[custom_adv] If Woody Allen were a French-Tunisian woman, he would have made something such as Arab Blues. [custom_adv] Some parts of the storyline do amuse – not least the bureaucratic nightmare that Selma faces after she discovers a license is required to practice in Tunisia. While visiting the Ministry of Health, she encounters a woman who seems oblivious to the million hoops that Selma must go through – she needs a letter of recommendation from a senior Tunisian official to ratify her application. Where can she get that from? Well, another senior official, and so on. [custom_adv] Arab Blues undoes its promising set-up – and the good work of its cast – with a final act that drifts, rather than build on the storyline. Yet, for a first-time film, there are a lot of positives to applaud Labidi for. We will be hearing from her again. [custom_adv] The lightweight comedy had its world premiere at the Venice Film Festival, playing in the Venice Days line-up. [custom_adv] The feature debut of French-Tunisian writer and director Manele Labidi, it's a comedic look at today’s Tunisia, a country at a crossroads where traditional values and modernity crash headlong into each other. [custom_adv] Golshifteh Farahani, the ever-elegant actress who has worked for directors Ridley Scott and Jim Jarmusch, takes the lead in Arab Blues. A magnetic and hugely watchable presence, Farahani can enliven even the most mundane of scenarios. [custom_adv] She plays Selma Derwich, a psychoanalyst who returns from France to establish a new practice after many years away from the homeland. [custom_adv] During her time living in the 17th arrondissement in Paris, there were shrinks everywhere on her street, but it is a profession still largely untapped in Tunisia. [custom_adv] Selma is also defiantly single. “I don’t want a man. I like solitude,” she intones, a stance that immediately draws suspicion from others. She soon catches the attention of Naim (Majd Mastoura), a local policeman who takes a shine to her. [custom_adv] They first meet, amusingly, at a police roadblock. She is asked to pull over and take a breathalyser test for driving under the influence, but there is no pouch to blow into. Instead, she must breathe on to his face. “Budget cuts,” the cop shrugs, as she exhales her harissa sauce-smelling breath.