and to the question of how to respond to silence in the archive. Ennadre’s work offers a kind of example. Not because it claims to fill in the gaps, but because it pays attention to the lives that history has often overlooked. She found ways to hold those stories without forcing them into shape. That is something I want to hold onto as I move forward with this project.