Half Moon begins amidst a frenetic atmosphere as a pair of fighting cocks scrap in a room packed full of jostling, shouting men. But from this boisterous opening there emerges a slow-paced road movie in which a group of Kurdish musicians undertake a bus journey to perform at a concert in Iraqi Kurdistan. Their trek takes us through some stunningly bleak scenery, from dull-brown dusty plains to snow-capped peaks and towns clinging to mountainsides.<br /><br />The most striking scene in the film features a town full of hundreds of exiled female singers, who line the street and tops of buildings as the travelling musicians retrieve a fellow performer for the concert. The absurdity of this acts as a clever commentary on the banning of female musicians in Islamic Iran and there are countless further insights into the lives of Kurdish people throughout Half Moon. The nerve-wracking confrontations with border guards testify to the great difficulties faced by the Kurds in being divided across four countries and treated frequently as second-class citizens. Somewhat strangely for a film about travelling musicians the film does not afford a great deal of attention to the music of the people whom it portrays, but there are nevertheless some very interesting sounds to be heard here.<br /><br />Engaging with the storyline can be difficult at times due the contrasting moods and a tendency to jump back and forth in time. Although not often laugh-out-loud in nature, there are many moments of warm-hearted humour during the film. On the other hand, dark omens abound throughout and create a growing sense of foreboding. The combination of these elements seems incongruous on occasion but they are drawn together in a moving climax. I found parts of the film falling into place long after I left my seat in the cinema and I regard that as a rare and valuable thing.