Alternative Entertainment

ALTERNATIVE CINEMA: A PAINFUL CYCLE OF SURVIVAL

by Vandana Kumar March 20 2025, 12:00 am Estimated Reading Time: 7 mins, 21 secs

A haunting Israeli drama exploring the harsh realities of a mother-daughter relationship, the inescapable cycle of prostitution, and the devastating impact of societal oppression on women’s lives. Vandana Kumar brings the film “Or” back to our memories.

Keren Yedaya’s award-winning Israeli film Or (2004) is a gripping drama that delves into the painful reality of a mother-daughter bond shaped by exploitation and survival. Starring Dana Ivgy and Ronit Elkabetz, the film follows Or, a teenage girl struggling to pull her mother, Ruthie, out of prostitution—only to face the same fate herself. With its stark realism, long still shots, and unflinching portrayal of trauma, Or remains a pivotal film in Israeli cinema, redefining female representation on screen. This powerful narrative leaves audiences shaken, offering no escape from its heartbreaking, claustrophobic world.

The Evolution of Israeli Cinema on the Global Stage

Over the past 15 years, Israeli cinema has gained significant global recognition, earning prestigious awards and becoming a subject of academic study. When I mentioned to a friend in Georgia (Eastern Europe) that I was writing about an Israeli film, she noted how cinema schools there had increasingly embraced courses on Israeli films since 2008-09.

Among the notable films that contributed to this shift is Or (My Treasure) (2004), an intense drama starring Dana Ivgy as Or, a teenage girl burdened with the responsibility of caring for her mother, Ruthie (played by Ronit Elkabetz), a prostitute struggling to leave her profession. Elkabetz, one of Israel’s most renowned actors, was also a celebrated director and screenwriter.

A French-Israeli production, Or premiered at the Cannes Film Festival on May 14, 2004, and won the Caméra d'Or (Golden Camera) award, an honour given to the best first feature film. Directed by Keren Yedaya, the film’s raw storytelling and visual style left a lasting impact, shedding light on the complexities of mother-daughter relationships and the cycle of exploitation.

A Cinematic Study of Mother-Daughter Bonding

The film employs long, still shots that immerse the audience in the harrowing daily existence of Or and her mother. The opening scene sets the tone: Or, just 16, picks up her mother from the hospital in a matter-of-fact manner, locks her inside their apartment, and heads to work at a restaurant run by her boyfriend’s family. Her daily routine is relentless—attending high school, working nights at the restaurant, and, most crucially, ensuring her mother does not relapse into prostitution.

Yedaya’s camera lingers on the mundane yet telling moments: Or washing dishes, scrubbing floors, or bathing her mother after a rough night. The tenderness between them is never verbalized but evident in Or’s constant vigilance. Ruthie, after 20 years as a prostitute, is at rock bottom—physically frail and emotionally vulnerable. Their dynamic is one of role reversal, where the daughter becomes the caretaker, attempting to shield her mother from the lure of the streets.

Cycles of Trauma and Exploitation

Ruthie’s profession is both a means of survival and a compulsive cycle of self-destruction. One of the film’s most haunting moments is when Ruthie returns home with blood trickling down her legs, an unspoken yet painfully clear testament to the abuse she endures. Or wordlessly cleans her mother up, highlighting the film’s reliance on actions rather than dialogue to convey trauma.

The film repeatedly associates bodily harm with societal violence. The contrast between Ruthie’s battered body and Or’s youthful form in a bathtub foreshadows the daughter’s grim future. There is also an underlying theme of cleansing—Or vigorously washes dishes, scrubs their apartment, and bathes her mother, desperately trying to sanitize a reality that refuses to change. Meanwhile, Ruthie remains incapable of maintaining even the most basic order in her life, making half-hearted attempts at employment before inevitably slipping back into old habits.

A striking detail is how the women shower by plugging the drain with their soiled laundry, washing their clothes with the soap rinsed from their own bodies—a poignant visual metaphor for their shared struggles and limited resources.

As Or navigates her own coming-of-age, she experiences first love with Ido (Meshar Cohen), a cook at her workplace. His mother, Rachel (Katia Zinbris), suspects their intimacy and subtly warns Or that she is not welcome as a serious partner for her son. The unspoken implication is devastating—Or is perceived as destined for the same fate as her mother. This realization deeply wounds Or, pushing her further into isolation.

Or’s relentless attempts to steer her mother toward stability ultimately fail. Ruthie cannot sustain the routine of a cleaning job after two decades of night work; her body and psyche resist the shift. The notion that one cannot simply transition out of prostitution is a central theme in literature and film—Yedaya reinforces this by showing how deeply ingrained the profession has become in Ruthie’s existence.

As mother and daughter’s relationship deteriorates, their once-tender moments of sharing a blanket or showering together are replaced by distance and silent despair. Or, once brimming with energy and hope, begins to harden.

The Final Breaking Point

When Ruthie defaults on rent payments, she resorts to offering sexual favours to the landlord—a transaction so routine for her that she barely acknowledges its implications. But the landlord refuses, now eyeing Or instead. This moment signals an inevitable shift.

Or, exhausted and resigned, knocks on the landlord’s door. She walks in, removes her clothing, and lets him climax just by holding her. Her face remains impassive. In the next scene, Or casually recounts the experience to her friends, laughing and smoking a cigarette. “I don’t have to lift a finger,” she says, detached from the enormity of what she has just surrendered. The transformation is complete: the once-innocent girl who fought to save her mother has now entered the same cycle.

While Or is set in Tel Aviv, its themes transcend geography. Across Asia, rapid urbanization has drained rural communities, making city life the dominant cinematic landscape for stories of prostitution. The film’s claustrophobic setting—confined mostly to a cramped, cluttered apartment—mirrors the characters’ entrapment. There is no escape, no redemption, only a downward spiral into despair.

A telling aspect of the neighbourhood’s portrayal is the normalized acceptance of Ruthie’s profession. Friends and neighbours remain indifferent, so long as personal lives do not intersect with professional ones. The moment Or and Ido’s relationship becomes serious, disapproval emerges, reinforcing the rigid social codes that govern such communities.

The final scene, in which Or and Ruthie prepare for their respective nights—one on the street, the other now working as an escort—is devastating. As Ruthie admires Or’s new shoes, unaware of what they signify, Or runs after her mother, silently pleading for her to stay home. It is a moment of painful resignation—Or is now taking her mother’s place in every way.

Israeli Cinema’s Shift in Representation

Israeli cinema, like many global film industries, initially relegated women to secondary roles, often objectified under a patriarchal gaze. While Zionist ideology promoted gender equality in theory, early Israeli films rarely reflected this. The shift in representation began with female filmmakers like Keren Yedaya, who placed women’s stories at the centre, challenging stereotypes and exploring complex human relationships.

In Recycled Wounds: Trauma, Gender, and Ethnicity in Keren Yedaya's Or, My Treasure, scholar Rotem Yosef examines how the film portrays the trauma of Mizrahi (Jews from Central or West Asia) women. The trauma in Or is so ingrained in daily life that it never becomes a distant memory—it repeats, again and again, until it is transferred from mother to daughter.

Or does not attempt to provide solutions or contextualize the larger socio-economic structures that sustain prostitution. Instead, it forces viewers into a deeply personal, suffocating experience that mirrors the reality of those trapped in the system. Its realism offers no escape, leaving the audience burdened with the same dread that follows the protagonists.

At its core, Or (My Treasure) is a searing portrait of a mother-daughter bond caught in a vicious cycle of exploitation. It is not a didactic film—it does not preach or moralize. Instead, it presents an unflinching, empathetic exploration of its characters’ struggles, making it one of the most important films in Israeli cinema’s evolution.

For those seeking a film with hope or resolution, Or offers none. Instead, it lingers, haunting its viewers with its stark, unrelenting realism. No one—neither Or, Ruthie, nor the audience—escapes unscathed.