Review: The President’s Cake Is Cannes' Hidden Gem

The film everyone should be talking about, but no one is for some reason, is Hasan Hadi’s The President’s Cake. A crowd-pleaser that brings to mind such classics as Majid Majidi’s Children of Heaven, Abbas Kiarostami’s Where is the Friend’s House, and Theo Angelopoulos’ Landscape in the Mist.

It’s “draw day” across Iraq. In classrooms across the country, students are randomly selected to contribute to their school’s mandatory celebration of Saddam Hussein’s birthday. It’s framed as an honour, but everyone knows the truth. Refusing could mean imprisonment or even death. Each school must bake one cake.

Nine-year-old Lamia (Baneen Ahmad Nayyef) does everything she can to avoid being picked. But when the teacher pulls her name from the tin, she has no choice. She must bake that cake or face the repercussions. There’s just one problem. The country is starving and sanctions have wiped markets clean. Flour, sugar, eggs, baking powder are nearly impossible to find. Across chaotic markets and guarded checkpoints, Lamia hunts for what little remains. The ingredients now are worth more than gold.

Two days before the national celebration, Lamia is joined by her neighbour, Saeed (Sajad Mohamad Qasem). Together, they hitch a ride to a nearby city in search for the supplies. Their first lift comes from a seemingly kind mailman (Rahim Al Haj). They manage to find some eggs. However, it’s not all smooth sailing. At a bakery, Lamia nearly gets caught trying to steal flour. Along the way, they meet a string of adults who take advantage of their innocence. In one of the film’s most heart-breaking moments, Lamia sells her family’s watch only to realise that the money is fake.

While The President’s Cake unfolds with the charm and simplicity of a modern-day fairy tale, it never loses sight of the quiet horrors that lie beneath. This is a story about a generation stripped of its childhood. Play is replaced by fear, and joy is rationed like food. It’s set in a country scarred by war, crippled by sanctions, and held together by the fragile thread of blind obedience. What holds the people together is a quiet, enduring love. It’s a love that flows between neighbours and clings to people who have nothing left but one another.

By the end, Lamia sacrifices far more than time or effort. She loses the comforting illusions of childhood. What she gains is a painful awareness. That survival often comes at the cost of innocence. That even a child can be made to carry the weight of a corrupt system. This is the story of a young girl who, upon learning how the world truly works, is forced to grow up far too soon.

Like the cake at the heart of the story, the film builds itself layer by layer. When the final layer is set, what’s left is not just a coming-of-age tale. It’s a haunting elegy for all the children who are forced to trade wonder for wisdom far too soon. The President’s Cake is the hidden gem of the festival. It just might be the strongest film from the region to premiere this year at Cannes.