The first feature to be shot in Saudi Arabia, and directed by a woman to boot, "Wadjda" is a remarkable film twice over. We are fortunate to have it for both of those reasons, but it's hard not to wish the result was even better. 
 
 While the uniqueness of the film's Riyadh setting and the disturbing nature of "Wadjda's" depictions of life for women behind the Saudi curtain are thoroughly involving, the actual plotline of a 10-year-old girl's determination to own a bicycle can be as standard as it sounds. 
 
 Given the circumstances of "Wadjda's" creation, that result may not be surprising. Writer-director Haifaa Mansour has said she made the film not because she burned to tell this particular story but rather because "I wanted to give the intellectual debate a human face. ... It was important to me that the story was an accurate portrayal of the situation of women in Saudi Arabia." The bigger picture was the driving force, and that is what "Wadjda" is best at conveying. 
 
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 So even though the film's through-line follows young Wadjda (Waad Mohammed) as she gets fixated on the idea of owning a bike in a culture that frowns on that activity for girls, the character is less interesting in herself than as a conduit through which we see the severe difficulties faced by her mother (Saudi TV actress Reem Abdullah) and other girls who are friends at school and have more serious problems. 
 
 In a culture where women are not allowed to drive, Wadjda's mother's livelihood is at the mercy of the driver who takes her and other women from home to work and back. Worse than this is the mother's situation in relation to her husband (Sultan Assaf). 
 
 Although Wadjda's parents clearly care for each other, their marriage has not produced a son and the norms of society, not to mention the influence of his mother, are pressuring the father to take a second wife. Wadjda's mother is far from happy about this ("I'm the original brand," she says to him. "Why are you leaving for an imitation?"), but in this world, her options are severely limited. 
 
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 Also disturbing are situations Wadjda becomes tangentially involved in at her strict state-run girls' school, headed by the unbending Miss Hussa (the actress Ahd, who goes by one name). Her classmates can get into serious trouble for chaste meetings with boys, and even for being what school officials view as suspiciously close to their girlfriends. 
 
 As to Wadjda herself, though still a child she is frequently reprimanded for allowing her head to go uncovered and chided severely for talking loudly in public where men can hear her. "A woman's voice is her nakedness," Miss Hussa says, and she couldn't be more serious. 
 
 Also involving is the great divide we see in Saudi culture between public and private space. While what goes on inside Wadjda's house is quite familiar — she listens to rock music, her dad plays video games — in the street, women are obliged to wear the totally enclosing combination of the abaya body garment and niqab head covering. 
 
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 Though it is in one sense of a piece with all of this, Wadjda's determination to flout convention and get a bike so she can race her neighborhood pal Abdullah (Abdullrahman Gohani) is more generic than involving, especially compared with the more accomplished neo-realist films (the Dardenne brothers' "Rosetta" and Jafar Panahi's "Offside") the director has mentioned as inspirations. 
 
 It also doesn't help that Wadjda herself is a cliché rebel, a headstrong, borderline bratty type whose smart-mouth attitude is supposed to charm us with its spunk but can also irritate by its rudeness. A little of this goes a long way, especially in a film that has such a leisurely pace. 
 
 That said, it is important to remember that "Wadjda" is made by a first-time feature director working under great constraints in a country where movie theaters are illegal. Her script does contain a number of unexpected elements, including a Koran recitation competition, and it gets stronger as it goes along. Drawbacks and all, it's heartening to have "Wadjda" around. 
 
 kenneth.turan@latimes.com 
 
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 'Wadjda' 
 
 MPAA rating: PG for thematic elements, brief mild language and smoking 
 
 Running time: 1 hour, 37 minutes 
 
 Playing: At Laemmle's Royal, West Los Angeles 
 
 
 
 ||||| Wadjda Reveals the Lives of Saudi Girls 
 
 Like all kid protagonists in movies, Wadjda's Wadjda wants one pure thing so much that the very concept of want shades into need. If this plucky Saudi Arabian girl (played by preteen Waad Mohammed) doesn't get a bicycle, it seems, some fundamental quality of hers might not survive adolescence. Her yen for small rebellions seems staked on it, as does her sense that she can grow up to be a person of her choosing. But that bike is a pricey 800 riyals, and Wadjda's mother's teaching salary is tied up in car services—women in the Kingdom are forbidden to drive—and in a smashing new dress chosen to win back the attention of Wadjda's father, a man who, as is his right, is scouting around for a newer, presumably younger wife. Even worse, from Wadjda's perspective: The very thought of a girl on a bike is enough to send her family into a panic. At one point, her mother—a radiant, heartbreaking Reem Abdullah—catches Wadjda cycling in circles on a bike borrowed from a boy named Abdullah (Abdullrahman Al Gohani), a likable kid naïve enough to believe he can be best friends with a girl without consequences. Wadjda takes a spill, hitting concrete; her mother sees a flash of blood and immediately fears that Wadjda has destroyed the key to a future happier than her own—her hymen. 
 
 It isn't. Wadjda has just skinned her knee. 
 
 A simple, solid, deeply affecting film, Wadjda is something rare: the work of a female Saudi filmmaker, Haifaa Al Mansour, and a feature from a country that has long outlawed cinemas. It's a hard-to-shake look at the everyday realities of being a woman—or growing to be a woman—in a country that strictly limits what a woman can be. We see Wadjda given, with warm ceremony, her first abaya, a hand-me-down from mom necessary after a teacher at Wadjda's madrassa tells the young girl she's now old enough to have to start fully covering herself. We see Wadjda and her schoolmates, bare-faced but robed from head to toe, chased off their secluded recess ground because they can be seen by the construction workers on a neighboring building. (Wadjda's rebellions involve mild insouciance, mixtapes of rock music, and the inked-up Converse All Stars that jut from just beneath her proscribed grab.) 
 
 Trailer Location Info Map Details Wadjda 
 
 Written and directed by Haifaa Al Mansour 
 
 Sony Pictures Classics 
 
 Opens September 13, Lincoln Plaza Cinemas 
 
 
 
 Follow @VoiceFilmClub 
 
 
 
 Subscribe to the Voice Film Club podcast Written and directed by Haifaa Al MansourSony Pictures ClassicsOpens September 13, Lincoln Plaza Cinemas 
 
 And we see another girl, Wadjda's age, back at school the weekend after getting married off, sharing photos of herself in her wedding gown. A teacher snatches the snapshots away—photographs are not allowed at school. 
 
 Mohammed's charisma and the film's appreciation for the hopefulness of children keep all this from becoming too grim to bear. Just seeing life in Riyadh is a revelation. Al Mansour frames the city's slab-like structures in static compositions, slightly off-center, and then sets the kids loose to dash around and through them. The feeling is of effervescence among a stolid permanence. 
 
 To earn money for the bike, Wadjda improvises some canny capitalism, sometimes taking advantage of older people whose secrets she sees. Later, hoping to win a small fortune, Wadjda crams for a shot at winning a school contest for sutra memorization and recitation. The irony is delicious: She hopes to score the cash to rebel, gently, against her theocracy by willing herself into a first-rate conformist. Be ready to bawl at the end. 
 
 Subscribe to the Voice Film Club podcast ||||| Initially the biggest talking point about “Wadjda” will be that a woman, Haifaa Al Mansour, has directed the first Saudi Arabian feature shot entirely within the kingdom. Once the novelty is processed, critics and the public will likely agree that the pic transcends mere surprise value and delivers a winning, handsomely crafted story with a charismatic lead guaranteed to charm international auds. Resembling kid-centered Iranian pics that tackle sticky topics via pint-sized protags, “Wadjda” uses a spunky girl to explore women’s limitations within Arabian society. A vigorous fest life is assured, followed by probable arthouse play. 
 
 Screenings in Saudi Arabia are another matter, since the country has no cinemas. Especially interesting will be how the film plays in the neighboring Emirates, a nation with an avid multiplex culture and a slightly more relaxed view of women’s roles in society. Shooting had to be a difficult undertaking, no doubt helped by powerful supporters; Prince Al-Waleed Bin Tal is given prominent thanks in the closing credits, and while Germany’s Razor Film is the main producing entity, backing comes from a range of global movie initiatives including Jordan’s Royal Film Commission, the Abu Dhabi Film Commission, Sundance Institute and the Hubert Bals Fund. 
 
 Al Mansour trained abroad and has award-winning shorts and a docu, “Women Without Shadows,” already under her belt, so although producers Roman Paul and Gerhard Meixner may have helped shape the pic along international lines, “Wadjda” feels geared to Arab and global auds. Repetitions of women’s constraints, already well established in the script, are likely meant for foreign viewers, though plenty of lines, including humorous ones, are included for local ears. 
 
 Ten-year-old Wadjda (newcomer Waad Mohammed) and her mom (Reem Abdullah) live in a Riyadh suburb, with Wadjda’s affectionate father (Sultan Al Assaf) making only occasional visits from his parents’ house nearby. Mom suspects her in-laws are looking to marry her husband off again since she hasn’t produced a son, but he denies having eyes for anyone else. 
 
 Mom talks of little else except pleasing her husband, yet Wadjda is preoccupied with asserting her independence on the playground with best friend Abdullah (Abdullrahman Al Gohani). Most of all, she wants a bike so they can race together, but girls aren’t allowed to ride bikes in Saudi Arabia for fear that they would compromise a woman’s virginity (and encourage freedom of movement in a country where women aren’t allowed to drive). 
 
 A new green bike at the local toy store captures Wadjda’s fancy, and she’s determined to raise the $213 needed. Constantly scolded for lax girlish propriety by her headmistress, Hussa (Ahd), Wadjda surprises the school by enrolling in a Koran competition whose prize money will more than cover the bike’s purchase. 
 
 Wadjda is constantly told she’s overstepping mandatory modesty; her voice shouldn’t be overheard by men, her head must be covered, she mustn’t listen to pop songs. Yet, delightfully, the girl is anything but contrite. Constantly banging into metaphorical walls erected around her gender, Wadjda’s blithe resolve protects her from bruises: With her irresistible combination of spunk and guile, she’ll achieve her goals. 
 
 The adults around her aren’t so lucky, starting with her mother, whose fixation on her husband blinds her to much else (however, the pic foregrounds a loving relationship between mother and daughter). Another side of the coin is Hussa, a hardline hypocrite who compensates for her own frustrations by rigidly imposing Wahabi codes of behavior. With enormous sympathy for all, Al Mansour captures the isolation of Saudi women and their parallel lives of freedom at home and invisibility outside. 
 
 A natural onscreen who was 12 at the time of shooting, young thesp Mohammed captivates with a palpable confidence: Her T-shirt proudly proclaims, “I am a Great Catch!,” and she is. Single-monikered Ahd is a believable scold, and while other thesps, including Saudi TV star Abdullah, are less comfortable in emotional roles, they maintain an authentic honesty. 
 
 Visuals are clean and satisfying, revealing a confident fluency in compositions and lensing. The majority of the crew is German, but Al Mansour delivers a final product that thankfully doesn’t disguise its Arab origins under a generic internationalism. Although there’s a level of predictability to the finale, it acts as a gift not just to Wadjda, but to her audience. ||||| CLOSE Wadjda (Waad Mohammed), a free spirited young girl, enters a Koran competition as a means to acquiring the object of her desire: a new bike. 
 
 Spunky, clever and enterprising, Wadjda is a determined and sweet-natured girl who simply wants to do what most kids do: race around on a bike with her pals. But in her Saudi culture that's forbidden. 
 
 Waad Mohammed stars in 'Wadjda,' the first feature film to be shot entirely in Saudi Arabia. (Photo: Tobias Kownatzki, Sony Pictures Classics) Story Highlights USA TODAY review: ***½ out of 4 
 
 Stars: Waad Mohammed, Reem Abdullah, Sultan Al Assaf, Abdullrahman Al Gohani 
 
 Rated PG; runtime: 1 hour, 38 minutes; opens Friday in select cities 
 
 A green bicycle is the vehicle that draws viewers down the byways of a repressive culture in the deeply affecting Wadjda (***½; rated PG; opening Friday in select cities). 
 
 It's a groundbreaking film on a couple of levels: The first feature film shot entirely in Saudi Arabia, it was made by that nation's first female director, Haifaa Al Mansour.Wadjda is a winning and wonderfully moving tale of an endearing 10-year-old girl, living in a suburb of Riyadh, making her voice heard in a patriarchal society that seeks to silence her. 
 
 Not only is this a deftly crafted and superbly acted film, but Wadjda sheds a powerful light on what women face, starting in childhood, in an oppressive regime. However, it never comes across like a sociological lecture. Its message is clear, but told with engaging understatement. 
 
 A plucky, creative girl who subtly becomes a non-conformist rebel, Wadjda (Waad Mohammed) has the same desire as most kids around the world: to ride a bicycle. What is hard for Western audiences to absorb is why the simple act of riding a bike is anathema for girls in Islamic culture. So many accepted notions seem startlingly restrictive. "A woman's voice reveals her nakedness," says a teacher who chides Wadjda for laughing on the playground. 
 
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 Wadjda's determination to buy a bike and race it against the boy who lives next door, Abdullah (Abdullrahman Al Gohani), is inspired during a wonderfully evocative scene where she sees a green bicycle skimming along, atop a moving car hidden by a wall. It's a magical moment where the bike seems powered by something mystical. Wadjda is instantly smitten. 
 
 A smart, fun-loving girl with impressive entrepreneurial skills, she's branded as undisciplined by authorities at her conservative Muslim school because of her casual defiance of traditions. 
 
 When Wadjda expresses a desire to participate in a Quran recitation contest, the principal thinks she's gotten through to the boundary-pushing Wadjda. But Wadjda has her eye on the prize money. Her plan is to win and buy the bike of her dreams. No matter that girls do not ride bikes in Saudi Arabia. 
 
 While Wadjda practices her recitations, her mother (Reem Abdullah) faces her own challenges stemming from a patriarchal society. Her modes of transportation are equally restrictive. Women are not allowed to drive and she is dependent on a nasty, irresponsible driver she hires to get to work. Neither mother nor daughter can travel in ways that would improve their lives. 
 
 Waad Mohammed, 12, is wonderfully natural as young Wadjda, and Abdullah as her mother gives a memorably nuanced performance. 
 
 Wadjda is resolute about resisting the status quo, but in a cheeky way that is consistent with the behavior of a 10-year-old. We sense she will go on to push against social strictures as she grows up. A compassionate soul, she sees the divide between the free-wheeling world her father (Sultan Al Assaf) inhabits and the confined one of her mother. 
 
 Al Mansour has crafted a vividly multidimensional film that sidesteps predictability. She does not paint the men or boys in the film with a broad, villainous brush. Characters are believably drawn. The limitations that Saudi women must endure are depicted modestly, but powerfully. And it's never a bitter pill — the film has some charmingly humorous moments. 
 
 In her emotional tale of a child and a bike, Al Mansour also pays tribute to the 1949 Italian neo-realist classic The Bicycle Thief. 
 
 This disarming tale of a likable young girl is at once eye-opening, fascinating and profoundly poignant. 
 
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– Movie theaters are outlawed in Saudi Arabia, and women's rights are deeply restricted, so Wadjda, the first feature film shot entirely in the kingdom, and the first directed by a Saudi woman, was always going to be a remarkable film. It's also a very good one, critics overwhelmingly agree—as of this writing, the limited release film is at 97% on Rotten Tomatoes. Here's what people are saying: "Not only is this a deftly crafted and superbly acted film, but Wadjda sheds a powerful light on what women face … in an oppressive regime," writes Claudia Puig at USA Today. Yet it never becomes "a sociological lecture." Director Haifaa al-Mansour "has crafted a vividly multidimensional film that sidesteps predictability." Even once you've gotten over the novelty of the film's creation, you'll find "that the pic transcends mere surprise value and delivers a winning, handsomely crafted story," writes Jay Weissberg at Variety. Its pre-teen lead, Waad Mohammed, "captivates with a palpable confidence: Her T-shirt proudly proclaims, 'I am a Great Catch!,' and she is." "Just seeing life in Riyadh is a revelation," writes Alan Scherstuhl at the Village Voice. Al-Mansour "frames the city's slab-like structures … and then sets the kids loose to dash around and through them." Wadjda is unflinching in its depiction of oppression, but its "appreciation for the hopefulness of children keep[s] all this from becoming too grim to bear." But while the film's depictions of oppression are "thoroughly involving," Kenneth Turan at the LA Times found the plot, which centers around the title character's quest to buy a bicycle, to be "as standard as it sounds," and Wadjda herself to be "a cliché rebel." We're lucky to have the film, he writes, "but it's hard not to wish the result was even better."