Mention a film set in the 1980s featuring hopelessly in love teens from opposite worlds, throw in a unique best friend for good measure, and most people might point to something from the John Hughes canon (the Hughes-penned Pretty in Pink, perhaps). “Not so fast,” lovers of foreign indies might say. From director Eran Riklis comes a film that meets the description above, and even offers a hint of that Hughesian charm. The comparisons end there, though, as what Riklis brings is far richer than anything starring the Brat Pack—a sublime film about the glory of young love, the challenge of religious identity, the pressures of family, and the despair caused by an unforgiving geopolitical climate.

Intellectually exceptional since childhood, Arab-born Eyad (Tawfeek Barhom) has been afforded the chance to attend the prestigious Jerusalem Arts and Science Academy. However, the opportunity for him is bittersweet. While he will receive the best education available in his corner of the world, he will also be the rare Arab in a school full of Israelis. The conflict of a new kid in school, something normally prevalent in teenage school settings, is exponentially worse in a geographic environment that uses map lines to define hatred.

It isn’t all bad. Expecting to be alone in his academic pursuits, Eyad finds an unlikely friend in Jonathan (Michael Moshonov), an Israeli classmate suffering from muscular dystrophy. The young men become fast friends when they find a common ground: mocking the very hatred the world says they should have for each other. Eyad eventually becomes a regular fixture in Jonathan’s home, and an invaluable help to Jonathan’s mother (Yaël Abecassis).

Soon, the beautiful Israeli student Naomi (Daniel Kitsis) catches Eyad’s eye, and eventually the two share a powerful, secret love for each other that blossoms and strengthens over the coming semesters. Still, no matter the might of that love, and no matter the faint reminder of John Hughes (sans pop soundtrack), Riklis, working from Sayed Kashua’s script, summons strong notions of William Shakespeare; these lovers are no less passionate and no less star-crossed than a couple of kids named Capulet and Montague. In the end, though, those sharp, unyielding map lines and the tensions between their cultures may be more than their relationship can bear.

Most impressive about A Borrowed Identity is how Riklis succeeds in striking a deft balance among the competing issues happening throughout the film, and how he does so completely without exploitation. This is a film that practically begs for hand-wringing moments of high melodrama, but Riklis never takes the bait. Consider the global military conflict constantly humming in the background. Riklis leaves it in the background so it is always onscreen, but never overtly so. He even finds a little humor in it. The same applies to the breathless romance (aided by wonderfully enchanting chemistry between the leads); Eyad and Naomi work through their hurdles naturally instead of pointing at them and flailing the way other dramas might. None of this is to downplay love or war, but to treat them as equally strong forces in the lives of these young people and their families.

The family dynamic is another well-measured juxtaposition, which also includes Jonathan and his mother, who become another family for Eyad. But before all that even happens, the film opens with a considerably lengthy set-up of Eyad as a child, establishing the boy’s intellect as well as adding some background information about Eyad’s family. They’re important, nice touches, but not overly critical ones. It’s highly entertaining, and indicative of Riklis’ commitment to story.

Also humming throughout the film (like the war) are Eyad’s battles with bigotry and his successes in spite of it, as well as his own evolution and maturation as a person. Riklis is so adept at managing all of this, and at knowing what the perfect tone should be from scene to scene, that as the story unfolds, not only is there no melodrama, there isn’t even a gaudy WOW moment to get the story to another place. Simpler moments are always strongest because Riklis has structured the film so soundly.

Opening the 2015 Toronto Jewish Film Festival is director Eran Riklis’ sublime film about the glory of young love, the challenge of religious identity, and the despair caused by an unforgiving geopolitical climate: Dancing Arabs.

Arab-born Eyad (Tawfeek Barhom) has been afforded the chance to attend the prestigious Jerusalem Arts and Science Academy, but the opportunity is bittersweet. While he will receive the best education available, he will also be the rare Arab in a school full of Israelis. That “new kid” conflict normally prevalent in teenage settings is exponentially worse in this geographic environment, and at this point along the global timeline. Then along comes the beautiful Naomi (Daniel Kitsis), an Israeli student who catches the outcast’s eye. Eventually a strong love blossoms between the two, albeit one kept secret because of their religious differences. The challenges their relationship faces because of those differences, coupled with how Eyad is treated by everyday Israelis, drive him to reassess what’s most important to him: his past or his future.

Most impressive about Dancing Arabs is how director Riklis strikes a deft balance among the compelling, competing issues affecting Eyad, all while making terrific adjustments to tone throughout. Romance, humor, hatred, pathos, and even war might seem like competing forces, but Riklis, working from Sayed Kashua’s script, uses those forces to complement, rather than combat, each other. This creates an environment where the story can richly unfold, and where character actions are not jarring events, but rather measured decisions. Simple moments are this film’s secret weapons, and the accumulation of them translates into a glorious film.

Director Eran Riklis awkwardly sets a breezy odd-couple road trip movie under the dark cloud of the Israeli-Arab conflict in Zaytoun. The extreme polarity Riklis’ heavy-handed, inappropriately silly humor and the horrifying depictions of the 1982 war in Lebanon in which the story is set cancel each other out and leave nothing but a cringe-worthy, unfunny, tonally confused bore.

A miscast Stephen Dorff (who is much better in the upcoming The Motel Life) plays Yoni, a scruffy, cunning Israeli pilot who’s been downed across enemy lines, right into the hands of the PLO. Among Yoni’s captors is a 12-year-old boy with a giant chip on his shoulder named Fahed (a promising Abdallah El Akal), whose father’s just been killed in the streets, caught in crossfire. Fahed proposes a deal–he helps Yoni escape, and in return, Yoni escorts him to the home of his ancestors, where he can plant his father’s olive tree.

Predictably, the two warm up to each other over the course of their treacherous trek, but the bond doesn’t feel earned or convincing. In fact, the formation of their friendship seems virtually untraceable: They’re casting evil glares at each other one minute. Blink. All of a sudden, they’re hugging and yucking it up like they’re old pals, out of the blue. Where the hell did that come from? I thought you hated that guy! Fahed, you shot him just a few days ago for goodness sake! Their relationship just doesn’t develop organically enough to buy into.

Dorff and El Akal make the best with what they’re given, and even make a handful of sloppily-written scenes work that shouldn’t; a sequence involving a minefield is utterly absurd, but the actors’ performances sell the suspense.

Zaytoun’s most glaring issue is its schizophrenic shifts in mood and tone. It darts around in a frenzy, wanting to be a gaggy comedy, master-pupil story, fun action movie, gritty action movie, and Hollywood heart-toucher (especially in the finale), all at once. Its conceit is confused, and so are we.

In one of many grim depictions of the Arab-Israeli conflict, we see Fahed sprint across a road in Lebanon, the deafening sound of gunfire echoing in the night, to kneel next to his father, whose body’s been mutilated after just being killed in an explosion. It’s harrowing. Not much later, we see Fahed sharing a taxi with Yoni and an awful comic-relief cab driver who blasts the Bee Gee’s “Staying Alive” (seriously?) as he spouts idiotic one-liners. The humor is a big miss, just like every other joke in the movie, because the looming presence of the terrible war raging around them makes the comedy feel inappropriate and tasteless. It’s possible to make humor work under the weight of war, but it requires more finesse and tact than Riklis and penner Nader Rizq exhibit.

Visually, Zaytoun looks quite nice, even poetic at times. DP Dan Lausten photographs the majestic Israeli locales wonderfully, and despite the cloying sentimentality of Fahed and Yoni’s friendship, their picturesque surroundings impart their journey with a subtle, poetic sense of serenity that wouldn’t be there otherwise.