Aida

Bright sunlight shines into the shabby little apartment as Aida slowly wraps a scarf around her head. There are stains on her crumpled skirt, and black and gray hairs protrude from her chin. With difficulty, the 86-year-old woman rises from her chair and shuffles in house slippers over to the stairs, dragging a white plastic bag. Clinging to the bannister, she makes her way down to a wheelchair, which she then pushes along in front of her like a shopping cart, the full bag on the seat. Filmmaker Maysoon El-Massry follows this frail old lady, at times in stylized extreme close-up, then more casually, from a distance. Every day, she battles through the busy streets of Alexandria, Egypt to sell goods no one wants; a Sisyphean task she has kept up for 50 years. The film observes mostly without words as the old woman passes by stationary cars, trying to sell roses to the people inside. One man tries to pay with a cigarette, holding a fresh one up – but she grabs the almost-finished stub he is smoking instead and moves on. She is clearly a familiar sight on these streets – people frequently help her out, but the contact is always fleeting.