The mission statement of Khartoum, a collective effort directed by five exiled filmmakers from Sudan, is simple, and stated early on by one of its five subjects: “It’s the truth and we must share it.” Khadmallah, a tea stall owner from Khartoum, Sudan’s capital city, is the woman behind the words, but the other four escapees share her sentiment, no matter their ability to understand its gravity. Lokain and Wilson, two bottle collectors aged 12 and 11, respectively, are too young to have known the 30 years of dictatorship that preceded the military coup from which they’ve fled in the present. When Jawad, a resistance committee volunteer, asks them what the situation in their village is after the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) militia displaced its occupants – a total of more than 10 million Sudanese people, including each of Khartoum’s subjects – they reply, “There’s no internet, and everything has run out.” In a manner of speaking that these five people, a group rounded out by a civil servant named Majdi, were brought together for a documentary about their displacement feels like a saving grace, at least from a viewing perspective. Of course, the situation is still dire, no matter their whereabouts at the film’s conclusion, but to watch them dictate their truth on screen in a unique, free flowing format is both enlightening and safe. That’s not to say that the filmmaking on display in Khartoum is safe itself, but that the environment in which it is all conducted is something of a respite for its characters.
Through a series of reenactments and retellings pieced together by editor Yousef Hayyan Jubeh, Khartoum’s directors (Anas Saeed, Rawia Alhag, Ibrahim Snoopy Ahmad, Timeea Mohamed Ahmed, and Phil Cox) afford the five people they place before the camera an opportunity to tell their stories in exile, their testimonies running the emotional gamut of optimism, brutal honesty, and fear. Standing before a green screen that turns yellow when it’s their turn to dream, Lokain and Wilson, the youngest members of the ensemble by a significant margin, say that they’re going to tell us about a lion, “A lion that roams Khartoum, and we’re on its back. We’re going to tell how we found the treasure during the war.” Majdi, backlit by a deep purple shade, notes, “I have done things I’m not proud of. I will not hide myself from the camera. Have I been a coward, or a brave man?” Standing before a bright orange pattern, Khadmallah (who is eventually joined by her young daughter later in the proceedings) tells the audience that she wants this film “to show who I am. I come from a place where the earth and trees sing. I’m a Sudanese woman who dreams without fear.” Jawad, meanwhile, speaks of internal dread: “I’m afraid of being a refugee. I’m scared of not seeing my home again. I want to be known. To have a purpose. To be someone who is loved.”
Khadmallah reenacts a memory in front of the green screen that remains prevalent throughout ‘Khartoum’ | Courtesy of Philip K. Good - The range of feelings here drive Khartoum through its inventive approach, a welcome narrative considering what we know about the project’s original ambitions, brave as they may be. Filmed on the backing of a budget that allowed the documentarians behind the camera to escape Sudan, it’s no surprise to learn that Khartoum has been years in the making, beginning as a prospective follow-doc of sorts that British director Phil Cox spearheaded, hoping to track a series of protests that followed RSF’s infiltration. Jubeh, who serves as both the editor and the assistant director, ultimately shifted its focus, leading to the directing collective’s search for subjects who could dictate their experiences in Khartoum, specifically stories of how they survived in war-time Sudan and to recount the dreams, either ones that they once had or those that still persist. The film dedicates much of its first third to the on-set of this practice, unnatural for non-actors who do their best to describe their surroundings in an empty warehouse of sorts, one that is solely occupied by the participants, the filmmakers (along with their equipment), and a wall painted green. It’s as barebones as a green screen set can be, an element that not only further humanizes an already-deeply human film, but adds to the unfamiliar nature of the new life that the five lives at its center are now forced to navigate.
Their stories are woven together through Jubeh’s expert editing, yet moments of discussion between those on camera and those behind it allow for revelations that occasionally manage to go beyond what is actually revealed through these deliberately-constructed reenactments. If only because of its similar appearance and structure, this first-third is often reminiscent of the prologue to Bertrand Bonello’s The Beast, one of the best films of 2024, a scene that saw Léa Seydoux’s Gabrielle acting through a terrifying encounter with a monster that an off-screen filmmaking team plans to add around her movements in post. The one key difference here, of course, is that Seydoux’s character in this particular timeline is a model and actress, not one who is familiar with acting before a blank canvas to eventually be filled in around her, but one who is used to following specific instructions from a director.
Majdi lies in front of the green screen that he and the other subjects in ‘Khartoum’ use to recreate their memories | Courtesy of Native Voice Films - Khartoum’s subjects, meanwhile, are in uncharted territory, which is precisely what makes their “performances” that much more riveting to witness in real time. There’s nothing natural about acting with nothing around you to truly interact with – just take a look at behind-the-scenes footage from any Marvel production and try to imagine non-actors fighting a non-ping-pong-ball-covered Josh Brolin – but the willingness of Khartoum’s subjects to adapt to the unknown is both a testament to their overall bravery and a fitting metaphor for the journeys that brought them to this stage in the crisis that, hopefully, precedes freedom.
In addition, the filmmakers incorporate footage of each member of their collective going about their lives in Sudan pre-exile, as well as in East Africa in the aftermath of their respective escapes. Archival footage of General Abdel Fattah al-Burhan Abdelrahman al-Burhan, the de facto ruler of Sudan who has led the RSF during the country’s ongoing civil war, is included so as to offer background information as to what led each character to the moments we see in Khartoum, but rather than doing so in an unceremonious context that feels like filler for less-informed audiences to fully grasp the nature of Sudan’s present state, it’s done so that its subjects can respond, as well as to include scenes from protests that the team captured in the hopes of illustrating an all-encompassing portrait of intranational turmoil. If it feels out of place within the confines of Khartoum’s accomplished and refreshing conceit, it’s only for a moment, as the focus doesn’t toggle back and forth nearly as much as it resides with the exiled green-screen set with brief cutaways to fill in the gaps left by the recreations it prioritizes.
It’s a necessary measure, in some ways, given that although the places Jawad, Khadmallah, Majdi, and Lokain and Wilson are returning to are locations they’d consider their homes, or a close extension of them, they aren’t environments that they can explicitly see. Instead, Khartoum’s directors attempt – mostly successfully – to place us within their minds and souls, allowing the audience to piece together an image of our own based on each respective memory. At times, what is rendered behind them, and thus in our own visions, is heartbreaking, or homely, or even magical; then, in the next frame, the backdrop is abstract. This combination of visuals, along with the intimate details that accompany them, turn individualized dreams into realities. Speaking to Filmmaker Magazine, co-director Rawia Alhag said, “We lost everything in the war, but we did not lose our love for our city.” If nothing else, and especially through the words of its subjects, Khartoum is a direct expression of that, and an inspired one at that.
Khartoum had its World Premiere in the World Documentary Competition section of the 2025 Sundance Film Festival.
Directors: Anas Saeed, Rawia Alhag, Ibrahim Snoopy Ahmad, Timeea Mohamed Ahmed, and Phil Cox
Editor: Yousef Hayyan Jubeh
Rated: NR
Runtime: 78m
Khartoum is a deeply human documentary that reexamines themes of terror, hope, and memory through an innovative cinematic approach. By using a green screen, the film blurs the lines between reality and reconstruction, offering a powerful meditation on the Sudanese capital's turbulent history. Through personal narratives and striking visuals, it captures the resilience of those affected by war and displacement, ultimately delivering an emotionally moving and thought-provoking experience.
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Will Bjarnar is a writer, critic, and video editor based in New York City. Originally from Upstate New York, and thus a member of the Greater Western New York Film Critics Association and a long-suffering Buffalo Bills fan, Will first became interested in movies when he discovered IMDb at a young age; with its help, he became a voracious list maker, poster lover, and trailer consumer. He has since turned that passion into a professional pursuit, writing for the film and entertainment sites Next Best Picture, InSession Film, Big Picture Big Sound, Film Inquiry, and, of course, Geek Vibes Nation. He spends the later months of each year editing an annual video countdown of the year’s 25 best films. You can find more of his musings on Letterboxd (willbjarnar) and on X (@bywillbjarnar).
