Halim (Saleh Bakri) is a master tailor who runs a traditional caftan store in Salé, Morocco with his wife, Mina (Lubna Azabal).  Business is strong, even with the rise of machine-sewn garments, there is still a large demand for the custom, hand-sewn work of Halim.  To keep from falling behind on orders, they hire Youssef (Ayoub Missioui) to apprentice with Halim and learn the craft.  Mina, however, is torn.  She is tolerant of her husband’s homosexuality, but when she begins to suspect that Halim and Youssef are becoming romantically involved, it brings Halim’s secret a little too close for comfort. 

Written and directed by Maryam Touzani, The Blue Caftan premiered Un Certain Regard at the 2022 Cannes Film Festival and went on to be nominated by Morocco as their Best International Film at the 95th Acadamy Awards, making it to the shortlist but just missing out on the ballot.  It received a limited theatrical run in the United States from Strand Releasing early in 2023 before streaming on The Criterion Channel.  Running 122 minutes, the film takes a very wistful yet tender approach in telling this queer drama that feels fresh because it sidesteps many of the typical trappings expected from the genre, though it does not always drill down as much as audiences desire. 

The story feels like it will evolve into something far more illicit than it actually is.  The Blue Caftan is not just the story of Halim and Youssef, but also how Mina, who is well aware of her husband’s true sexuality, fits into it all.  As the story progresses, it actually becomes Mina who is most in control of it.  Filtering a gay drama through the lens of the wife is not new territory; Ang Lee has examined this dynamic as both a comedy in The Wedding Banquet (1993) and later as a tragedy in Brokeback Mountain (2005) with additional works such as Jayro Bustamante’s Tremors (2019) and David Pablos’ Dance of the 41 (2021) filling in some gaps along the spectrum of acceptance.  The Blue Caftan, despite its dramatic construction, is shockingly sex-positive while also remaining a largely chaste endeavor between Halim and Youssef.  It is the story of an unorthodox, yet pure, love that blossoms against all odds. 

Mina, it is revealed, is suffering from a terminal diagnosis of breast cancer, and as her condition worsens, Halim must spend more and more time at home creating an even greater delay in his work, notably the titular blue caftan.  Resigned, she finally begins to warm to Youssef, and though the result is quite tender, her growth is too immediate to feel like a satisfactory character arc for audiences.  Early in the film Mina catches her husband’s eyes drawn to the apprentice as he changes his shirt in the back room, and from there on out, she treats Youseff with scorn and bitterness.  If it is jealousy because Halim looks at him in ways which he is unable to look at her, it does not come across clearly and since Mina is already aware and accepting of Halim’s sexuality, this resentment may be more because Halim has brought his sexuality too close to home for Mina. 

With the end of her life looming, she takes on a much softer persona in the second half of the film.  In a way, the dynamic of this triptych is reminiscent of the central relationship in Alfonso Cuarón’s Y Tu Mamá También (2001), though Mina is a much more benevolent conductress of lust than Maribel Verdú’s Luisa is, and notably she is not playing the object of desire between the two men but still gently guides them to unlock and act on their hidden feelings for each other.  The scenes shared by this odd thruple are full of melancholic bliss because as Harim and Youseff grow closer together under Mina’s guidance, Mina loses more and more of herself to her cancer.  The smiles the three share as they dance to the music of the street and share meals together all feel so genuine, though it cannot quite shake the gross feeling of manipulation, even if it is coming from a place of purity on Mina’s part.  Harim and Youseff’s relationship does not come off as natural, and while Mina has cosigned off on it, it still feels accented by guilt, infidelity, and the illicitly of forbidden love. 

This unease comes from many aspects of the narrative and not solely from Mina’s orchestration.  For one, there is the skewing of a professional relationship between master and apprentice, but to be fair to Harim it is Youseff who really initiates the fledging romance between them.  Second, on grounds that are more morally questionable than ethical, as he did when he was exclusive with Mina, Harim still frequents the bathhouses for anonymous sex after he and Youseff begin to grow in their own shared attraction.  The details of his and Mina’s precarious arrangement are never spelled out in detail, so it is not perfectly clear how much Mina knows regarding the extent to which Harim is acting on his urges, but she is clearly observant so we can assume she is not wholly ignorant of her husband’s whereabouts.  It is a tricky situation for all three of them, but Touzani treats the characters and the story with the tenderness they deserve, however, The Blue Caftan would have been greatly enhanced if she was not so gentle with them.  The world of the film feels quite consequence-less so while we understand there is a social stigma about being openly gay, the film does little to define the specific dangers of coming out as queer in Morocco; a country whose penal code allows up to five years in prison for parties found to be engaging in same-sex activities. 

Though the script may lack the punch it needs to really make its mark, the filmmaking is beautiful to behold.  Virginie Surdej’s work on the camera primarily drapes the film in dark and dusty colors, but this allows for the blue to shine all the more brightly, or the pivotal bolt of pink fabric to quickly catch the eye, which is to say nothing of how the hand-spun gold threads graciously reflect what little light there is allowing them to shimmer and shine.  Surdej is also unrelentingly close to the actors, the camera floating softly as the trail of thread from a needle, ready to capture every quick glance that is even more quickly averted or the small smiles that turn sour.  Nicolas Rumpl edits the film and leaves space for audiences to feel the whole spectrum of love and pain along with the characters.  Dealing with such big emotions, but only ever teasing at a true catharsis, makes it seem like an inefficient use of runtime and potentially too loose of a cut, but it is all very intentional in creating the mood of the film.  That, for lack of a better word, empty space in the edit weighs down on us like a rock so that we feel the strain that Harim carries on his own conscience, but the core of the story – a metamorphosis of a marriage – eases some of that pressure and the hope we have for the characters keeps us engaged as they rise and overcome.  

In its themes and its construction, The Blue Caftan presents itself as a distant cousin of the work of Wong Kar Wai, but whereas the Chinese master of melancholy’s work often has a beguiling nature about how his tortured characters will end up, The Blue Caftan projects its endgame pretty clearly from around the halfway mark. That second half of the narrative, however, is when Touzani seems most confident about the film.  We know Mina is going to pass, and in a comment about how Halim lives with regret that he could not give her the wedding she deserved, there is an itching suspicion that the blue caftan will go not to the client, but instead go to be Mina’s funeral outfit in a final rebuke against tradition.  Without the need to lay breadcrumbs about how the drama will resolve itself, The Blue Caftan can instead lean into themes of that same regret, but also forgiveness, saying goodbye, and life after loss.  It does not interrogate Halim, nor does it require its characters to deliver impassioned speeches, but truly it is a film about actions.  That being said, putting him on trial a little more would have helped the story along and given it a bit of needed texture as it fell into a cyclical cadence in the middle act.  The film also features a frustrating yet poignant conclusion, ending the narrative at the true beginning of Halim and Youseff’s relationship, but it is still a complete story so we do not feel as cheated of an arc as it may seem.