A hair salon in the working-class sector of Beirut is this film’s microcosm of...(Caramel)

A hair salon in the working-class sector of Beirut is this film’s microcosm of Lebanon. Here, young female colleagues deal with irate clients, electricity failures and, most importantly, their personal issues.

Layale (played by the film’s writer and director, Nadine Labaki) is hopelessly in love with Rabih, who’s married. Rabih – perhaps typically of married men who enjoy the excitement of an affair yet don’t want to leave the comfort of their married lives – affords her little pockets of joy, but there is nothing there of substance upon which Layale can build a life.

With the ever-present, yet never overbearing, support of her colleagues, she begins to realise there has to be something better for her. All the while, a local traffic cop, who’s forever pulling the scatter-brained Layale over for minor infractions, is beginning to develop a soft spot for her.

Nisrine is a Muslim on the verge of being married. Scenes of her family life reveal a lot about the community in which she has been raised, including the importance it places upon marriage. Her mum and other women in the family gather excitedly to discuss her pending nuptials. They ululate and sing. No pressure there, folks…

Nisrine has a problem, however. She’s no longer a virgin, and, while this may present no real issue in contemporary Western society, it’s a biggie in hers. It’s a predicament she knows she can share with her supportive colleagues.

Rima finds herself attracted to women so, in a society dominated by religions that frown upon homosexuality, she’s in an invidious position. Her colleagues, however, are of a new generation, so when a beautiful woman with long, dark hair – and an eye for Rima – starts visiting the salon frequently, they smilingly step aside and let Rima spin her spells, shy as she is.

Then there’s Jamale, a regular patron and ex-model – now cuckolded wife and mother of surly teens – who desperately struggles to stave off her advancing years in order to keep doing TV commercials. Her TV work represents her only means of hanging onto her youth.

In the same neighbourhood as the salon, an ageing tailor called Rose tries to run her business as best she can, while her mentally disabled older sister drives her dotty – harassing passing men with flirtatious comments and collecting bits of paper off the street as if they were vital documents. The sacrifices that Rose has made in her life in caring for her sister are a touching reminder of the importance of family in Lebanese tradition.

I found it interesting to observe – in a society that is clearly less sexually open than ours – people relying on that beautiful art of flirtation.

Here in South Africa, we see frequent ads for SMS “flirting” services, but these tacky enterprises ignore the real meaning of the tantalising art, which is a heady mixture of body language, glances, smiles and other nuances. In the film, you have Layale and the traffic cop flirting in the most curious fashion. He points out her traffic infractions to her, and she pouts, chews gum and flouts his authority.

Yet the screen’s seared with an electricity most Hollywood sex scenes couldn’t hope to match. Similarly, when Rima’s sultry client drops in for one of her frequent hair treatments, the vibe is palpable.

And, yes, we get the title’s analogy; like the sticky caramel mix that the beauticians use to wax their patrons’ legs, the lives of these women are both sweet and painful.

This charming and affecting film, with its simple settings and non-professional cast, couldn’t have cost much to make, yet it has been bowling audiences over.

Despite its setting in the strife-torn city of Beirut, Caramel has no tiresome political messages to deliver. Beirut’s been the target of various political agendas over the years that have resulted in the ravaging and impoverishment of the city once known as the Riviera of the Middle East.

Despite this, Labaki concentrates on her ensemble of actors as if nothing else in the world mattered – and, for the period over which she tells her personal tale, nothing else does matter.

The South African movie industry has much to learn from this film. While it imparts a very real sense of life in Beirut, its themes are universal.

It’s one of the warmest, most affecting films I’ve seen this year.

Bravo Labaki!