Is it, I wonder, the case that the Golden Age of Documentary Features is over, just another victim of the pandemic? Possibly I am overstating things, but it does feel like there have been fewer films which have had the same kind of impact and profile as Searching for Sugarman, Blackfish, and so on? I suppose the odd doc does turn up at the Phoenix, our local arty-housey kind of cinema, but often in a very limited run: there was one about a Leonard Cohen song, and a couple of years ago there were two different films on the subject of the same loved-up vulcanologist couple ('When Documentaries Go To War!!!').

Well anyway. It is mid August, the big studios' reserves of dumb moneymakers have mostly been vented into the multiplexes, and so this would traditionally be a good time for some proper, old-fashioned counter-programming: films for people who aren't into whichever franchise is doing a new film this year, or for that matter some unsalvageable video game adaptation that's been sitting on the shelf for ages. People of intelligence and discernment want something for them too! People of intelligence and discernment want to have fun, fun, fun at the multiplex as well!

Which brings us, naturally, to Ibrahim Nash'at's Hollywoodgate, or – I think the focus group rejected this one – In Bed with the Taliban, an eye-opening selection of scenes from the first year or so of the new governing regime in Afghanistan. The film's origins were in late summer of 2021, with the chaotic scenes of the American withdrawal from the country and the panic that ensued. Nash'at, an Egyptian-born documentarian based in Berlin, felt compelled to go to the country and record what was happening there. Eventually he found two members of the Taliban who were willing to be the subjects of his film – Mukhtar, a junior officer, and Mansour, a more senior figure who was given the job of being the commander of the Afghan air force.

To begin with this is a less-demanding position than it sounds, as Afghanistan doesn't have any functioning planes. A solution to this shortfall presents itself in the form of a large military complex in the outskirts of Kabul, allegedly a former CIA stronghold, which is still chock-a-block with medical supplies, vehicles, recreational goods, and so on (the Americans allegedly abandoned $7 billion worth of military equipment when they pulled out). Most of the film consists of footage shot on the base, as this was part of the deal Nash'at made with the Taliban – their other main stipulation being that he could only film material focusing on Mansour and Mukhtar. (Mansour is the more forthcoming of the two, often proudly relating how he forced his wife to give up practising medicine as a condition of their engagement.)

So there are no interviews with the ordinary people of Kabul as they are forced to adapt to the regime, and certainly no women – from watching the film you could come away with the impression that the only women in the entirety of Afghanistan are TV newsreaders. Nash'at observes that he is here to record the activities of the Taliban as they wish to be seen. Whether the final film entirely represents the regime's idealised self-image is, of course, another question.

There's virtually no narration in the film, and only a handful of captions, yet Nash'at manages to present a coherent and credible thesis simply through his selection and arrangement of the footage. You get a very strong sense that the Taliban, like many other quasi-political entities (Donald Trump and his acolytes, Nigel Farage and his chums) find that actually having administrative responsibilities is a lot less fun than being an insurgent disruptor. Several Talib seem distinctly nostalgic for the days of the armed struggle, reminiscing fondly in the caves they used to hide in, and going off into the countryside to fire heavy machine-guns at the landscape, just for old times' sake. Mukhtar openly admits to wishing there were still Americans in the country, so he could ambush them, kill them, and then (ideally) die at the moment of his victory, thus becoming a martyr. (The Taliban are big on martyrdom.)

They certainly seem to be struggling with some of the finer points of civil administration. There's a scene quite early on where Mansour and his assistants are attempting to figure out how much it's going to cost to keep the airbase running, and their epic struggle to do very basic multiplication takes quite some time (one of the assembled experts appears to suggest that 67 times a thousand is 210,000). By this point we have already seen Mansour touring the base and ordering that someone should check the expiry dates on a huge stockpile of cough drops prior to shipping them to civilian hospitals – when they go back nearly a year later, nothing has been done, and the medicine has all expired. The Taliban seem more interested in playing with the equipment in the gym, anyway.

I was quite impressed with Nash'at's ability to keep a straight face during a lot of what he films, but then being at constant risk of execution probably focuses the mind wonderfully. 'Is he allowed to film this?' is a near-constant refrain from Mansour's acolytes as they tour the base. Members of the entourage are always looking balefully at the camera and muttering things like 'I hate journalists' and 'That little devil is filming us again.' Mansour does his best to reassure his men: 'If his intentions are bad, he will soon die.' It's not entirely surprising that after a while Nash'at told his translator not to bother passing on the insults or death threats.

Towards the end the film threatens to turn into outright black comedy as Mansour oversees a flight from Kabul down to Bagram, where a military parade celebrating the anniversary of independence is due to take place. With various foreign dignitaries standing around on the runway, it turns out the plane is full of unauthorised Taliban who just fancy flying to the parade despite not having invitations. 'How can this happen? Where is the security detail?' demands Mansour: it turns out they are amongst the people sitting on the plane. The commander of the air force then sprains his wrist beating his recalcitrant countrymen about the head (shame his wife isn't there, and still allowed to do her job) before the flight can take place. Soon the dignitaries are enjoying the extraordinary parade, which includes a massed drive-past by 'the suicide bombing battalion' on their mopeds. (One guesses none of the people in this unit have seen much active service.)

It is undeniably funny, but the film never forgets what a bleak story this is, the culpability of the west in the existence and survival of the Taliban, or the consequences for the people of Afghanistan – though their travails are mainly addressed through the issue of the edict ordering face coverings for all women. Mukhtar justifies this by a slightly bizarre analogy where he suggests that women have the same rights and capacity for autonomy as chocolate bars.

Can all this possibly be for real? Depressingly, I think the answer must be 'yes'. Which begs the question, what on Earth were the Taliban thinking by letting Nash'at make a film which exposes their juvenile inadequacy and incompetence so damningly? This can't honestly be how they want to be viewed. The answer, perhaps, lies in the regime's need for legitimacy, an obvious lack of self-awareness, and the fact that Nash'at left the country for good the same day the Taliban secret service demanded they be allowed to review all the footage he had assembled. He is to be commended for his bravery: the Taliban are a stain on the face of the world, and this is an important record of just who they are and how they came to be there.

Also Showing. . .

. . . Fede Alvarez' Alien: Romulus, aka Alien 6, 7, 8 or 9 (depending on which films you personally think count). This one takes place in the gap in the timeline between Alien and Aliens, not that it necessarily matters all that much, and concerns a group of young people on a dismal colony planet, with no realistic chance of manumission from the corporate servitude which blights their lives. Until they learn of a derelict space station in orbit over their world, apparently stuffed with equipment and supplies they can use to escape to somewhere better. Of course, it turns out there's something else on the station with the power to change their lives. Or radically shorten them, anyway. . .

So: faces are hugged, chests are burst, the rifles are pulsing, the acid is corroding, the countdown to inescapable disaster is inconveniently timed, and it all adds up to a lovely time if you enjoyed the early films in the series. It's hard to overstate what surprisingly good fun Romulus is, especially considering it has no substantial new ideas of its own – but it benefits a lot from an impressive lead performance from Cailee Spaeny, some great production designs, and some effective music and sound engineering. It's hard to see where this series goes next, to be honest, and the steals from less successful instalments result in a film which is weakest near the end, but this is how this sort of big franchise sequel should be done.

Awix

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