Turtles Can Fly (2004)
Released in 2004, Turtles Can Fly arrived at a moment when the dust from the 2003 invasion of Iraq had barely begun to settle. Shot on location in the Kurdish regions of Iran and Iraq, the film plants itself on the Turkey-Iraq border in the days just before the American-led coalition moved in, a period loaded with anticipation, dread, and a kind of desperate, held-breath hope among the Kurdish population who had suffered so grievously under Saddam Hussein's regime. That historical specificity matters enormously here. This is not a film that uses conflict as a vague backdrop; it is rooted in a particular time, a particular people, and a particular set of political circumstances that had been decades in the making. Kurdish cinema was, at this point, still finding its international footing, and films that gave the Kurdish experience genuine, unhurried attention on screen remained relatively rare. In that sense, Turtles Can Fly was, and remains, a singular document as much as it is a work of drama.
Bahman Ghobadi was already a name to watch by the time this film reached audiences. His debut, A Time for Drunken Horses (2000), had won the Camera d'Or at Cannes and introduced him as a filmmaker with an unflinching eye for the realities of Kurdish life along the Iranian border. Turtles Can Fly was a step further in ambition and geographical reach, co-produced across Iran, France, and Iraq through a combination of Bac Films, Mij Film Co., and Ghobadi's own production outfit. The budget was modest by any international standard, but that constraint feeds directly into the film's texture. Ghobadi works in a mode that sits somewhere between social realism and lyrical drama, an approach that will feel familiar to anyone who has spent time with Iranian cinema more broadly (if you have enjoyed the work covered in our reviews of A Moment of Innocence or Salaam Cinema, you will recognise the impulse to find human truth in constrained, non-studio conditions). The film was notably the first to be shot entirely inside Iraq after the fall of Saddam's government, a logistical and political fact that adds another layer to what you are watching.
The cast is composed almost entirely of non-professional child actors, many of them from the very refugee communities the film portrays. At the centre is Soran Ebrahim, playing the boy known as "Satellite", a quick-witted, self-appointed organiser who has built a small economy around the grim business of clearing landmines. Avaz Latif plays Agrin, a young girl whose presence in the story carries a weight that Ghobadi handles with considerable care. Alongside them, Saddam Hossein Feysal plays her armless brother Hengov, and Hiresh Feysal Rahman appears as a boy whose apparent gift for prophecy sits uneasily alongside the film's otherwise grounded atmosphere. The casting of real children from the region rather than trained performers gives the film a rawness that no amount of polished craft could manufacture. It is the kind of ensemble that recalls the best traditions of humanist world cinema, films like Capernaum, which similarly placed non-professional children at the heart of a story about survival on society's margins.
Bahman Ghobadi’s 2004 masterpiece Turtles Can Fly is, without exaggeration, one of the most devastating pieces of cinema I have ever experienced.
Set in a Kurdish refugee camp near the Turkey-Iraq border on the eve of the 2003 invasion, the film follows a group of young children who make their meagre living cleaning up unexploded landmines while waiting for the Saddam regime to fall. It’s a profoundly harrowing watch that serves as a vital social and political commentary on displacement, historical injustice, and the ongoing conflicts that so often forget their youngest victims. Yet, despite the incredibly dark subject matter, Ghobadi crafts a brilliant, mixed-genre triumph that seamlessly blends the grit of a war film with the intimate, grounded storytelling of a coming-of-age character study.
What truly anchors the picture and elevates it to such heights is the absolutely unpolished authenticity of its child cast. Soran Ebrahim is nothing short of brilliant as "Satellite", the charismatic, enterprising, and fiercely protective ringleader of the mining kids. His performance is fantastic, capturing the complex duality of a child forced to grow up far too fast, yet still clinging to the innocent joys and petty squabbles of youth. It is this character development that allows the film to pivot so effectively; it manages to be incredibly dark and tragic in places, yet surprisingly funny in others, capturing the resilient, darkly comic spirit of kids just trying to survive in an unforgiving world.
As the narrative unfolds, the cinematic parallels become impossible to ignore, though the tone remains entirely its own. Watching this ragtag group of kids navigate the desolate, dangerous landscape, I was frequently reminded of the adventurous camaraderie found in Stand By Me, albeit with a vastly bleaker, more perilous backdrop. But it’s the emotional gut-punches that truly linger, echoing the devastating, tragic depths of Grave of the Fireflies in ways that I won't spoil here, but which will absolutely stay with you. Ghobadi forces us to learn a new, deeply uncomfortable perspective, highlighting the underrepresented voices of those caught in the crossfire of geopolitical chess matches.
Turtles Can Fly is a moving, beautifully realised piece of world cinema that demands to be seen, even if it is an emotionally exhausting experience. It is undeniably harrowing, and I can safely say it is not a film you will rush to watch twice, but that is a testament to its raw, unflinching power rather than a flaw. Bahman Ghobadi has delivered a great film that is brilliantly acted, deeply empathetic, and crucially important. It’s a tough watch, but as a piece of storytelling that captures the tragic reality of war through the eyes of children, it is an absolute, unmissable triumph.
Turtles Can Fly sits in a tradition of films that refuse to let political conflict remain abstract, that insist on putting a child's face on a historical headline and holding it there until you cannot look away. It is the kind of film that prompts you to seek out Ghobadi's other work, to read more about the Kurdish experience, and perhaps to revisit other films on this site that wrestle with the human cost of conflict and displacement, including our coverage of Europa. It is also, quietly, a film about the particular cruelty of forcing children to be practical when childhood calls for something else entirely. That tension never quite leaves you after the credits roll. Some films you file away; some films file themselves away inside you without asking permission.
Rating: ★★★★ | Year: 2004 | Watched: 2026-07-09
Trailer
▶ Watch the official trailer for Turtles Can Fly (2004) on YouTube
