This is a strange little movie. It's as if someone really, really wanted to make a gay movie but (1) didn't know anything about being gay, and (2) didn't know anything about making a movie.
What's surprising is that it isn't in any way offensive. In fact, it's sort of touching, that someone cared enough to make a movie for us even though he didn't know how, sort of like a toddler making a homemade valentine for his parents: it's so sweet that only a jerk could be offended by its naive amateurishness.
It's not even a particularly boring movie, although the last six of its 69 minutes are the end credits, scrolling so slowly you can hardly tell they're moving, while the most somniferous music I've ever heard drones along with them.
There are also many shots of a tall, ugly, perforated metal sculpture standing in the middle of a river, and many short clips of cast members doing things like swimming, or walking, and then fade to black. Only the director knows what those clips are supposed to mean.
The movie seems to have been made with a digital camera on auto-focus and auto-exposure, which I've never seen in a professionally released movie before. The acting and direction are clumsy at best, and there's no dialog to speak of.
Cibrâil is not a good movie by any conventional standards, but I loved it. I'm going to watch it again, now that I know what to expect of it.
So I can recommend it only to someone who is willing and able to receive it as a well-meant gift from a loving child, who can't yet draw a picture of you as you look to yourself, but very touchingly draws the love he sees in you.
