THE VIVID, VOLATILE jumble of images in Avi Mograbi's Happy Birthday Mr. Mograbi resembles the bits and pieces of news clips we've seen on television about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict: emotionally charged, intensely rendered, and at times -- much like the brutal details of Israeli-Palestinian history -- utterly confusing.

Mograbi's documentary alternately looks at Israel's 50th anniversary of independence and the results of the Palestinian Al Nakba ("catastrophe," or creation of the refugee problem in the Occupied Territories, also 50 years ago). Along the way, the film twists into a confessional, as the filmmaker discovers that according to the Hebrew calendar, his 42nd birthday falls on Israel's Independence Day. Mograbi's personal politics are intermingled with footage of preparations for Israel's "Jubilee Celebration," along with simultaneously sad and beautiful shots of "lost Palestine" -- the locations which became Jewish settlements after the war in 1948. What could potentially be dizzying blurs of quick, abrupt scenes somehow work together, and end up making perfect sense. Mograbi (who could easily be an actor with his expressive face and passionate gesticulations) speaks honestly to the camera about his conflicts with owning property, vying for space with aggressive neighbors, building a house, dealing with troubled finances, and getting out of the shower, looking at the mirror, and suddenly seeing his father.

With an easy flick of the wrist, Mograbi pulls away from intimacy and thrusts into the maelstrom of modern-day Israel, mixing these Israeli scenes with eerily quiet shots of Palestinian remnants. Hebron is seen as urban and vibrant, with knots of traffic, energy, and a mix of yarmulkes and baseball caps -- the old with the new. A clump of plants on the side of a road is the only proof left of a Palestinian village that once existed in that bare spot. As Israel celebrates -- music, fireworks, a big party -- Palestinian protesters are fired upon, and we catch a brief glimpse of blood pouring out of a man's head. At home, Mr. Mograbi screens his calls from persistent producers and holds his head in his hands, worrying about the troubles he'll face tomorrow.