The President’s Cake

The emerging practice in academic psychology of studying the behaviour of dictators is turning up some interesting things about disorientation and cruelty, but it has yet to explain one notable characteristic which manifests again and again: a singular lack of taste. Whether they are born to be dictators, achieve dictatorship or have dictator status thrust upon them, 90% of them manifest astonishing vulgarity, and rarely more so than on the occasion of their birthdays.

Amongst the various ridiculous things that former Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein demanded for his was that every class in every school make a cake in his honour. Whilst that might sound like a trivial request, it emerged at a time when his military and economic mistakes meant that many people in the country could barely afford to eat. Such was the paranoia within the regime at that point, however, that to fail to follow the rules could mean torture and death, for oneself and one’s loved ones.

In Hasan Hadi’s contribution to the 2025 Cannes line-up, nine-year-old Lamia (Baneen Ahmad Nayyef) does a good job of hiding her feelings when she’s picked as the class member responsible for the cake. She’s already learned how to present the required smile regardless of her interior turmoil. By the time she reaches home, a small wooden building in the marshes (which immediately marks her out as a member of a socially sigmatised group), news of the situation has already spread. Her bibi (possibly her actual aunt, possibly another community member who has taken her in, as she appears to be an orphan) lists the ingredients for a cake and agrees that they will go into town, but Lamia is worried that she’s not taking the situation seriously enough, prioritising bargaining for things like clothes.

The bulk of the film follows Lamia after she has evaded her bibi and set out to try to fulfil the quest herself, helped and sometimes hindered by her pet rooster Hindi and her friend Saeed (Sajad Mohamad Qasem). There’s a natural charm to her adventures as her innocence and good intentions collide with the reality of others’ lives. Hadi makes comedic observations about Iraqi society along the way, pointing up the hypocrisies that enable people to cope within tightly regulated systems. But this isn’t your average cut child on a quest fable. Not only is it underscored by Lamia’s well-justified terror of what might happen should she fail, but it also acknowledges the dangers that might face any child that age, in any place or time, in the absence of an adult protector.

Lamia’s bibi (Waheed Thabet Khreibat) takes her duty as protector very seriously, and she is a force to be reckoned with. Once she realises that the child is missing, she goes straight to the police, and though they try to dismiss her, not wanting to be bothered by annoying peasants, it soon becomes clear that, despite her fragile health, she’s one of those strong willed older women who can’t be intimidated by anyone and absolutely will not stop until she gets what she wants. Hadi cuts back and forth between her and Lamia as the story develops, carefully balancing the tone.

The film also finds magic in Lamia’s bond with Hindi and the tender connection that is developing between her and Saeed, despite the amount of time that they spend shouting at each other. Neither is quite at the point of thinking in terms of romance, but there is something more than friendship in the way they interact, and in the way they lose themselves in one another’s eyes when playing a staring game. It’s a sweetness that becomes essential in the darkest moments of the film, a sliver of hope to hold onto in spite of everything that is set against them. Where many young actors struggle with this kind of thing, Nayyef and Qasem are marvellous, completely natural and without a hint of self-consciousness. They fully inhabit their characters and, in turn, those characters perfectly embody the time and place.

Counterpointing its final scene with archive footage of Hussein’s birthday celebration, the film emphasises the difference between the image he endeavoured to send out to the world and the reality of ordinary people’s lives. In so doing, it reveals less obvious absurdities within the social order, and makes room for a richer appreciation of history.

Reviewed on: 18 May 2025