The Correspondent (2024)
The Correspondent is the kind of film that stays with you—not because it shouts, but because it speaks quietly and steadily about something that matters. Directed by Kriv Stenders and based on Peter Greste’s memoir The First Casualty, it tells the true story of an Australian journalist who ends up imprisoned in Egypt while doing his job: reporting the news.
It begins with Greste, played with quiet strength by Richard Roxburgh, taking a short-term assignment with Al Jazeera in Cairo. What should have been routine work turns into a nightmare when he and his colleagues, Mohamed Fahmy (Julian Maroun) and Baher Mohamed (Rahel Romahn), are arrested and accused of spreading false news and supporting terrorism. The charges are baseless, but that doesn’t matter. They’re caught in a political storm where truth no longer has much weight.
The film doesn’t rely on dramatic plot twists or Hollywood-style heroics. Instead, it carefully walks us through the slow, grinding reality of being trapped in a justice system that doesn’t play fair. There’s no rushing here, and at times, the pace can feel heavy—but that weight reflects the experience. It’s hard to watch in places, but it should be. This is a story about what happens when the free press is silenced, and how that silence affects real people.
Roxburgh’s performance is one of his most restrained. He gives us a man who’s scared but steady, bewildered but focused. There’s no grandstanding, just the daily effort to stay sane, to stay hopeful. Rahel Romahn is also excellent—his portrayal of Baher brings warmth and occasional humour into an otherwise bleak setting. You believe in the relationships between these men, and you feel the toll their ordeal takes on them.
Visually, the film is stripped back. The colours are faded, the prison walls close in, and the camera doesn’t flinch. It stays with the characters, in the stillness, the waiting, the frustration. The editing reflects that too—there’s a rawness to it, but it’s never messy. It all feels very real, as if we’re watching something that’s still happening.
There are a few flashbacks, giving us glimpses of Greste’s life before his arrest, and they help round out the emotional picture without pulling us out of the moment. The music is sparse, almost invisible, which feels like the right choice. It’s there to support the emotion, not direct it.
What’s most powerful about The Correspondent is how grounded it is. It’s not trying to teach or preach—it just shows us what happened, and lets us sit with it. And in doing so, it raises questions we need to keep asking: What happens when journalism is treated as a crime? What does it cost someone to stand up for truth in a place where lies have power?
It’s in the same spirit as films like Balibo and The Year of Living Dangerously, but this story is more inward. It’s less about the danger and more about what it feels like to live inside that danger, day after day.
If there’s anything missing, it’s perhaps a little more of the political backdrop. The film chooses to stay tightly focused on the personal experience, which works emotionally, but might leave some viewers wanting a fuller picture of why it all happened. Still, what it offers is powerful.
The Correspondent isn’t loud. It doesn’t rush or dramatise. But it tells a true story with care, clarity, and a deep respect for its subject. It’s a moving portrait of resilience, and a quiet reminder of how fragile freedom can be.