A Review of The Lions by the River Tigris

Zaradasht Ahmed’s The Lions By The River Tigris offers an intimate glimpse into the aftermath of Mosul’s liberation. Much like in Nowhere to Hide, his earlier look at the war-torn Diyala province, this film deliberately turns away from war as a spectacle. Instead, it reconstructs the narrative of ISIS occupation through the materiality of its remnants. The film looks at physical objects as witnesses, giving voice to the cultural artefacts that survived. 

In this observationalist documentation of Bashar’s destroyed heritage home, Ahmed looks at the remaining objects as narrative devices —  ledgers that keep you hooked to the story. For Bashar, the threshold of his old home is a historical site that reflects the story of the city’s ruin; a scathing 

three-year occupation that ended thousands of lives and tried to reduce an entire society to debris. The camera follows Bashar’s emotionally driven deconstruction of the rubble, which traces the evidence of the systemic destruction of culture that took place during the conflict. Through the haunting long takes, it lingers on people's vulnerabilities, the fractured textures of the wreckage, and the river Tigris, which preserves memories through its continuous flow. In doing so, the structure drifts toward a contemplative tone that invites you to really sit with the images. 

The story mainly revolves around the archway to Bashar’s home. A solemn stone structure with a beam that bears a detailed carving of two lions. To him, these lions carry a symbolic sentiment, serving as a gateway to his life prior to the ISIS occupation. This object subtly paves the way for the narrative’s central conflict: the intersection of Fakhri and Bashar’s lives, which chronicles the various ways survivors inhabit history, sometimes taking it in, and sometimes being swallowed by it.

The lions lead us to Fakhri, a war veteran who is a foil to Bashar and has dedicated his life to cataloging history and preserving cultural objects that were targeted by ISIS. Though both of them share an attachment to artefacts, their perspectives are opposed. For Bashar, the archway is a frame of a life he believes the state can help him recover; for Fakhri, the ruins offer no such nostalgia or hope, instead serving as a constant reminder of what was lost. He wants to detach the relic from the terror of the occupation, re-purposing it as a piece of history, and not as a site of disintegration. In the final scene, the camera shifts from the wreckage to the natural world; Fakhri and his friend notice birds gliding high above the waters — a rare sight since the war emptied Mosul of their visits. Their return, like the lions once did to Bashar, stirs hope in Fakhri. Yet, the birds act as a living symbol for recovery and renewal, unlike the static stone lions that bear the trauma of the past. 

Beyond this tension of preservation, this documentary transcends conventional and gritty documentary storytelling. By noticing the stubborn cultural heartbeat that persists, the film leans into a lyrical realism. Through this lens, Ahmed traces what the city was, what it could have been, and what it still is. In a scene at the start of the film, Fakhri and his colleague visit the rubble, and his colleague stops to play a vibrant blue violin. I found it impossible to look past the violin set against collapsing remains, which reoriented me towards the active role of objects in the narrative. This image is a reminder that while ISIS tried to purge the city of its culture, the attempts failed. They destroyed buildings, but couldn’t strip the city of its voice. The temperament that remains within these fragments proves that they are more than mere debris. Instead, they stand as the quiet but overlooked culture of Mosul itself. 

In the end, this documentary provides a unique perspective into the old city of Mosul, its occupation, and the damaging liberation, allowing the viewer to step back and form their own interpretations. Ahmed refuses to streamline the narrative. He doesn’t offer you easy answers on how to deal with the residue of conflict. Instead, his film captures a culture that still stands, refusing to be erased.