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Swinging into happy ending

I’ve never been big on movies. I’ve probably been to the theater six or seven times this year. They just don’t do it for me. When I need to escape I’m more likely to head to the nearest swing set, not the multiplex.

Ever since I was little I’ve loved to swing. There’s something about manipulating gravity that takes away all of my pain. When I’m surrounded by sand and air, I’m untouchable. Nothing – gender, sexuality, race, religion, politics, hate – can bother me. The world begins and ends at the swing.

But when I was asked to see The Bubble last weekend, I went along for the ride. After all, it was my friend’s treat and it was far too cold to head to the park.

Let’s do a quick synopsis of the film: Three young Israelis share an apartment in Tel Aviv. Think, Two Guys, a Girl and a Pizza Place. Except in this version the two guys are gay and there really isn’t any pizza, just a trendy little café.

Noam, Yali and Lulu being the idealist 20-somethings they are, dream of the day when their city, and their country will no longer be the political, religious, war-torn nation it is. And to turn their ideas into action, they plan a rave to protest the fi ghting. After all, no hate can stand up to a little ecstasy, right?

Enter Ashraf. Ashraf is a Palestinian. He also happens to be gay. Noam and Ashraf meet and, of course, fall in love. But the road to “Happily Ever After” isn’t so easy for these two Middle- Eastern hunks.

Being that the movie has come and gone from our theaters, I don’t feel guilty giving away the plot. But if you don’t want me to spoil the ending I’d suggest you stop reading here.

Israel being a militant state, Ashraf is only allowed to stay in Tel Aviv for a certain amount of time.

It wasn’t always this way. In fact, Ashraf ’s father once built a house in Tel Aviv, near a park Noam frequented as a child. But someone didn’t like a Palestinian family nesting in their neighborhood and the home was torn down, and after war broke out the park was deserted.

I guess some things can interrupt a ride on a swing.

But with the help of the fabulous trio, Ashraf takes on a Hebrew name and illegally works at the café for Yali. Despite all of their efforts, Ashraf is soon ratted out and fl ees to his home.

Noam and Lulu track him down and encourage him to come back for the rave. They succeed. But not before Ashraf ’s soon to be brother-in-law sees him locking lips with Noam.

This is perhaps the best part of the film. Unlike most other gay films, The Bubble significantly plays the coming out process as normal as possible. This film is camp free, which is a welcome departure from what could have been.

Yes, being a Palestinian Muslim and being gay doesn’t go over too well, but the producers of the film treat this aspect with diligence. Jihad, the brother-in-law, dismisses what he sees as an accident and reminds Ashraf that he is to marry his cousin. All is forgotten until Ashraf makes a fatal mistake and tells his sister – on her wedding day – that he is in love with Noam.

Despite the revelation, the wedding continues essentially problem free. But Jihad isn’t as nice as he appears to be, as we soon discover he is a part of a group responsible for a bomb that goes off in Tel Aviv. To retaliate, members of the Israeli government attack Ashraf ’s house, where Jihad is suspected to be, and accidentally kill his sister.

On the surface, what happens next is nothing short of an eye for an eye.

But on a deeper level, the film goes beyond Shakespeare’s “tale of woe.”

To avenge the death of Ashraf ’s sister, Jihad plans a suicide bomb attack, but at the last minute Ashraf takes his place, not only making amends with his sister, but escaping the heterosexual life that awaits him with Jihad’s cousin.

In the end, Ashraf makes his way to the café where he was once employed. When he arrives, it’s Ashraf who is blown away by who happens to be patronizing the restaurant: his love, Noam. The Jew instantly knows what the Palestinian is up to. And without words, without thoughts, the two run into the street to detonate the bomb killing only themselves.

One of the reasons I typically don’t like movies is the ending. Either it’s too Hollywood for me or it’s too incomplete, and a sequel is nowhere in sight.

But The Bubble did not disappoint me. I don’t remember what Ashraf says but I’m haunted by the image of the lovers in heaven as two young boys. One Jew, one Muslim, with their mothers playing in a park. There is no war, no hate, no religion, no sex. Just sand.

Now, that’s what I call a good movie.