The city of Tel Aviv, Noam (Ohad Knoller) tells us, is
situated in complete ignorance of its natural surroundings. It was
built, perversely, in seclusion from the seaside, with its streets
running parallel to the Mediterranean to block the mild breeze. It’s
also where the Israeli gay community has created a small patch of
bohemian paradise for itself. As The Bubble‘s title suggests,
it’s a sort of bubble—and like all bubbles, it’s only a question
of time until the damn thing pops.
Blandly likeable Noam works at a record store (where, in a scene
reminiscent of High Fidelity, he tells a couple of teenyboppers
to get their Britney Spears fix elsewhere) in between stints of army
reserve duty as a medic at a border checkpoint. On one such stint, he
encounters Ashraf (Yousef Sweid), a young Palestinian man; after they
meet again in Tel Aviv, it’s not long until they’re fucking on the
rooftops.
The Bubble is a familiar portrait of young romantic idealism,
filtered through the gay experience and, more interestingly, the
religious turmoil of the region. Noam and Ashraf, along with Noam’s
roommates Lulu and Yelli, revel in their shallow, happy existence: They
attend the theater, hang out in cafés, listen to singers in
night clubs, design T-shirts, even plot a seaside party with the
half-hearted theme “Rave Against the Oppression.” Whenever Ashraf
mentions politics, the others fiercely shush him; sex and love is at
the forefront of everyone’s mind. (There’s also a scene when Noam talks
of his dead mother while tenderly buggering Ashraf for the first time,
if you’re into that sort of thing.)
Despite the frivolity of its characters, some contrived plot twists
(some involving a character not-so-subtly named “Jihad”), and shaky
developments late in the film, The Bubble steadily gathers
gravity. The film’s a collision of Western society and Middle Eastern
ideals: Eventually, something has to give, and eventually, people get
hurt.