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In ‘Promised Sky,’ Erige Sehiri films the migrants Tunisia would rather not see

Jun Satō

Erige Sehiri builds ‘Promised Sky’ around a question most Mediterranean migration stories skip: what happens after the crossing, in the country that was never meant to be the destination. Her third feature settles into a modest house in Tunis where three Ivorian women have improvised a life together, and it watches that life bend when a fourth arrival, a small girl pulled from the sea, forces each of them to weigh what she owes a stranger.

The household belongs to Marie, a former journalist turned pastor who runs a storefront congregation she calls the Church of Perseverance, handing out food, medicine, nappies and counsel to the sub-Saharan Africans that Tunisian bureaucracy keeps in a permanent gray zone. Under her roof are Naney, an undocumented young mother scrambling for a foothold, and Jolie, a student carrying the expectations of a family back home. When four-year-old Kenza turns up as the lone survivor of a shipwreck, the fragile arrangement acquires a dependent none of them planned for, and the film’s warmth starts to run against its unease.

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Sehiri fills the frame with faces that carry their own weight. Aïssa Maïga, the French actor and activist, plays Marie with a wary steadiness, a woman whose faith is also a form of triage. Laëtitia Ky, the Ivorian artist known internationally for her sculptural hair pieces, takes the role of Jolie and grounds the student’s ambition in something closer to fear. And Déborah Naney, giving what several Cannes critics singled out as the most magnetic performance in the ensemble, plays her near-namesake as a young mother improvising dignity out of very little. The men who pass through, among them Mohamed Grayaâ’s Ismael, orbit the house without ever running it.

The reframing is the whole point. Sehiri has said her starting impulse was the flattening word ‘African,’ the way migrants from Côte d’Ivoire, Nigeria, Mali or Congo get folded into a single foreign category inside a country that is itself African. ‘Promised Sky’ inverts the usual gaze of European festival cinema, which tends to film the crossing and stop at the shoreline. It stays on the far side of the water and looks at Tunisia through the eyes of the people it will not fully admit, people who cook, pray, study, argue and raise a child while their papers, or the lack of them, decide everything.

Formally, Sehiri keeps to the observational register that made ‘Under the Fig Trees’ travel so far. That earlier film, a single day among seasonal fruit pickers, became Tunisia’s submission for the international Oscar and announced a director more interested in texture than plot. Here she works again in handheld close quarters and natural light, letting scenes breathe past their dramatic function, trusting an ensemble that feels lived-in rather than staged. The house itself, cramped and sun-bleached, does much of the storytelling.

The warmth is also the risk. Critics who admired the film at Cannes reached for words like ‘warm glow’ and ‘bittersweet celebration of endurance,’ and that register can soften the very precarity it documents. The legal limbo that defines these women has no tidy arc to complete, and to Sehiri’s credit the movie refuses to invent one; it ends without pretending the residency permits, the raids or the drownings have been resolved. But endurance is not the same as indictment, and viewers who want the film to name names, to press harder on the Tunisian state or on Europe’s outsourced borders, will find it holds back. Sehiri offers solidarity as her argument, and that is a choice worth arguing with rather than simply applauding.

It is also a film arriving into a charged moment for its subject. Reports of violence and mass expulsions targeting sub-Saharan migrants in Tunisia have hardened since Sehiri began the project, which lends the domestic scale of ‘Promised Sky’ a documentary weight it never states out loud. The politics sit in the margins, in an overheard conversation or a knock at the door, never in a speech. Whether that restraint reads as tact or as evasion will depend on the viewer.

Characters gather around a birthday cake in the Erige Sehiri drama Promised Sky (2025)
The makeshift family gathers around a birthday cake in Promised Sky (2025)

The film opened the Un Certain Regard section at this year’s Cannes, a prominent launch pad that carried it onto the festival circuit, from London to Marrakech, and into the awards conversation for its performances. A Tunisian-French co-production staged by Sehiri’s own Maneki Films with Heina Productions, it reaches audiences market by market, and the reception so far suggests a modest arthouse title with a longer life than its scale implies.

‘Promised Sky’ opens in Spanish cinemas on August 21, distributed under the title ‘Prometido el cielo,’ after a French theatrical release earlier in the year. It is not a film that resolves the crisis at its center, and it does not try to. What it offers instead is the rarer thing: a steady, unsentimental look at the people usually kept just out of frame, and at the woman who decided they were worth watching.

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