myDylarama

Don Josephus Raphael Eblahan : What it means to listen

Elise Loiseau — 2026-02-01T10:07:01Z

In the space of four years, the Filipino director has made his mark with his intimate and luminous short films. Discovered in France in 2021 at the Clermont-Ferrand Short Film Festival, he has consolidated his reputation on the global short film circuit with the release of Vox Humana, and is still at the forefront of the cinematic representation of the indigenous peoples of the northern Philippine archipelago, where he was born.

Platforming stories that need to be told

In four films, Umbilical Cord to Heaven (2021), Hilum (2021), The Headhunter's Daughter (2022) and Vox Humana (2024), Don Josephus Raphael Eblahan has defined his recognisable style through recurring formal elements: the use of natural light, square frames, and the hazy quality of his images. The combination of this formal beauty and the evocation of themes that are both intimate and political has won over the most prestigious festivals: in Clermont-Ferrand, Hilum won the student prize and a special mention in 2021, and Vox Humana won the student prize in 2025. As for The Headhunter's Daughter, it won the coveted Grand Jury Prize at the Sundance Film Festival in 2022, amongst other awards. Prior to that, his first short film, Umbilical Cord to Heaven, won the CineYouth Best Experimental Film Award at the 55th Chicago International Film Festival in 2019.

This recognition from the industry and the public celebrates a unique voice that draws inspiration from both personal and historical trauma. His films evoke mourning and the colonial experience, and tell the story of the precarious situation of indigenous peoples, whose identities have been undermined over the centuries by successive colonisations, first Spanish, then American. [1] These films draw their strength from their tranquil pace, their meditative quality, and the resolute message humbly conveyed by their director, who identifies nature, spirituality, and cinema as powerful saving forces capable of restoring his heroines' capacity for self-determination.

His relationship with his indigenous identity is, in part, the subject matter of his films: he became aware of this after spending several years in the West. Eblahan was born in La Trinidad in the Philippines, grew up mainly in the Baguio region, then left the archipelago for four years to study film in Chicago. However, before embarking on a career as a filmmaker, it was music that first appealed to him: coming from a family of musicians, he learned to play the guitar and compose long before he became interested in cinema. The turning point came with Rob Marshall's film Nine, when, captivated by its soundtrack, Don researched the film and its story, discovering Fellini's Eight and a Half (which inspired Nine), then Italian and French cinema, and so on. This led him to leave the archipelago to study film at DePaul University in Chicago. Years away from the archipelago gave rise to a desire to recount, through the prism of autofiction, his experience as an Igorot trying to find his place in a Westernised world:

Being in the West has held up a mirror towards myself, perhaps instigating a reason to be more inquisitive about my own identity, the history of the land/or islands I grew up in, and the interpersonal and spiritual voices that call for their stories to be told.

As told to Jason Tan Liwag for Rappler.

Conveying the complexity of indigenous identities

This is one of the main challenges facing cinema, which also exists in response to a form of media mistreatment of indigenous identities and has set itself the task of challenging this representation:

The intersection between Indigenous identities and TV hasn't always been the friendliest (even Philippine TV) — from caricatured portrayals to insensitive remarks about our culture.

As told to Jason Tan Liwag for Rappler.

Given the precedent set by this, Don writes his main characters – all female for now – imbued with complexity, such as Lynn, the heroine of The Headhunter's Daughter, who crosses mountains to reach the city to perform in a television competition, hoping to be heard by her father. The staging hints at the stigmatisation suffered by indigenous people, through the condescending questions asked by the competition host. Lynn's response, that her motivation is not money, contradicts this stereotype:

The fact that Lynn is questioned so directly on screen draws attention to our media's tendency to sensationalize otherness, tragedy, sentimentality, and misery in the lives of Indigenous Filipinos. I wanted to give my protagonist a different response and perspective to this cyclical trend. Lynn's choice to approach her audition in that way reveals a hidden resilience that, I believe, was necessary in that situation.

As told to Élise Loiseau.

Eblahan's cinema does not merely renew the representation of indigenous communities in the northern Philippine archipelago, it places it within a broader narrative, that of the struggle against the erasure of cultural identities and the marginalization of indigenous communities. The Headhunter's Daughter does not open with images but with a song, inspired by a traditional song of African slaves, immediately placing the film in a universe that transcends the condition of the indigenous Filipino characters: "I wanted this historical context to be introduced at the beginning of the film, even before the first images appeared. Establishing this context before the film even appears on screen sets the stage, encouraging the audience to listen more attentively and perhaps situate themselves in a historical and sociological space before the story even begins.

I wanted this historical context to be introduced from the very beginning, even before any visuals are seen. To linger around this context before the film emerges from the black screen sets a precedent that urges participation with the audience to listen closer and perhaps situate themselves in a historical and sociological headspace before we introduce any direct narrative

From Rappler.

A way of bringing his roots to the global cinema stage, while placing them in a broader context, that of the domination and dehumanisation of entire population groups. His cinema consists not only of bringing these mechanisms of domination to life on screen, but also of exploiting the cinematic codes associated with different genres in order to subvert the traditional representation of indigenous peoples, which is considered either stereotypical or condescending:

Films about indigenous peoples, made by indigenous people, can be thrillers, westerns, science fiction films (...) We too have complex stories that we have to deal with while living in the modern world. We are not just “savages” or victims of colonisation. We exist, and we too can look cool in trench coats.

From Techbuzznews.

Hilum and Vox Humana: listening as an act of reparation

A recurring theme in her filmography is that listening to others is presented as a powerful voice of emancipation and healing, whether it be in relation to grief, the quest for recognition, or the erasure of cultures that haunt her heroines. This was already central to her second film, Hilum, whose meaning is contained in the polysemy of its title:

Hilum is a Filipino word that translates differently in two dialects. In Cebuano it means “to render silence”, while in Tagalog it means “to heal an open wound”. The connection between the two meanings is the essential element of the film.' Hilum is a Filipino word that translates differently in two dialects. In Cebuano it means “to render silence”, in Tagalog it means “to heal an open wound”. The connection of both meanings is the important binding force of the film.

Don Rafael Josephus Eblahan

It is indeed silence and the attentive listening of a shaman that seem to heal the strange illness afflicting the heroine of the short film, who regains her ability to shed tears after recounting the accident that cost her father his life. This ritual combining listening and narration takes place on a beach, under a blinding sun, in an atmosphere reminiscent of a mystical EMDR session (the shaman asks the heroine to accompany the story of the accident with eye movements from right to left).

In Vox Humana, Don Josephus Raphael Eblahan continues his reflection on listening, making attention to others an act of reparation. The film, shot with a crew of just fifteen people over three days in the Cordillera mountains, takes up and develops this same idea, this time embodying it in the form of a sound engineer tasked with deciphering the language of a man discovered in the wild, who is suspected of being responsible for an earthquake. The film borrows from the codes of detective and science fiction films, while also exploring listening to others and nature as possible ways of resolving trauma. This time, it highlights the mechanism of exclusion suffered by communities perceived as ‘incomprehensible' or even ‘non-human':

We wanted to make a film about the language of listening: listening to the earth, to individuals, and even to “non-human” creatures. Through the question of sound, I wanted to explore this concept of “non-human”, particularly how this notion can be used as a weapon against marginalised populations whose land and rights are often confiscated.

From Rappler

The director is currently working on his next film, Hum, his first feature film currently in development. This project will be loosely based on the myth of the indigenous Ifugaos tribe entitled the myth of Ovug (or ‘myth of the divided child') and will feature a rodeo rider searching for her twin who disappeared in the forest after an earthquake. It promises to be an extension of his short films: a poetic fiction, where the intimate and the political come together in a meditation on collective memory, trauma and the survival of indigenous Filipino identities, which should allow Don Josephus Raphael Eblahan to continue weaving stories of these heroines into the collective narrative of the Philippines and world cinema.

[1] The Philippine archipelago resisted Spanish occupation for more than three centuries, but eventually succumbed to the influence of American occupation. The Spanish ceded the Philippines to the Americans for $20 million in 1898

Don Josephus Raphael Eblahan : ce que signifie écouter

Elise Loiseau — 2025-06-02T18:47:43Z

En l'espace de quatre ans, le réalisateur philippin a imposé son style grâce à ses courts métrages intimes et lumineux. Révélé en France en 2021 par le Festival du court métrage de Clermont-Ferrand, il consolide sa réputation sur le circuit mondial du court métrage avec la sortie, cette année, de Vox Humana, et continue de renouveler la représentation cinématographique des peuples autochtones du nord de l'archipel philippin, dont il est issu.

Faire entendre les histoires qui demandent à être racontées

En quatre films, Umbilical Cord to Heaven (2021), Hilum (2021), The Headhunter's Daughter (2022) et Vox Humana (2024), Don Josephus Raphael Eblahan a su imposer un style reconnaissable par ses qualités formelles récurrentes : l'utilisation de la lumière naturelle, le recours au cadre carré ou encore la qualité brumeuse de ses images. L'alliance entre cette beauté formelle et l'évocation de thèmes à la fois intimes et politiques a séduit les festivals les plus prestigieux : à Clermont-Ferrand, Hilum y a remporté le prix étudiant ainsi qu'une mention spéciale en 2021, et Vox Humana le prix étudiant en 2025. Quant à The Headhunter's Daughter, il a entre autres remporté le très convoité Grand prix du jury du Festival de Sundance en 2022. Avant cela, son premier court, Umbilical Cord to Heaven, avait remporté le prix du meilleur film expérimental de CineYouth au 55ᵉ Festival international du film de Chicago en 2019.
Cette reconnaissance de l'industrie et du public vient saluer une voix singulière, qui puise son inspiration dans les traumatismes aussi bien personnels qu'historiques. Son cinéma évoque le deuil, l'expérience coloniale, et raconte la ligne de crête sur laquelle évoluent les autochtones, dont les identités ont été, au fil des siècles, mises à mal par les colonisations successives, espagnole d'abord, puis américaine [1]. Ces films tirent leur force de leur rythme tranquille, de leur qualité méditative et du propos résolu, humblement déroulé par leur réalisateur qui désigne la nature, la spiritualité et le cinéma comme de puissantes forces salvatrices capables de rendre à ses héroïnes leur capacité d'autodétermination.

Son rapport à l'identité autochtone constitue, en partie, la matière de son cinéma : il en a pris conscience après avoir passé plusieurs années en Occident. Eblahan est né aux Philippines, à La Trinidad, a grandi principalement dans la région de Baguio, puis a quitté l'archipel quatre ans, le temps d'étudier le cinéma à Chicago. Pourtant, avant d'embrasser une carrière de cinéaste, c'est la musique qui l'a d'abord appelé : issu d'une famille de musiciens, il a appris à jouer de la guitare et à composer bien avant de s'intéresser au cinéma. Le tournant s'opère grâce au film Nine de Rob Marshall, lorsque, happé par sa bande-son, Don a investigué le film et son histoire, et découvert à cette occasion Huit et demi de Fellini (dont Nine est inspiré), puis le cinéma italien, français et ainsi de suite. Ce qui le mènera à quitter l'archipel pour étudier le cinéma à la DePaul University, à Chicago. Des années loin de l'archipel qui feront naître le désir de raconter, à travers le prisme de l'autofiction, son expérience d'Igorot tentant de trouver sa place dans un monde occidentalisé : « Vivre en Occident m'a permis de me regarder dans un miroir, ce qui m'a peut-être incité à m'interroger davantage sur ma propre identité, sur l'histoire de la terre et des îles où j'ai grandi, et les voix interpersonnelles et spirituelles qui demandent que leurs histoires soient racontées [2]. » Une prise de conscience qui donnera naissance à quatre courts métrages, tous réalisés aux Philippines, avec au casting des interprètes issus de la communauté des Igorots dont il raconte les histoires, auxquelles il redonne nuance et complexité.

Redonner aux identités autochtones leur complexité

C'est l'un des enjeux principaux d'un cinéma qui existe aussi en réaction à une forme de maltraitance médiatique des identités autochtones, et qui s'est donné pour mission assumée de renouveler cette représentation : « Les relations entre les identités autochtones et la télévision n'ont pas toujours été des plus amicales (y compris au sein de la télévision philippine) – qu'il s'agisse de représentations caricaturales ou de remarques indélicates sur notre culture. » [3] Face à ce précédent, Don écrit des personnages principaux – pour le moment tous féminins – à qui il redonne toute leur complexité, à l'image de Lynn, l'héroïne de The Headhunter's Daughter, qui traverse les montagnes pour rejoindre la ville afin de présenter sa chanson lors d'un concours télévisé, dans l'espoir d'être entendue par son père. La mise en scène laisse deviner la stigmatisation dont les autochtones sont victimes, à travers les questions condescendantes que l'hôte du concours lui adresse. La réponse de Lynn, qui lui répond que sa motivation n'est pas l'argent, contredit ce stéréotype : « Le fait que Lynn soit interrogée sans détour à l'écran met en lumière la tendance de nos médias à sensationnaliser l'altérité, le tragique, le sentimentalisme et le malheur dans la vie des Philippins autochtones. Je voulais montrer un personnage qui offre une réponse et une perspective différentes face à cette tendance cyclique. Le choix de Lynn d'aborder son audition de cette manière montre une forme de résilience cachée qui, je crois, était nécessaire dans cette situation [4]. »

Le cinéma d'Eblahan ne se contente pas de renouveler la représentation des communautés indigènes du nord de l'archipel philippin, il l'inscrit dans un récit plus large, celui de la lutte contre l'effacement des identités culturelles et de la marginalisation des communautés autochtones. The Headhunter's Daughter ne s'ouvre pas sur des images mais sur un chant, inspiré d'un chant traditionnel d'esclaves africains, inscrivant d'office le film dans un univers qui dépasse la condition des personnages autochtones philippins : « Je voulais que ce contexte historique soit introduit dès le début du film, avant même l'apparition des premières images. Le fait de poser ce contexte avant même que le film n'émerge sur l'écran pose le décor, qui incite le public à écouter avec plus d'attention, et peut-être à se situer dans un espace historique et sociologique avant même que l'histoire ne commence [5]. » Une manière de mettre sur la scène cinématographique mondiale ses racines, tout en les inscrivant dans un contexte plus large, celui de la domination et de la déshumanisation de groupes entiers de population. Son cinéma consiste non seulement à faire exister à l'écran ces mécaniques de domination, tout en exploitant les codes cinématographiques rattachés à différents genres afin de subvertir la représentation traditionnelle des autochtones, jugée soit stéréotypée, soit condescendante : « Les films sur les populations autochtones, réalisés par des autochtones, peuvent aussi bien être des thrillers, des westerns, que des films de science-fiction (…) Nous aussi nous avons des histoires complexes, que nous devons affronter, tout en vivant dans le monde moderne. Nous ne sommes pas seulement des “sauvages” ou des victimes de la colonisation. On existe, et nous aussi on peut avoir l'air cool en trench-coat [6]. »

Hilum et Vox Humana : l'écoute comme acte de réparation

Une proposition récurrente au sein de sa filmographie : l'écoute de l'autre est présentée comme une puissante voix d'émancipation et de guérison, qu'il soit question des deuils, de la quête de reconnaissance ou de l'effacement des cultures qui hantent ses héroïnes. Elle était déjà au cœur de son second film Hilum, dont le sens est contenu dans la polysémie de son titre : « Hilum est un mot philippin qui se traduit différemment dans deux dialectes. En cebuano, il signifie “rendre le silence”, tandis qu'en tagalog, il signifie “guérir une blessure ouverte ”. Le lien entre les deux significations est l'élément essentiel du film. [7] » C'est bien le silence et l'écoute attentive d'un chamane qui semblent guérir l'étrange maladie dont souffre l'héroïne du court métrage, qui recouvre sa capacité à verser des larmes après avoir narré l'accident qui coûta la vie à son père. Ce rituel mêlant écoute et narration prend place sur une plage, sous un soleil aveuglant, dans une atmosphère s'apparentant à la fois à une mystique séance d'EMDR (le chamane demande à l'héroïne d'accompagner le récit de l'accident par des mouvements oculaires de droite à gauche) et à un rêve éveillé.

Dans Vox Humana, Don Josephus Raphael Eblahan poursuit sa réflexion sur l'écoute, en faisant de l'attention portée à l'autre un acte de réparation. Le film, tourné avec une équipe réduite à quinze personnes en trois jours dans les montagnes de la Cordillère, reprend et développe cette même idée, en l'incarnant cette fois sous les traits d'une ingénieure du son chargée de décrypter le langage d'un homme découvert dans la nature, et que l'on soupçonne d'être responsable d'un tremblement de terre. Le film reprend les codes des films policiers et de science-fiction, tout en faisant là aussi de l'écoute de l'autre et de la nature de possibles chemins de résolution des traumas. Il y met cette fois en scène le mécanisme d'exclusion dont sont victimes les communautés perçues comme “incompréhensibles”, voire “non humaines” : « Nous voulions faire un film sur le langage de l'écoute : l'écoute de la terre, des individus, et même des créatures “non humaines”. À travers la question du son, je voulais interroger ce concept de “non-humain”, notamment en quoi cette notion peut être utilisée comme une arme contre les populations marginalisées dont les terres et les droits sont souvent confisqués [8] . » À travers le motif de la prise de son, et la méfiance de certains des personnages (en trench-coat) envers le mystérieux homme au langage inconnu, Eblahan interroge la manière dont certaines voix sont étouffées, voire jamais entendues.

Le réalisateur travaille actuellement à son prochain film, Hum, son premier long métrage actuellement en développement. Ce projet sera librement inspiré du mythe de la tribu indigène Ifugaos intitulé le mythe d'Ovug (ou « mythe de l'enfant divisé ») et mettra cette fois en scène une cavalière de rodéo partie à la recherche de son jumeau disparu dans la forêt après un séisme. Il s'annonce comme un prolongement de ses courts : une fiction poétique, où l'intime et le politique se rejoignent dans une méditation sur la mémoire collective, le traumatisme et la survivance des identités philippines autochtones, qui devrait permettre à Don Josephus Raphael Eblahan de continuer à mêler les histoires de ces héroïnes au récit collectif philippin comme au cinéma mondial.

[1] L'archipel philippin a résisté pendant plus de trois siècles à l'occupation espagnole, et a par la suite cédé à l'influence de l'occupation américaine. Les Espagnols ont cédé les Philippines pour 20 millions de dollars aux Américains en 1898.

[2] “Being in the West has held up a mirror towards myself, perhaps instigating a reason to be more inquisitive about my own identity, the history of the land/or islands I grew up in, and the interpersonal and spiritual voices that call for their stories to be told.” Propos recueillis par Jason Tan Liwag pour Rappler. Interview disponible ici : https://www.rappler.com/entertainment/movies/interview-don-eblahan-director-the-headhunters-daughter/

[3] « The intersection between Indigenous identities and TV hasn't always been the friendliest (even Philippine TV) — from caricatured portrayals to insensitive remarks about our culture. » Propos recueillis par Jason Tan Liwag pour Rappler. Interview disponible ici : https://www.rappler.com/entertainment/movies/interview-don-eblahan-director-the-headhunters-daughter/. »

[4] “The fact that Lynn is questioned so directly on screen draws attention to our media's tendency to sensationalize otherness, tragedy, sentimentality, and misery in the lives of Indigenous Filipinos. I wanted to give my protagonist a different response and perspective to this cyclical trend. Lynn's choice to approach her audition in that way reveals a hidden resilience that, I believe, was necessary in that situation.” Propos recueillis par Élise Loiseau. https://clermont-filmfest.org/the-headhunters-daughter/

[5] “ I wanted this historical context to be introduced from the very beginning, even before any visuals are seen. To linger around this context before the film emerges from the black screen sets a precedent that urges participation with the audience to listen closer and perhaps situate themselves in a historical and sociological headspace before we introduce any direct narrative “ https://www.rappler.com/entertainment/movies/interview-don-eblahan-director-the-headhunters-daughter/

[6] “Indigenous films made by indigenous people can look like a crime thriller, Western, sci-fi film,” he continues. “We have complex stories as well that we're dealing with in the modern world. We're not just savages or victims of colonization—we're here, and we can look cool in a trench coat as well.” Propos recueillis par Christian Cabrera pour Techbuzznews. Interview disponible ici : https://www.techbuzznews.com/sundance-film-festival-2025-vox-humana/

[7] “Hilum is a Filipino word that translates differently in two dialects. In Cebuano it means “to render silence”, in Tagalog it means to “heal an open wound”. The connection of both meanings is the important binding force of the film.” Don Rafael Josephus Eblahan, https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/don-eblahan/hilum-a-short-film?lang=zh

[8] “We wanted to make a film about the language of listening : to the earth, to the people, and even non-human creatures. Through sound, I wanted to interrogate the concept of “non-human” particularly in the lens of how such meaning can be weaponized against marginalized people whose lands and rights are usually taken away.” https://www.rappler.com/entertainment/movies/vox-humana-don-eblahan-interview-toronto-international-film-fest-2024/

Clermont-Ferrand London edition - My shorts highlights

Alaa Nouasri — 2025-05-07T12:47:53Z

London-based film researcher and writer Alaa Nouasri shares her thoughts on the recent UK programme from the London "edition" of the Clermont-Ferrand International Short Film Festival. In its third year, the programme is carefully curated by the Clermont-Ferrand programming team to incorporate highlights and award winners from this year's festival for audiences in London.

On 26 April at the Garden Cinema in London, the Clermont-Ferrand International Short Film Festival 2025 launched its UK programme with varied work, ranging from animation to documentary and fiction. Walking into the screening room, I didn't know what to expect; I like to go into films blind (no trailers, no wikipedia searches, or social media lurking). In the end I was truly impressed, not just by the creativity of the filmmakers and their technical (sometimes self-taught) skills, but also by their abilities to portray different emotional states and move the audience. I cried at one point!

The screening opened with an animation titled Progress Mining, directed by ex-management consultant turned self-taught animator Gabriel Böhmer. This quirky film, where characters are made out of different fabrics and everything is quite literally strung together with thread, eerily captures the feeling of being confined to a capitalist corporate world where truth is obscured, and morality manipulated. Yet it also shows us that real people can still exist even under these circumstances. One dialogue line that stood out for me was when a character named Mary asks, “Do you want to say the right thing or do the right thing?” / “Do you want to be good or act good?" Despite its heavy themes, the film has an eccentric humour that drew a few laughs from the audience, myself included. This is certainly a film that will stay with me for a while, and a highlight of the programme.

Progress Mining was followed by a documentary titled Milk, directed by Miranda Stern. In this raw exploration of childhood trauma, grief, motherhood, and addiction, Miranda tells the story of her mother through different memory objects, and phone calls with friends and family members. Miranda is honest and composed, narrating some of the most traumatic events of her life with a kind of stoicism that brought tears to many in the room. The film felt like a beautiful tribute to her mother, a woman she never truly got to know, as she passed away when Miranda was a baby. Even though the themes here are heavy, Miranda also shows us the joy, humour, and humanity in her experience. This is a well-edited film, with a story that is told clearly, and with so much care.

The third short in the programme was an animation titled Bunnyhood, directed by Mansi Maheshwari, an NFTS graduate. Watching this film after Milk felt fitting due to the common theme they share. Despite the vastly different genres, styles, and narratives, both films explore motherhood and the complex bond between mother and child. Maheshwari's animation style stood out to me here due to its simple yet expressive and surreal nature. It suitably portrays the story of a child who witnesses his mother lie to him for the first time, and the earth-shattering anxiety and fear that moment brings. I really appreciated the pacing of this film; it keeps your attention and makes you want to catch every second. Even though this type of animation isn't usually my thing on an aesthetic level, I still found it a really enjoyable watch.

My second highlight of the programme, and the final film shown, was A Bear Remembers, directed by Linden Feng and Hannah Palumbo, a filmmaking duo that have worked together for many years now- having met in university. During the Q&A, the directors discussed the film's exploration of cultural displacement; that is certainly a theme I was struck with while watching. In this mysterious yet comforting story, set in a village surrounded by beautiful, now-abandoned hills, a bear ‘spirit' returns, feeling out of place, grieving a loss he is unable to exactly identify or articulate. The spirit is helped by an old woman who relates to the feeling of grief that comes with the passing of time and change in surroundings, and society. The character of a young man Peter adds a new perspective, building a bridge between older and younger generations existing on the same land. This film stirred a lot of feelings about the universal nature of loss and change.

Overall, this programme was a success. It was a moving and thought-provoking experience full of reflection and emotional depth.

Sophia Carr-Gomm on Return

Abla Kandalaft — 2025-02-27T14:34:58Z

Sophia Carr-Gomm is the director of short film Nobody's Darling, which we reviewed when it screened at the London Short Film Festival. She has more recently directed Return.

How has the reception and journey of Nobody's Darling impacted your career going forward? Have they afforded you certain opportunities?

'Nobody's Darling's festival run included London Short Film Festival, London Independent Festival, Unrestricted View, Hidden Film Festival, Cinecity, Little Wing, was nominated for Best Screenplay for Lift-Off Global Network and played as the introductory short at London Film Week to a preview of 'Portrait of a Lady on Fire'. Since the success of 'Nobody's Darling' I was then asked to direct a short, ‘Mine', that screened at Raindance and I wrote and directed a Paternity Leave campaign for the charity Pregnant Then Screwed that went viral on instagram. I was asked to then be a judge as part of London Film Week for a subsequent festival and I was interviewed by Pitch Fanzine and featured as 'talent to watch'.

What compelled you to make Return?

I was commissioned by the Fieri Consort, funded by the Genesis Foundation to create a film for a 30 minute piece of music called ‘A Short Walk' by the Fieri Consort and through that project, ‘Return' was made, and a new piece of music composed especially for it. It was a creative gift given to me by Fieri and essentially started as a response to the themes of the original piece of music and then ‘Return' was born out of that as we distilled the story and themes of the original piece. So, quite a roundabout and unusual way to create a film but has proved to be very enriching. The themes within the original music and subsequently what ‘Return' became are: grief, isolation, loneliness, love, life, death and suicide. These themes are deeply important to me, as I have experienced these themes in my life and most people have, so it really resonates.

Can you tell us a bit more about casting and working with Peter Faulkner?

After I wrote the film, Peter was the actor who immediately came to mind. His energy, his presence and his face kept playing in my mind's eye as I imagined the film. I approached him with the offer, and he loved the concept, the script and agreed to be in it. The story was very close to his life story, having lost his daughter to cystic fibrosis and his wife to cancer a few years later, Peter was very familiar with isolation, grief and loss. Working with him was wonderful. He was such a receptive and creative actor. He was also very sure of himself so I could trust that we could be in honest communication with one another. Peter took his own life five months after we finished filming. He had always struggled with his mental health since the passing of the two he loved most. This film was the last film he was in and it was such a beautiful experience working in the stunning and evocative landscapes with him, he threw his whole self into everything he did and always had an easy going attitude and good sense of humour. I will always remember him making friends with the wild horses we came across on the shoot. All the crew and actors loved him, and we miss him greatly. It makes it even more pertinent to get ‘Return' out there, for his legacy.

Tell us more about the location of the shoot.

We shot all over the place! Sussex, the New Forest and Scotland. The recce's were a lot of fun, with our amazing producer Victoria Fäh and brilliant cinematographer Max Paterson. Jumping in our car and searching for places I had written, and finding places to be even better than expected. The locations are a huge part of the storytelling, nature being a character itself within the film. The beauty and the starkness of the locations expresses our leading man's inner world and the enormity of the world mirroring that of the enormity of a single life in all its glory and tragedy.

Would you say your experience shooting Return was different from previous work in terms of, say, industry support for short films and opportunities?

This shoot felt great as it was funded by Genesis and supported by Fieri. But it was still a low budget short, and we didn't get any industry support, it was a group of hard working creatives coming together to make it happen with what we had access to. For that, I am eternally grateful.

What are your hopes for the film?

That people are moved by it and think more deeply about the impact of grief and isolation. To get in touch with those who are grieving or lonely for example. I would hope there might be some existential or transcendent thoughts or experience when watching the film, to think or have feelings around the enormity of a single life - the beauty and the tragedy of it. It's so easy to get caught up in the mundane and the stress, but to remember and recognise the miracle of life and that the single final breath out - that life is gone. There is painful poetry in that. This film I would hope reminds us of how deeply we can love one another. The deeper you grieve is an expression of the depth of your love. I would love for ‘Return' to be showcased at film festivals and gain the recognition and audience it deserves.

What's next for you as a director?

I'm developing a documentary around postpartum care, a narrative short to be shot on film and a feature film, a coming of age comedy set in Glasgow. As a Director I have two quite opposite genres I love to make - deep poetry (Return) and coming of age/comedy (Nobody's Darling). Maybe one day I can fuse them together!

Latin American highlights - Clermont-Ferrand FF 2025: Aferrado

Mydylarama team — 2025-02-01T12:50:00Z

Joel repairs engines, but now his own is overheating because of his side job as a gangster's henchman. He must take a decision. A breathless ride through Mexico City begins.

Estaban Azuela's "Aferrado" is an ingenious and breathless animated short that encapsulates so many complex stories about and layers to Mexico City.

Where did the idea come from?

I made this film trying to understand the origins of violence in my Mexican reality and the growing glorification of criminal figures through pop culture. Narrating it from a character who constructs his strength through acceptance in a criminal group, justifying himself through his passion for cars and socioeconomic status but ultimately defeated by the ambivalence with his culture that bind him to family values. In the end, it's the portrait of a failed heroic figure of masculinity.

It was also important for me to show these characters from the innocent perspective of a 10-year-old child, like the one I was at that time, and to realise how it almost imperceptibly permeated me with video games and figures of power and competitiveness. Bringing these elements to a more intimate level; the attachment to our memories and how to live more freely if we detach from them, seen through the duality in European and Nahuas beliefs about life after death and what we take with us when we die.

Can you tell us about the shooting process and location?

"Aferrado" is an ode to my hometown, Mexico City in the 90s. All the locations were based on the characters neighborhood, the one I used to visit when I was young. All the locations were captured with photogrammetry, scanning in 3d buildings, pieces of pavement, assets on the street that helped me to reconstruct memories as we often do, incomplete, broken, selective.

What hurdles did you face?

I wanted to create a statement highlighting the contrast between big productions in pop cinema—like scenes featuring a character being chased on a motorcycle through the main streets of Mexico City, which would require dozens of people per shoot—and other techniques of image construction. So, I began researching the tools available at the time and stumbled upon 3D scanning, which could be done with a tablet and a proximity sensor on a non-professional stage with a small crew. What I didn't know, though, was the huge gap we as Latin American users face when using this technology at the consumer level. Not just the technological lag back in the 2016 but the amount of computational process required—even for a low-poly aesthetic—demands expensive hardware, otherwise, the production time increases significantly. This is one of the reasons why this 18-minute film has kept us hooked for 9 years. Although, the learning curve with this difficulties was an amazing creative process where we needed to constrain the multiples possibilities of 3d software to minimal polygon modifiers.

What is your background as a filmmaker?

I entered film through animation, inspired by the animated allegories of Svankmajer, so my early works were more in the form of visual essays. With Aferrado, I wanted to connect with the audience through a popular narrative that could also make parallels to our consumption of violence in American cinema. I have a background in traditional and analog animation techniques, which helped me transition from stop-motion to a 3dscan-by-3dscan animation style with a low-fi aesthetic.

What stories would you like to tell next?

I enjoyed working fluid in a 3d background, but now I want to stay away from the mental process required by a linear narrative. So my next film will be a visual essay on the relationship between migration from Veracruz to the United States, and the extraction of natural dyes used in the production of U.S. dollar bills, sourced from the Veracruz jungle.

What do you like about the short format?

It's definitely about experimenting. It's more about trusting the process than being fixated on the traditional length of a film just to get it screened in theaters.

What are your hopes for the festival?

Aside from being inspired, meeting with my distribution company, MIYU, and finding production partners for my next film, I'm excited that my film—which could be categorised as animation—has the potential to be showcased at festivals that aren't limited by genre. I hope it sparks meaningful conversations about new ways of constructing imagery in cinema, going beyond traditional genre labels.

Latin American highlights - Clermont-Ferrand FF 2025: Lanawaru

Abla Kandalaft, Mydylarama team — 2025-01-30T19:06:19Z

A boy learns from his grandfather how rituals in the rainforest are important to maintain the balance between humans and nature.

Absolutely mesmerising and compelling film driving home the importance and urgency of the essential work carried out by indigenous communities protecting the environment.

Where did the idea for the film come from?

The idea for the film began when, together with the NGO Conservation International, we discussed making a movie in the Colombian Amazon about conservation. I made my first trip to the Amazon, where I met with indigenous communities who were involved in species conservation in the Lower Caquetá region. During my initial talks with them, they explained that for any film made in the area, I needed permission from the traditional healer of the community, “Don Alfonso.” After meeting with him, he shared with me his practices in healing and protecting the territory, which became the main origin of the film.

Can you tell us about the shooting process and location?

The filming process had several unique aspects that I'd like to highlight here. In recent years, the self-governing systems of the Amazonian indigenous communities have been strengthened as part of social and cultural resistance in the region. As a result, the making of the film followed these principles of governance and decision-making. On one hand, the story was developed in collaboration with them; their anecdotes, cultural and spiritual connection to the land, and their social dynamics inspired the film, with a focus on capturing the atmosphere of the place rather than explaining it. On the other hand, the film's production followed the same system they used for organizing their meetings: catering, transportation, fishermen, translators, and the cast were all equally shared among the communities involved, creating an intercultural balance in how the film was made.

The film was shot in a sacred conservation area called Puerto Caimán, where two communities are working to conserve species like the black caiman. It's also near indigenous communities that remain voluntarily isolated, often referred to as "uncontacted tribes." To enter the territory, we had to undergo a healing and protection process, in which the entire filming team participated.

What hurdles did you face?

I believe that every creative process faces challenges, but one major obstacle occurred two days before filming began. Our protagonist at the time, “Don Alfonso,” the traditional healer of the indigenous reserve, had to leave urgently and had to withdraw from the film. This raised alarms, and we had to quickly take a boat to the house of another traditional healer, who welcomed us into his home before the sunset. We asked him if he could take on the role of the traditional healer in the film. It was undoubtedly the best decision, and sometimes things happen the way they need to.

What is your background as a filmmaker?

I started studying film in Colombia and later at the ESCAC film school in Barcelona, where I specialized in cinematography. I've been making films as a director of photography and director for at least 15 years, focusing on documentaries, hybrid films, and fiction.

What stories would you like to tell next?

I have several projects in development, but two directions I'm exploring are: A feature film that would allow me to continue making movies in the Amazon, and redefining production models in collaboration with the communities there. Co-writing, co-creating, and co-learning interculturally throughout the creation process. On the other hand, I'm working on a more personal fiction film about the idea of returning home. It's like Homer's Iliad, but not about returning to a physical place, but to a state of joy, of childhood, which stays with us throughout life. For now, they're just concepts and ideas, but my goal is to finish writing them this year.

What do you like about the short format?

What I appreciate most about the short format is the possibility of imagination. When I watch a short film, I like to feel the atmosphere, almost like a daydream, a fleeting moment that's difficult to grasp right away and needs to settle after it's over. That's one of the strengths of short formats.

What are your hopes for the festival?

What interests me most about the festival, and film festivals in general, is that films become starting points for bigger discussions. They should encourage questioning, dialogue, and possibilities for imagination. I hope the festival provides spaces for this and also gives me the chance to meet people with whom I can collaborate on future projects.

Latin American highlights - Clermont-Ferrand FF 2025: Jacaré

Abla Kandalaft, Mydylarama team — 2025-01-30T18:53:39Z

Pedro is a teenager who sells drinks in the traffic jam on an expressway that takes thousands of people to the coast during summer. Driven by curiosity and desire, Pedro embarks on an adventure that transforms him profoundly.

Victor Quintanilha's short is a transportative journey into the lives of our protagonists that's full of heart.

Where did the idea for the film come from?

The idea for the film Jacaré came to me on my way back from visiting some relatives. The route back to my house passes through the road where we filmed the short, and during the summer, that road is often clogged with long traffic jams. In this setting, a whole mini-economy emerges, with vendors selling drinks and snacks to travelers heading to the beaches. I was stuck in one of those traffic jams, trying to get home, and, as often happens in those moments of idleness, my mind started to wander, and that's when ideas tend to come to me—ideas that eventually turn into scripts.

As I watched the vendors walking between the cars, selling their goods under the blazing sun, a thought crossed my mind: what if I told the story of someone who works in these traffic jams on the way to the coast but has, ironically, never seen the sea? From that question, I began to unravel the idea, and little by little, it took shape and became what Jacaré is today.

It's a sunny story, full of warmth, where I explored the power in something as simple as breaking free from routine and discovering something new.

Can you tell us about the shooting process and location?

Filming this short was, in many ways, a truly enjoyable experience because we were in places that are very familiar to me—places I've been visiting since childhood. What made it even more special was how much my relatives were involved in the process. It was a beautiful experience to see my uncles and cousins actively contributing. That's something I'll never forget and will always be grateful for.

That said, making this film came with its fair share of challenges, and perhaps the biggest one was recreating a traffic jam. When you stop to think about the logistics, you realize how complex it actually is. How do you get that many cars without a big budget? Where can you film the scenes without disrupting traffic? Who can drive all these cars to position and adjust them as needed? And how do you calculate the impact on the shooting schedule? There were so many questions that made filming those scenes incredibly stressful. But, despite all the stress, it's very rewarding to see the final result and know that all the hard work paid off. Still, the lesson learned is clear: never write a scene with a traffic jam again.

What hurdles did you face?

Filming on the beach turned out to be a real challenge. I wanted the camera to be as close to the actor as possible so we could capture all his emotions during this important experience for the character. But it quickly became clear that this decision brought a whole set of obstacles. The waves were relentless, and with the ocean moving so much, we kept losing our shots. On top of that, the noise from the sea made it almost impossible for the actor to hear my directions.

The cold water was another issue—the actor was shivering so much he couldn't stay in for long. We had to keep cutting to give him breaks to warm up. And, of course, the camera wasn't too happy about being in the water either. It started overheating, and before we knew it, the waterproof casing fogged up, making it hard to get good shots.

Despite all of that, the team really pulled together and adapted to each setback, and in the end, we managed to get the best we could out of the situation. But honestly, there were moments when I wasn't sure it was going to work. And I promised myself right then and there: never again will I write a scene in the ocean.

What is your background as a filmmaker?

I graduated in Film Studies in Rio de Janeiro and later specialized in sound for cinema at EICTV in Cuba. Since 2016, I've been working as a dialogue editor and ADR supervisor on films and TV shows—this is my main job, the one that supports me. But from the very start of my studies, I've always found ways to carve out time to write and direct my own projects, to tell my own stories. In 2020, I released my first professional short film, "Little Portugal", which earned a Special Mention at the 2021 Clermont-Ferrand Film Festival.

I'm someone who's always observing and open to the world around me, as it's the reality I live in that inspires me to create stories—films that connect with people and hopefully make a positive impact on their lives.

What stories would you like to tell next?

My next short film is called "Saara", and it's set in Rio de Janeiro's most important street market. It follows Niàn, a 55-year-old Chinese man who owns a variety store, and Marlene, a 53-year-old woman from the northern province of Pará, Brazil, who runs a small diner. Their paths cross at a pivotal moment in both of their lives. Marlene is on the verge of returning to her homeland, something she's dreamed of for years, while Niàn feels trapped by a store he inherited and can't escape a reality he no longer wants.

Both seek belonging and share dreams of a future where their different origins are bridges, not barriers. When Niàn's shop is shut down by the authorities for safety violations, Marlene steps in to support him as he navigates the uncertainty ahead. Together, they find comfort and hope in the face of adversity, showing the strength of empathy and resilience. As their lives become more intertwined, one question remains: will they find the courage to rewrite their stories, or will the weight of the past keep them bound to a life they never wanted?

What do you like about the short format?

I love a quote by Eliseo Altunaga, a great Cuban screenwriter, who says: "A short film is like an arrow that goes straight to the heart."

For me, the short film format has that unique power to impact the audience in just a few minutes. It is like an espresso—intense and concentrated, leaving its flavor lingering long after it's over. Shorts are like doors that, when opened, lead to a deeper exploration of the themes they touch on. And that's incredibly enriching—it's an irresistible invitation to dive into realities and discussions that extend far beyond the film itself.

What are your hopes for the festival?

In 2021, when "Little Portugal" was selected for the festival, I wasn't able to attend in person due to the pandemic, so this is a really special opportunity for me. I'm incredibly grateful to have a second chance to be part of the festival and finally experience it in person. I'm excited not only to share the film with the audience but also to connect with other filmmakers, producers, and creatives from all over the world. The chance to discuss our work, exchange ideas, and learn from each other is something I've been looking forward to. I hope this experience will help me grow both personally and professionally, and that the film will resonate with those who see it, sparking conversations and reflections beyond the screen.

Latin American highlights - Clermont-Ferrand FF 2025: Servicio Necrologico Para Usted

Abla Kandalaft — 2025-01-30T18:47:14Z

Maria Salafranca's film (titled Obituary Service For You in English) offers a tour of the funeral home in a small Cuban town led by Maurilio and Fidela, driver and assistant on duty, who have been preparing corpses for 17 years in the same space where they live their lives and their love.

A humorous and endearing portrait of a couple undertaking a skilful yet peculiar job.

Where did the idea for the film come from?

I originally wanted to make a film about Fidela's job. She was a woman who had been working in a funeral home for over 17 years. But filming the deceased presented a real ethical conflict for me. So Fidela suggested that Maurilio, her husband and co-worker, could play the role of the dead person during the film. I found that idea fascinating and comical, and so I decided that would be the device I would use, that would set the tone of the film.

Can you tell us about the filming process and the location?

The filming took place over four nights at the funeral home in Bauta, a small town 30 kilometres from Havana. During the process, we didn't use any script. Everything you see in the film are scenes and situations that I incorporated from the things I observed during the research and filming stages. The process was quite playful and full of humour for both Fidela and Maurilio, as well as for the whole team.

What obstacles did you face?

The main obstacle was combining filming with the daily life of an active funeral home. While we were filming, Maurilio and Fidela were still working, and the funeral home was open. It was also a challenge to make a low-budget film in a country where basic material conditions are not covered.

What is your career as a filmmaker?

I studied a Master's degree and specialized in documentary film at the International School of Film and Television of San Antonio de los Baños in Cuba. In my career, I have directed several short films that have played at various international festivals: "Negra Sombra" winner of the Gold Hugo Award for Best Documentary Short at the Chicago International Film Festival 2024, "Compañía" winner of Best Documentary Short at the Concordia Film Festival and Honorable Mention at the Santo Domingo Global Festival, "Cimientos" premiered at the Havana Film Festival and "Servicio necrológico para usted", which was premiered at Visions du Réel in 2024.

What stories would you like to tell next?

I want to continue filming and experimenting with different cinematic forms, based on seemingly simple and everyday stories and places that almost always hide an extraordinary side if you know how to observe them.

What do you like about the short format?

I think that the short is a format of cinematic expression that forces us to work with extraordinary precision as directors, and that is a wonderful challenge. It is also a format that allows for sustainability in our work as directors, since its form of production is usually more accessible and faster than that of a feature film.

What are your hopes for the festival?

I hope to be able to share a bit of the films we make from Cuba and Latin America, and also to learn about the work of other colleagues around the world. I hope that my time at the festival will help me to build networks that will allow me to continue filming my next projects.

A Short Film About Kids: Bethlehem-based Ibrahim Handal on his second ClermontFF entry

Abla Kandalaft — 2024-03-22T14:15:24Z

Four kids from the refugee camp in Bethlehem decide to visit the sea for the first time in their life. Ibrahim Handal is a cinematographer and filmmaker living in Bethlehem, who graduated in Cinematography in 2019 from Dar Al-Kalima University. His previous short film Bethlehem 2001 was also selected by the Clermont-Ferrand International Film Festival. Yet again, Ibrahim offers a sensitive, eye-opening glimpse into Palestinian daily life, this time through the prism of an incredibly likeable cast of young children.

Second year at Clermont! Congratulations! Why did you choose to look at this story through the prism of children?

Thank you! It's great to be selected again, and to be able to attend physically this time! To be fully honest with you, children are the most honest, creative and purely imaginative amongst us, so the story could only be told through their eyes, desire and personal needs, as in reality, they have never seen the sea. Every day, they dream of reaching it. They can't see or visit it because of the hard reality that we live in Palestine. These kids live in a refugee camp in Bethlehem, which is a very small place with many narrow buildings and tight streets. They can even hear their next door neighbours talk and laugh as they are cooking. So, telling a story of these 4 kids from a refugee camp and their true desire to visit the sea is a very simple human need.

How did you cast them?

Luckily, Wisam Al Jafari a close friend of mine was working on a film workshop with kids from refugee camps in Bethlehem. As he was teaching and showing them films, these 4 kids developed a very simple idea about themselves visiting the sea for the first time, and they wanted to be the main actors in the film! Wisam was also the main coordinator on a film project run between Dar Al Kalima and CineFabrique, as they invited me to work with them as post-graduate student. Wisam shared the idea the kids had come up with with me, and we already had our cast!

How straightforward was it to shoot? What were the biggest hurdles?

The deadline given by Dar Al Kalima and CineFabrique was a very specific, which put me under pressure to develop the idea into a script in 3 days!! And surprisingly, we only had one day for pre-production, so it was a very short time to prepare and film a short but luckily, despite the fact I am not from a refugee camp and with my humble experience as a cinematographer, I know from personal experience how to portrait the soul of the camp, which I had experienced during my time with Wisam Al Jafari shooting the films Ambience in 2019 and By the Sea in 2021. And we had those four excited kids, who were going to act for the first time in their lives in a film based on their ideas, so it was a mix of some pain and joy.

Since your previously selected shorts, including Bethlehem 2001, for which we interviewed you, has it been easier for you to make films? What has it given you, having films in festivals?

Oh, I think it's never been an easy thing to make a film! It's always been a challenge when it comes to work on low/nano budget films but these films teach me a lot, especially as a DOP!

Maybe it's a little bit odd to know that I am a DOP and am more interested in this role than that of a director. Even when I'm directing my own films, I find a lot of joy in exploring a particular vision I have, as I am a very visual person. I have nothing to lose and there is no specific rule for people regarding how to become a DOP. Even if there was, I would break it! I have to build my own career, as I won't get that much work given the low amount of films being produced in Palestine, compounded by the Covid effect, despite my films being shown in great festivals like Cannes, Locarno, Clermont-Ferrand, and many others, as well as virtual screenings, but this doesn't necessarily change anything on the ground.

Tell us about your collaborations, you've been working with Wisam Al Jafari, with Dima Hamdan, Muayad Alayan... How do you all work together? Is there much collaboration between the current generation of Palestinian filmmakers?

I have been lucky to know these amazing and creative people, and be part of their projects. Each one has been search a learning curve. Luckily, my first feature experience was on Muayad Alayan's second feature film, which was such an eye-opening experience. I learned so much more about cinematography, as I was working in the light department. Muayad and I became friends, as he has been mentoring me and giving me feedback. Wisam and I were colleagues at Dar Al Kalima, and collaborated with him on Ambience and then on his second short By the Sea. Conversely, he has helped me with my personal projects, so it's been mutually beneficial.

When Dima Hamdan approached me to work on her short film Blood like Water, she was looking for a cinematographer. She sent me her script and I sent her my notes. This was such a unique opportunity to work on a very delicate, sensitive and haunting film, and we developed a wonderful friendship.

What did you make of this 2024 edition of the Clermont film festival? What were your highlights?

Being selected for the second time in Clermont, a wonderful place to show my humble film A Short Film About Kids, is a great opportunity. It was better to experience it physically than virtually. Currently, I am finalising my upcoming film Cinema, Mon Amour, which is a huge collaboration between me and Wisam, as co-writers, co-producers, and co-directors, although I kept the DOP role to myself! I was able to meet many festival programmers, and tell them about the new film project. I hope it will see the light very soon!

Q&A with Dwan Kaoukji, director of Canary in a Coal Mine

Mydylarama team — 2024-02-12T20:43:02Z

One night, while guarding his aunt's house in a remote Lebanese village, Anis is forced to pretend he is a burglar to save his life during a break-in. An amusing short with a likeable cast. Very impressive debut short by Lebanese (now) filmmaker Dwan Kaoukji!

Canary in a Coal Mine was in the international competition of the Clermont-Ferrand Film Festival 2024.

Where did the idea come to you, given it's based on a true story?

I came across the idea from a friend of mine who told me a similar story that happened to someone in Iran. It really resonated with me because I felt the story reflected what is actually happening in the country today, both literally (with the rate of thefts in the country) and metaphorically (in the way corruption plays out across every facet of the government), and was compelled to write a script around it! I especially liked how the story shows demonstrates that no matter how hard you try to outsmart a corrupt system, it will always be one step ahead and will ultimately trap you into it. I also felt the story had all the ingredients for a good short film, and an engaging plot that I could work with. So I decided to contextualise it and make it a Lebanese story.

Where did you shoot in Lebanon? Why did you choose that location?

I deliberately tried to avoid locating the story to a specific place in Lebanon, so that Lebanese audiences wouldn't identify it and assume it was specific to one location. I had a hard time trying to find a remote and isolated village somewhere in the mountains with no visually identifying signs. And after several weeks of scouting, the crew managed to find a tiny village north of Beirut for the exterior shots. And for the interior shorts of the house, I managed to convince my parents to let me shoot in our family flat in Beirut to save money!! I'll be forever grateful to them for letting me do that, and just hope it never gets robbed!

How did you cast the actors?

I started by casting for the main protagonist - Anis. I was looking for a young man from Beirut of a specific class who could appear both confident and vulnerable at the same time. We cast around 15 actors before we found Josef Akiki who adopted the role really well.

As for the two thieves, I was looking for actors who could be both aggressive and violent, but also a bit comedic and relatable. I kept imaging one of the thieves to be similar in personality to a good friend of mine (Ahmad Ghossein), and managed to convince him to play the role of Rico. I got very lucky when I casted for thief because I managed to get a famous Lebanese actor to be on board. Fadi Abu Samra is extremely experienced and I noticed it intimidated the other two actors, which was perfect for the story and for developing the chemistry between them.

This is your first short film. Congratulations! How did you get into filmmaking? What's your background?

Thank you!! I'm actually a social scientist by background, but have always been fascinated by cinema and watched a lot of films. I didnt feel brave enough to make a film because I didnt have any training in it. But when I came across this story, it gave me some confidence because I could visualise it really. I decided if I was to give the process a try, I needed to self-fund it, so that I could learn from it and make sure nothing was at stake. Of course now, I'm completely addicted to filmmaking, and cant wait to make my next one!

What would you say were the biggest hurdles?

For me the biggest hurdle was getting government approval to shoot the film. Unfortunately, because of the final scene in the film, we were not able to get government permission to shoot it, so I had to find a way of shooting the scene while staying true to the story. That, and it rained miserably on the final day of shoot and the crew were all soaked for the final scene. Still, it came out beautifully!

Best thing about having been selected at the Clermont-Ferrand FF?

Being at a festival where short films are taken so seriously and really appreciated by audiences!! It's been an incredible experience! And meeting so many filmmakers from different parts of the world has been an incredibly inspiring experience! This festival is an absolute gem, and I cant wait to be back here again!