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

7 Activist documentaries available for free

Abla Kandalaft — 2025-10-16T16:33:34Z

The UCLA Film Archive just announced that 7 activist documentaries that are now freely available to access and stream for students, academics, and others. This update was shared through the Radical Film Network, thanks to Pr John T. Caldwell.

He writes: "This online collection is from a recent retrospective of my films that the UCLA Archive featured at the LA Hammer Museum last Fall. Now, all of these experimental documentaries and ethnographic films (made between 1983 and 2020) are available freely for classroom, area studies, or community use at the Film Archive's public Vimeo site."

These films primarily focus on immigration politics, migrant labour, indigenous organizing, and extractive economies in the U.S. and Central America.

The films deal with themese like ICE deportations, indegenous "migrant camps" and labour organising, as well as "reverse immigration” away from the “fortress America" U.S. of the late 1980s (“Freak Street: The Migratory Patterns of Hippies”, 1989); labor organizing by a local SoCal union community that broke the transnational corporate extraction economy of Anglo-Australian mining giant Rio Tinto (“Boron Lockout”, 2012); the national economic erasure of indigenous practices and identities (the Managalase Communities of Papua New Guinea in “Kuije Kanan”, 1984); and, an unfortunate precursor to the current political theater and staged media “war” against Venezuelan “drug cartels" in 2025 (i.e., the Reagan-Contra war against the Sandinistas, that exploited the indigenous Afro-Caribbean Miskitu people from Nicaragua depicted in “Personas Desplazadas", 1983)."

The films from the Border Wars collection can be accessed here.

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/

It's a film that makes you question your position as a viewer: Patrick Muroni on Fierce: A Porn Revolution

Allie L.D. — 2023-04-09T10:49:15Z

In Lausanne, a group of twenty-something women and queer persons start directing ethical and dissident pornographic films: the OIL Productions collective is born. Committed to an artistic and political approach, they create adult films aiming to positively represent sexualities and bodies in all their diversity.

Patrick Muroni's debut documentary is a sensitive and eye-opening look at the process of Oil's work and productions and the context they developed them in. Where his film works particularly well is in its earnest - albeit humane - depiction of Oil's journey in a way that sparks conversations around the issues it brings up. I found myself having internal conversations and tussles with my own conscience throughout the film, oscillating between various takes and attitudes to pornography, fetichism, feminism and objectification of the female body. There is something to be said (and this will be levied at Oil) for the fact that perhaps engaging in ethical pornography and the discussions around it requires a certain amount of privilege BUT ultimately, someone needs to be initiating these discussions and it might as well be Oil. And to be fair to them, they're toiling away at their 9-5 jobs, which are essentially bankrolling their productions, which they very generously share for free (an Instagram code is required). On the whole, Patrick and Oil shared with us an honest and quite brave celebration of physical pleasure on screen. Pleasure is the key word here. Participants are keen and happy to be involved, and the focus is very much on their own enjoyment, (and only be extension, the audience's). There's no real argument to be had here about coercion or anyone finding themselves financially compelled to take part. In this sense, this is a true example of actual "ethical" porn, a term too often applied wishy washily to much more dubious practices. Good on Oil for offering a genuine alternative.

Can you tell us more about your background as a filmmaker? How did you start making films?

I didn't think I'd get into cinema. It wasn't even an option. My parents didn't know that world at all but my dad had a DV camera. I started nicking it to film, without quite knowing why. I now realise that I was trying to make sense of the world around me. I was then fortunate enough to get into ECAL, a film school in Lausanne where I learned the ropes and upon graduation, I directed two short fiction films and then Fierce, my first feature-length documentary.

How did you decide to turn to documentary after focusing on fiction?

It was nearly by accident. One evening, my friend Nora, who now goes by Aron, told me she wanted to direct and produce porn. Nobody had ever told me that and I wanted to understand why. Why and how this group of young queer people wanted to embark on this adventure. I think that's what drove me to film them. They were such strong characters, who really wanted to question the world we're living in in a way that's still quite rare in Switzerland. Without them, I don't think the documentary would have been made. Today, I'll keep making fiction but who knows, maybe I'll meet someone with the same strong personality that makes me want to direct documentaries again. I'd love to but it's such a hard, demanding process. The biggest lesson I've learned is that real life can be more powerful than our imagination.

What were the challenges of shooting a documentary in terms of format?

I had to learn to make all sorts of concessions. Between writing the first draft, shooting and editing, there are entire worlds of difference. But I actually think it's good thing when a film slips from you grasp a bit. You have to accept being carried by the initial urge and follow whatever real life throws at you. Of course, that doesn't mean negating the importance of the mise en scene and simply sitting back and filming, on the contrary, it means trying to make sense of things that are beyond our control and, importantly, not letting go of our story. Even if that story changes, or the film becomes radically different during the filming our editing process. It's about finding a balance between what we want, what happens and whatever reality gifts us.

How was the shooting process? What challenges did you face filming Oil? How open were they to being filmed?

The fact that I knew Aron certainly helped. It was only after they met me that the other members of the collective gave me their trust. I began by following them once to a few times per month for about a year. I would sometimes join them for meetings, shoots, debates, chats and raves, sometimes with a camera and sometimes without. I got to know and understand them and their processes, and little by little introduced the camera more and more. What was great was that they're so uncompromising and honest with themselves that they didn't feel embarrassed when I filmed them, it was all very spontaneous. That's why I ended up able to film really powerful characters. They all had very powerful things to offer and to say.

Did you end up with a lot of material and rushes? How did you decide what to keep or leave in the editing process? How involved were Oil in that part of the post-production?

I held 3 shooting sessions and 4 editing sessions but we didn't actually have that many rushes. It was about a hundred hours more or less, which is quite reasonable. We had five months and I asked a lot of my editor Ael Dallier Vega, who immediately got a feel for the film and with her experience and talent managed to bring it to life. It was a first feature so I had to manage a much longer process than I had to with shorts. At the end we asked the Oil team to watch the film, which is rare in documentary. But for us, it was essential, because of the subject matter, my own relationship with Oil and for what they wanted to say about it. I was happy to share this film with them at that moment, even if I was quite stressed. In the end, it was one of the most beautiful screenings of the film, with lots of laughs, jokes and some tears of joy and nostalgia.

What have been the highlights of the festival run been so far? Have you had any comments or feedback that particularly touched you or made you think of the film differently?

I was really fascinated by BFI Flare. I had never been and found the [BFI] wonderful. That this place could show under one roof so many important films that tell us so much about the times we live in, that was very moving. I also had some lovely reactions after the two screenings, people came to say that Oil's struggle was very important and that the film meant a lot to them. I think people saw different things in the film and it's always striking to see how it touched them. It's a film that makes you consider your position as a viewer and I realise after speaking to the audience that everyone experienced very different reactions to different facets of it, be they intimacy, sex or other, which made for very rich discussions.

What's the next step? Are you able to share with us what you're working on?

I'm currently writing my next feature film. I like this development phase but, like everyone else, I want to speed things up a bit! I'd like to be able to shoot in 3 or 4 years but I'd need to find funding. Otherwise I'm also developing a VR project about raves. VR is something I've been interested in for a long time and I'm trying for the first time to make something out of that interest. It's different to cinema and and exciting way to tell stories. I would also like to shoot another short or a mid-length, something lighter. I like the idea of making films that follow quite classical production processes alongside more "pirate" productions, which are made faster. Two processes that I think feed well into each other.

Masterfully inspired by Afro-futurism: Amartei Amar on TsutsuƐ - ClermontFF2023

Brasserie du Court team, Elise Loiseau — 2023-02-05T14:41:11Z

Set in a small Ghanaian town at the edge of a large landfill site that spills into the ocean, the sons of a fisherman, Sowah and Okai, struggle to cope with loss of their eldest brother who drowned during a fishing expedition. Haunted by his demise, Okai believes their brother is still out there…

Speaking at the Clermont-Ferrand International Short Film Festival, filmmaker Amartei Amar explained his choice to draw on the aesthetics of such movements as Afro-futurism. He does so masterfully. This short represents some of the most beautiful facets of the genre with its intermeshing of innocent children's play, socio-political reality and supernatural elements grounded in millennia of myths and traditions. A stunning and ingenious piece of work.

What was the starting point of TsutsuƐ?

TsutsuƐ was born through three spiritually interwoven true stories. The first was from an experience our Producer had when a neighbourhood boy discovered a dead body in an open sewer. As he went to tell others, a storm broke and washed the body away. By the time he managed to get everyone to the spot, it wasn't there. No one believed him and was he labelled crazy. It wasn't until three days later, that the body was discovered in the ocean near where the sewer connects with the sea that the boy was believed. The second story comes from within my own family. Some years ago we lost the eldest brother of my father. He was survived by ten children, all grown except for the last born who also happens to be the only boy. His father passed and was even buried in the UK whilst he was still in boarding school here in Ghana. Because my cousin never got to see his father buried, he couldn't emotionally comprehend the loss when he was told. This manifested in him believing on numerous occasions that he saw his father in the streets and in the faces of other men. The spiritual connection with his late father and the mental toll it took on him during his formative years is something that has stuck with me since. The third true story came from a documentary we were doing on the fishing industry in Ghana. How 70% of what the fisherman take out of the ocean with their nets is just trash. Because of this, they must go deeper out into the ocean and into harsher, sometimes life-endangering, fishing conditions. It is a fearsome task for them, because in Ghanaian culture to drown at sea is to have a spirit condemned to wandering the earth without knowing where is home.

The scenes that take place in the dump are particularly striking visually. What gave you the idea of filming there?

Shooting there was paramount to me as I wanted to create a dramatic dichotomy between the power of the artificial reality versus the natural one, but also show how their global rivalry has an effect on the human condition and the intimate realities within it. The landfill and the ocean to me are brothers rather than enemies and it was important to create a spiritual correlation between the two showing how both are places of play and danger; peace and trauma.

Can you tell us a bit more about Elisha Kirtson-Acquah and Idrissu Tontie Jr., who play Okai and Sowa? Their performances are really powerful.

This was Elisha's first time acting and he's actually from the town we shot in so we're all very proud of him. He just has this energy about him. A fearlessness in his physicality, yet possessing a sort of quiet wisdom in how he sees the world. For me it was important that we were able to capture this side of him. I'm still in awe of him as he was just eight years old at the time of filming, but still continues to grow in the best of ways. With Tontie, I've worked with him before on the short film Vagabonds. It was also his first time acting as he was ten years old then and I could say the same about him as Elisha. He has a talent that I can't wait for the world to see. We are going to do a feature film with him as the lead so exciting times ahead. Both bring amazing amounts of dedication and intensity to their work and I can't wait to work with them again.

How did you shoot the scene that takes place at night, on the shore? How challenging was it, technically?

The logistics of this shoot were possibly the hardest I've ever faced. But we all knew this going in. The one thing I love about independent film, and even more specifically short independent film, is that in order to achieve a look or even just one shot, we have to go to these places and do it in the reality of the moment. With every environment, we have to, as filmmakers, endure what the characters go through. We are on the field, in the real spaces, so we have to find a way, through simple or complex human ingenuity. Honestly, everything you see, we just did in the simplest way you could think of, paying attention more to safety for cast and crew, while trying to achieve it.

What's your favourite short film?

My favourite short film is hard to say because there are so many that have meant so much to me. A one that still is a little treasure for me to watch every now and again is Nefta Football Club by Yves Piat.

What does the Festival mean to you?

This will be my first time for, Clermont-Ferrand, but its reputation to me as a filmmaker is that it is a champion of short film works by auteurs with unique voices both emerging and established. That, at its core, harbors a deep love for the craft of short film and the incredible role it plays in both the creation and evolution of a filmmaker.

Normal by Adele Tulli - Fragments 2019

Abla Kandalaft — 2019-06-04T11:53:55Z

Normal is an experimental, non-fiction work, a series of observational vignettes displaying mundane actions carried out by men and women in Italy. Mum and baby fitness classes, hen dos, multiplayer video game sessions, performances of the rites of passage into adulthood that mark a woman's femininity and a man's masculinity. The film plays out chronologically. We start off with snapshots of kids undergoing their own initiations into their lives as a grown woman (having her ears pierced) and as a grown man (motorcycle race), then follow our girls and boys as they mature into screaming teenage popstar adulators and violent video game obsessives respectively, and then into adulthood with the usual rituals of club nights, beauty treatments, weddings and pregnancies. The superimposition of all these scenes only serves to highlight how extreme and destructive - I'm thinking more specifically of a pep talk by a marriage consultant teaching women how to treat and care for their husbands post-wedding - these expectations and behaviours can be. Another chilling highlight sees a young man schooled in how to handle "bitter women".

The power of the film lies in the accumulation and order of the sequences, edited to the tune of particularly evocative score. The first 5 or 10 minutes look unremarkable and mundane, but as they multiply, they start to paint a fuller, much bleaker picture, and weave together a powerful and eloquent critique of gender norms.

Normal (dir: Adele Tulli, Italy) screening Fri 14 Jun 18:30 at Genesis Cinema in London, as part of the Fragments Festival. The screening will be followed by a Q&A with the director.

Naila and the Uprising @DocHouse

Abena Clarke — 2018-08-24T14:03:51Z

Naila and the Uprising was a DocHouse screening.

It's rare that a film makes me so angry that I can't seem to describe it without a rant summarising it as ‘o the injustice!' but that really was the effect of Julia Bacha's film. Opening scene: mum, grown-up son, living room, baby pictures, embarrassment. This is familiar. That's how a lot of Naila's story feels: familiar. She's just a regular woman, a passionate proactive patriot, mother, friend, wife, sister. She's a women's libber (this is the 80s), an outspoken feminist, who believes that she as a woman cannot be free, while her country is under occupation. And thus the story begins.
30 years ago, Naila was a young woman, a grassroots activist, wife and mother, who worked within the women-led organisations which imagined, coordinated and led the nonviolent resistance of the first intifada. Their work brought the Israeli government to the negotiating table with representatives of the the Palestinian people for the first time. As much of the male leadership had been effectively silenced, via exile and imprisonment - like Naila's own husband - many women understood that their community desperately needed their involvement in order to win their freedom struggle. Or as Naila put it 'the occupation will not end if we stay home'.

Bacha employs news footage from the time from a range of European countries, as well as from Australia and the US, cartoon sequences stylistically reminiscent of Persepolis' simple but exquisite artistry, and of course, the voices and stories of the activist women of Palestine to craft this incredible tale. Her film's particular power, perhaps, is successfully reminding us of a different, more hopeful time. For the Palestinian people, and for the world. Naila's Israeli collaborators tell the story of sympathetic Israeli women's movements who stood in solidarity with these Palestinian women organising for liberty, of Israeli journalists with whom Naila also worked with, who tirelessly informed the Israeli people of the injustices perpetuated in their name. A time when the US president - a republican at that - was lauded for a particularly progressive, productive stance on Palestine.

My fury stemmed from learning about the Accords. Ultimately, we discover, the fruit of the women's successful organising was eaten by men. Men - Norwegian and Palestinian - who could not imagine a triumphant, female-led political intervention with such global ramifications, secretly hijacked the negotiations and absolutely sidelined Palestine's women leaders. How the women reacted was interesting. But the impact on the peace process was catastrophic.
If you remember watching male freedom fighters dressing up as women in the Battle of Algiers, you should watch Naila and the Uprising, where women pose as concerned neighbours and drop resistance flyers into food parcels. Naila was and is an organiser, but she was not the leadership, who are also represented in the film. She was one of many thousands of women based within and organising resistance in communities living through occupation. Naila, like so many others, engaged in the creation of parallel institutions, boycotts, cooperative farms, non-violent nation-building work whose work has largely been forgotten in the story of the peace process.
Naila and the Uprising is must-see viewing for anyone who likes a great story told brilliantly. And strong women everywhere.

Interview avec Clarisse Hahn, réalisatrice de Mescaline

ARFIS, Clotilde Couturier, Mydylarama team — 2018-02-14T19:51:15Z

Interview avec Clarisse Hahn, réalisatrice de Mescaline, en compétition nationale au Festival de Clermont-Ferrand 2018.

Le court du jour : "Mescaline" de Clarisse Hahn from ClermontFd Short Film Festival on Vimeo.

Si vous voulez en savoir plus sur le film ou la réal, n'hésitez pas à prendre contact avec nous sur le site ou via notre compte twitter @mydyalarama.

Interview réalisée avec l'équipe de la Brasserie du Court et des étudiants de l'Arfis.

Coups de coeur Brasserie du Court - Clermont-Ferrand 2018

Abla Kandalaft, Mydylarama team — 2018-02-09T11:53:00Z

All this week, we're working directly with the Brasserie to select and highlight 9 coups de coeur films from the Labo, International and National Competitions at the Clermont-Ferrand International Short Film Festival. We'll also be filming interviews with their respective directors and will post these as we go!

Here's a little breakdown of our collaborative selection:

MAGIC ALPS

This is a very moving, beautiful and funny - courtesy of its animal co-lead - short about an Afghan shepherd seeking asylum in Italy and asking that his goat and he are allowed to see the Alps, a reminder of happier times in the Afghan mountains. Yet they are denied what should be their right, - the Alps belong to humanity, stress the directors - the shepherd's right to remain is under scrutiny and his goat is facing euthanasia. Despite the grim outlook for our protagonists, this is a film that's filled with hope and elicits a good few laughs.

ONDES NOIRES / DARK WAVES

This is a Labo entry and is exemplary of all that is good about experimental films. It's an utterly mesmerising look at people who suffer (or claim to suffer depending on where you stand) from an allergy to electromagnetic fields. Director Ismaël Joffroy Chandoutis traps the viewer in this claustrophic, cacophonous world of phones, computers, wires, waves. The machines have won and they're everywhere. He shot the film in and around France where radiation-free zones are rare and the sufferers struggle to find respite and shelter. As a bit of a technophobe, I naturally warmed to this film anyway, but it remains technically and artistically remarkable.

Video interview with Ismaël Joffroy Chandoutis.

HAUT / SKIN

Nancy Camaldo's short is a mature and sober account of life post-car accident for Lia, a young mother, who suffered severe burns on her face. Despite her resilience, she is struggling to navigate the repercussions of those physical changes, namely on her confidence, her interactions with men and her relationship with her family.

Video interview with Nancy Camaldo.

WATERFOUNTAIN

Directed by the surprisingly young Jules Follet, Waterfountain is a darkly funny and stress-inducing short about a small business owner facing a relentless day of escalating problems, occasionally punctuated by unwelcome calls by a sales agent trying to flog him some "Waterfountain" water coolers. The consistently brilliant Philippe Rebbot plays shopping trolley factory owner Armand Münster who is at the end of his tether.

Video interview with Jules Follet.

FOOL TIME JOB

This is an imaginative and refreshingly original - and sadly prophetic -animation about the desperation of the modern world of work. Gilles Cuvelier's black and white short is stripped bare to better reveal the misery and angst of the protagonist who has to go to absurd lengths to earn his crust.

FIND FIX FINISH

There is definitely more to be made, said, decried and shouted about the use of drones in warfare and the cowardice and dehumanisation behind their clinical precision killings. Find Fix Finish is a clever, pared down short that uses the testimonies of three American drone operators, played out as a voice over over footage of pixel-sized human beings, about a war we know so little about.

Video interview with Sylvain Cruiziat.

MESCALINE

At 45 minutes long, this National Competition fiction "short" by documentary filmmaker Clarisse Kahn might not be to everyone's taste when it's part of a screening of much snappier, bite-sized shorts. But it's definitely worth a watch, if only for the stunning Mexican landscape, and ploughing through, as the twists and turns start to unfold. French couple Agathe and Mehdi go stomping through a Mexican village looking for psychedelic cacti without any regard for or understanding of the local codes and customs.

Video interview with Clarisse Hahn.

WEEKENDS

Our second animation of this selection is a hand-animated short written and directed by Trevor Jimenez, a story artist at Pixar, with Chris Sasaki (Monsters University, Sanjay's Super Team) as production designer. It's an eerily beautiful 15 min short about a little boy traipsing back and forth between the homes of his divorced parents, interjected with dream sequences revealing the child's inner turmoil, all to the beats of Dire Straits' Money for Nothing.

Weekends (Trailer) from Trevor Jimenez on Vimeo.

RERUNS

This is the fourth and final part of Dutch artist Rosto's tetralogy, with each one based on a song by his band Thee Wreckers. The festival has programmed the entire tetralogy alongside a documentary about music.
Reruns is a trippy voyage around a subterranean dreamscape - literally based on Rosto's dreams and memories - through his old school and his grandmother's house. Good psychedelic fun!

RERUNS Trailer from Studio Rosto A.D on Vimeo.

Clermont-Ferrand 2017 : TOP 5 #1

Lucile Bourliaud — 2017-02-18T10:31:47Z

DeKalb Elementary

On comprend qu'il ait gagné le grand prix de la compétition internationale, tant ce film puissant et inattendu reste en mémoire après la projection.
Un plan fixe sur le bureau d'accueil d'une école primaire. Nous sommes aux États-Unis. Les gens vont et viennent, la vie suit son cours, jusqu'à ce qu'un jeune homme arrive et, fébrilement, sorte une arme de son sac à dos. Le spectateur se fige dans son fauteuil, craignant une histoire glaçante à la Elephant ou We Need to Talk about Kevin.

S'instaure alors un dialogue surréaliste entre l'adolescent, clairement dépassé par ce qu'il est en train de faire, et la réceptionniste, cherchant calmement à le dissuader. L'histoire serait inspirée de faits réels, mais la fiction transcende le fait divers pour nous dire, non sans humour, le désarroi et la beauté de l'humanité. Le réalisateur Reed van Dyk filme l'échange avec une grande maîtrise, et nous entraîne au plus près de ce drôle de duo, dont le personnage principal n'est peut-être pas celui qu'on croit.

Anna

Ce film israëlien par Or Sinai dévoile son charme par petites touches, et l'on s'étonnerait presque qu'il laisse une si forte impression. Nous y suivons Anna, mère célibataire et ouvrière, qui se retrouve seule un beau jour d'été, car son fils est resté chez son père. Impossible de faire plus d'heures supplémentaires, elle
rentre donc chez elle où elle va devoir faire face à l'inconnu : un après-midi de solitude, et de liberté. Face au miroir, elle observe son corps, habituellement ignoré, et décide de partir à la reconquête de sa sexualité. Cela donne lieu à quelques scènes cocasses, dans lesquelles les hommes, tout surpris qu'ils sont par cette femme qui assume son désir, en perdent tous leurs moyens. Mais le regard est toujours tendre et jamais moqueur dans ce beau portrait d'une femme à la moitié de sa vie, qui doit réapprendre le plaisir.

Green Screen Gringo

La compétition Labo, qui semble regrouper tous les films inclassables du festival, recèle de nombreuses pépites et le gagnant de cette année en est une. C'est la troisième fois en trois ans que le jeune animateur néerlandais Douwe Dijkstra est en compétition à Clermont-Ferrand. Dans Green Screen Gringo, il emporte son écran vert au Brésil, va à la rencontre des habitants et détourne les clichés grâce à d'astucieux collages. Un homme nous regarde, assis dans son bureau, entouré de
papiers et d'ordinateurs. Puis le décor s'efface, laissant apparaître l'homme, sans-abri, dans la rue. Le film interroge notre regard de spectateur, joue avec nos attentes. Politique, poétique et ludique tout à la fois, il propose un portrait morcelé d'un Brésil protéiforme.

For Real Tho

Autre film en compétition dans la section Labo, For Real Tho est un drôle d'objet, bien difficile à décrire. Un groupe de jeunes gens est en train de tourner un film. Ou plutôt, en train d'échouer à tourner un film, et c'est cet échec qu'ils commentent face caméra, brisant le quatrième mur pour s'adresser directement au spectateur. Il y a ici la réalisatrice, qui s'amuse du temps que l'on est en train de perdre à la regarder. L'actrice, qui interagit directement avec les sous-titres. Désabusés, filmés tels de drôles d'animaux de nuit éclairés uniquement par les phares de leurs voitures et les
lumières lointaines de la ville, ils dansent, boivent leurs sodas XXL, et nous agacent autant qu'ils nous font rire. Le projet est original, l'esthétique léchée, et Baptist Pentticobra un nom à suivre !

Que vive l'empereur

Récompensée en 2015 pour son film Ton Coeur au Hasard, Aude Léa Rapin représentait cette année la France dans la compétition internationale avec Que Vive l'Empereur. Il faut quelques minutes pour se rendre compte que l'acteur principal est le même dans les deux films : Jonathan Couzinié, ce grand blond un peu paumé qui buvait des bières dans son van dans le moyen métrage précédent, incarne cette fois un jeune homme fasciné par Napoléon et bien décidé à participer à une reconstitution de la bataille de Waterloo. Sa copine le suit partout et soutient sa drôle de lubie, malgré les humiliations qu'il lui fait constamment subir. La situation, brillamment jouée et dialoguée, est comique, mais l'on rit de plus en plus jaune. Le film atteint son point culminant lors du monologue du soldat, un vrai moment de bravoure qui prouve l'étendue du talent de Jonathan Couzinié. On espère le revoir bientôt, et on attend avec impatience le premier long qu'Aude Léa Rapin prépare avec Céline Sciamma.

Mentions spéciales :

Clermont-Ferrand n'est pas le paradis des amateurs du cinéma d'animation, mais programme quelques très beaux films, dont deux cette année qui y achevaient leur longue tournée des festivals :

Estate, de Ronny Trocker, film d'animation expérimental, donne vie à la célèbre photo d'un immigré clandestin, surgissant de la mer sur une plage méditerranéenne où bronzent quelques touristes en goguette. Un film choc et on ne peut plus actuel.

Love, de Réka Bucsi, fait suite à son merveilleux Symphony n.42 (séléctionné l'année dernière) et confirme le grand talent de cette jeune animatrice allemande, à la ligne claire, et à l'univers aussi joyeusement coloré que délicieusement mélancolique.

Pour plus d'info sur les films, où les trouver, comment prendre contact avec les réals etc, envoyez-nous à message via notre page contact.