Nadia Fall’s feature debut walks a delicate line. It takes a story that the press has flattened into scandal and instead gives us two teenage girls, Doe (Ebada Hassan) and Muna (Safiyya Ingar), who laugh, fight, and dream their way through an impossible journey. Inspired by cases like Shamima Begum, Brides is not a political thriller but a raw, compassionate look at girlhood when its need for belonging takes a dangerous turn.

Set in 2014, the film opens with Doe and Muna catching a train to the airport. Their chatter feels playful, even carefree, though something heavier hums beneath it. As flashbacks appear, we begin to see what pushed them here: schoolyard bullying, casual Islamophobia, homes where love is compromised by violence and silence. For Doe, faith offers structure where her mother’s life feels chaotic. For Muna, sharp wit and defiance are a shield, but not enough to quiet the loneliness. Together they form a fragile world of their own, one that propels them toward Istanbul and a plan that is half fairytale, half tragedy.

Fall keeps the focus intimate. The word “Isis” is never spoken. Instead, we watch two girls convinced that across the Syrian border lies a place that will make sense of them. The cinematography by Clarissa Cappellani moves with their restless energy, from Turkish streets filled with colour to quiet stretches of countryside where doubt begins to creep in. Fiona DeSouza’s editing lets the past slip in at just the right moments, though at times the frequent flashbacks cut too sharply, disrupting the rhythm.

Hassan and Ingar are remarkable. Hassan plays Doe with a quiet intensity that makes every hesitation feel loaded. Ingar brings a brash charisma that hides Muna’s need for love and loyalty. Together they create a friendship that is neither idealised nor simplified. They quarrel, share junk food, pull each other back from despair. It is a bond full of contradictions, and that is what makes it so believable.

Brides is not without flaws. Some scenes lean on music cues too obviously, and Muna’s character receives less background than Doe, leaving her harder to fully understand. But these are minor slips in a film that feels deeply human. Fall resists sensationalism. She does not excuse Doe and Muna’s choice, but she makes us see how ordinary it can look when your world has narrowed and your mistakes have no safe space to land.

The result is a road movie, a buddy comedy, and a tragedy all at once. It leaves you unsettled because it refuses to let these girls become just “ISIS brides.” Instead, it insists on their laughter, their vulnerability, their complexity. By the time the credits roll, their lives feel too precious to lose, which is exactly why the film lingers.

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