In 1981, the Moroccan government cracked down on working class citizens in Casablanca protesting austerity measures and the general increase in prices of material goods like food. Led by the draconian rule of King Hassan II, government security forces killed scores across the city and imprisoned many more. This background is valuable in understanding the creative impetus behind Asmae El Moudir’s inventive documentary The Mother of All Lies. It’s unlike most documentaries one will ever see in that it attempts to depict an event missing photographic evidence.
The filmmaker was a child when the protesters were killed, but she remembers how it roiled her community and caused a generation to be irreparably scarred by the government’s brutality. For the film, she gathers together her friends, family, and neighbors to recreate the event through the use of miniatures. The interiors and exteriors of the locale are rendered in stunning detail through these constructions (their entire flat is somehow covered in a to-scale street), giving new life to a place in time that is missing crucial evidence. Mere words don’t do justice to how detailed these constructions are — they’re some of the best ones you will see in a movie, and they give the film a beauty rarely afforded to documentaries.

“…the Moroccan government cracked down on working class citizens…”
Even more fascinating than the stunning miniatures, though, is El Moudir’s family. While each member has a singular perspective, most interesting of all is her grandmother, an imposing figure remembered by all as an oppressive force, dominating her household and turning a blind eye to the events of that day in 1981. She’s a strange figure, effectively banning photographs in her household under the guise of her Muslim beliefs, though a portrait of King Hassan II is displayed prominently. Ready to cast judgment on all, her refusal to reconcile with the killings in 1981 speaks to larger feelings of guilt and denial.
For how the film deals with trauma and remembrance, there are comparisons to be made with the documentaries of Joshua Oppenheimer earlier this decade (The Act of Killing and The Look of Silence). Horrible occurrences do strange things to memories and the psyches of those who lived through it (on either side), but the regeneration of traumatic events through an external medium like miniatures can somehow bring a semblance of clarity and even catharsis. The Mother of All Lies is special because it goes beyond simply telling the audience what happened, El Moudir’s film instead forces viewers to almost sit through the event themselves.
Moroccan history is admittedly a blind spot for many, so a brief brush-up would be beneficial before going into the film. El Moudir’s unorthodox approach is already challenging, so blindly delving into a heady documentary like The Mother of All Lies will be sure to confuse some. Indeed, many professed aficionados of non-narrative cinema are averse to such formal adventurism, but with the right state of mind and their curiosity peaked, there’s no doubt that adventurous film-goers will find this to be one of the most striking documentaries of 2024.