Muna (Nisreen Faour, right) is a single Palestinian mother who resettles her family in the American Midwest in the comedy drama Amreeka. (E1 Entertainment)

When we first meet Muna Farah, the heroine of the impressive new film Amreeka, she has just rear-ended a car outside a market in Palestine’s West Bank.

Muna, who held a respectable bank job back in Palestine, is met with suspicion by potential employers in America. One goes so far as to joke, “Don’t blow this place up.”

It’s tough not to melt a little at the sight of this pudgy, harried woman, who’s clearly having a bad day. On her way home after the humiliation of seeing her ex-husband’s pretty young girlfriend at the market, Muna (played by the irresistible Nisreen Faour) has to pass through checkpoints manned by armed Israeli guards. By nightfall, she’s contemplating a move to the U.S., a dream that could become reality thanks to the green cards she recently received in the mail. Her 16-year-old son, Fadi (Melkar Muallem), is certainly game, observing that anything’s “better than being a prisoner” in your own country.

But America isn’t quite as appealing as it looks in the brochures. There’s oppression there, too, something Fadi and Muna discover as soon as they touch down in Chicago, where they are detained by customs officers. One agent grills Muna about firearms or heroin she might be carrying, then asks, “Occupation?” She smiles proudly and answers, “Yes, for 40 years!”

Her response establishes the light, comic tone that Amreeka sustains throughout. Muna and her sister, Raghda (Hiam Abbass), discuss the Iraq invasion before they’ve even reached the airport car park, but the movie isn’t interested in dwelling on serious issues — it would much rather concentrate on Muna’s jokey Americanized nieces, who tease her mercilessly when she asks if Disneyland is located near the Illinois suburb she’ll now be calling home.

Assimilation proves difficult. Even though they aren’t Muslim, the Farahs are introduced to the harsh reality of post-9/11 paranoia and racism all the same. At school, Fadi receives a chilly welcome in his world issues class, where one jock promptly takes to calling him “Osama.” Meanwhile, Muna, who held a respectable banking position back in Palestine, is met with suspicion during a round of job interviews — one potential employer goes so far as to joke, “Don’t blow this place up.”

Muna's son, Fadi (Melkar Muallem, left, second back), is the object of racism at his new American high school. (E1 Entertainment)

Yet somehow, these characters muddle through. Thanks to his fiery cousin Salma (Whip It’s Alia Shawkat, giving her second terrific performance this fall), Fadi is introduced to American pastimes like tire-slashing and pot smoking. Muna undertakes the tricky feat of telling her family she now works at a bank, when in actuality, she’s slinking over to the local White Castle, where she earns a paltry living mopping floors and frying up Slyders alongside a blue-haired dropout named Matt.

By choosing to milk much of this for comedy, director Cherien Dabis reveals a refreshingly sunny outlook. The film’s set-up could have been fodder for the sort of traumas and tragedies found in last year’s indie hit The Visitor, but Amreeka takes things in a different direction. There’s something admirable about Dabis’ commitment to finding humour in a nearly humourless situation.

This is not to suggest that Amreeka is apolitical — one look at Raghda’s bitter face and viewers know the price she has paid for her 15 years of freedom in the U.S. But the film is most effective in its gentle, lighthearted moments, like during a spontaneous dance at an Arabic restaurant or a scene in which Muna prepares falafels to the delight of her colleagues at White Castle. These are tiny triumphs, and they feel earned. Dabis has such genuine affection for her characters that it prevents Amreeka from ever slipping over into silliness or sentimentality.

At the centre of it all is Muna, a full-bodied dynamo, who keeps getting knocked down but motors on with a smile. In contrast to her homesick sister, Muna is determined to give this American life a go, and she charms everyone she encounters, from the principal at Fadi’s school to the banker who helps her conceal her true day job from her family. It’s no surprise she inspires such devotion and goodwill. Like Amreeka, Muna is modest, but her warmth and optimism never fail to make a big impression.

Amreeka opens Oct. 30.

Lee Ferguson writes about the arts for CBC News.