One of the most common errors in film reviewing is mistaking "Realistic" with "Genuine". For example, a movie might be considered realistic because it depicts a harsh environment, poverty, crime and all the other features that are a part on any country but it will be completely not genuine because the characters are shallow, stereotypical and the plot would just too dramatic to actually occur like a 16 year old who becomes a drug baron or something (sweet 16 comes to mind as an example).
On the other hand, there are films who arre not very (or even remotely) realistic but they're genuine because their feelings and lines (in the dialogue, enough about drugs) are something we can all relate to. films that are genuine could be: Jerry Mcquire, His girl friday, Trainspotting, se7en etc. I am happy to say that Nina's tragedies, although nowhere near as good as those masterpieces, definitely earns its place in the Genuine hall of fame.
The movie, in short, tells the tale of Nadav, a 14 year old kid who reminisces 6 months of his life, beginning from the death of his aunt's husband up to his father's death. His aunt, Nina ( portrayed by Ayelet Zorer, in my opinion, the Israeli equivalent of Maryl Streep)is shattered and Nadav is asked by his mother to move in with her and Nadav who is secretly infatuated with Nina, is more than happy to be a shoulder to cry on.
Unfortunately, Nadav's already complex plot thickens even more when his father who became a fanatic religious a couple of years ago, falls ill with cancer and wants to reconcile with his estranged son while into Nina's life enters an eccentric photographer (Alon Aboutboul). Nadav is about to face every demon he has in the next six months and in the worst possible time- when he reaches puberty.
The movie is magnificent, it boasts great acting and script but most of all, it has those little scenes that are seemingly insignificant but they are the scenes that make us want to rent it again and again.
8.5 out of 10 in my FilmOmeter. The best Israeli film of 2003, so far.
