One of the most heartbreaking documentaries of the year, Sepideh Farsi’s Put Your Soul On Your Hand and Walk premiered at Cannes just weeks after the Israeli occupation murdered the film’s subject, 25-year-old Palestinian photojournalist and poet Fatma Hassona. Constructed through passages of the director speaking with Hassona through FaceTime conversations, we get a glimpse at the day-to-day life under siege, both a powerful testament of living through terror and a damning cry for the Israeli government to stop destroying innocent lives.
While at Soul‘s New York Film Festival premiere, I spoke with Farsi about how the unique formal approach creates a sense of intimacy and intentional disruption, the extensive editing process, creating a tribute to Fatma, Trump’s claims of reaching a ceasefire, how the film has been embraced, and more. Read below ahead of the film’s theatrical release beginning this Wednesday, November 5.
The Film Stage: Your decision to film the conversation with your phone creates such a personal, emotional connection and brings your point of view in. How early did that formal conceit come about?
Sepideh Farsi: Yes, it was there right from the beginning. The initial intention of the film was to get into Gaza, which turned out to be impossible. And then I was filming other Palestinian refugees who had just come out of Gaza shortly before I arrived in Cairo––so, like, late March, early April last year. But the frustration was there because I wanted somebody from inside, and not being able to get in there is something I was trying to solve intellectually to prepare [or] find a way because I’ve done this kind of mobile filming before for other films. But this time, I think it came naturally as soon as I knew that she was there and it had to be online. I thought, “Okay, I have to record the conversation.” And then the choice was with what, and the mobile phone seemed the most natural.
The very first intuitive thing was that our conversations were going through phones, and it seemed right to use another phone, and it gave it dynamics and intimacy, as you mentioned. Now that I think of it, it makes sense because this whole genocide––we’ve been watching through mobile and on mobile, basically. We see it sometimes on the TV, but most of the time we are on social media, so it is the medium that is [conveying] the matter in this conflict. And I think the lower-quality image confers a more personal weight.
As you mentioned, we are viewing a lot of what is unfolding through mobile phones, and what is conveyed is the most horrendous, tragic stories and footage. Your film shows another side of the persistence, perseverance, and humanity as people are still living their lives and hoping to keep some semblance of a daily routine. How important was it for you to show everyday side of life?
I think my film opens a door that is usually shut, in the sense that it puts a human face on many stories of Palestinians, and from Palestinians that have been dehumanized in a major way and have been kept absent from the dominant media narrative. They’re never there to talk themselves––other people talk about them––and this is really giving tribute to someone… I wanted to listen to her. Of course, I would trigger things by questions, but it became possible because of the magical relationship that happened and the human part of it you cannot always predict.
Regardless of that, the major difference between my film––what it brings to the audience, and what they usually see, the horrors on social media or on TV––is that it is somebody that looks like us. She could be your sister, my cousin. She has the same kind of desires as any other young person on this side of the world, that side of the world. Very talented, very open-minded. Stuck in a place, but very similar and aspirations. And this is something we very rarely see from Palestinians because they are not allowed [to be portrayed like that] in this media space.
As an Iranian exile, I know a little bit already about how it feels because, at points, I’ve been confronted with this and I’ve gone beyond it because I’ve been here a long time, because I know how to take the opportunity. Iranians have more possibilities to be vocal. Palestinians are not allowed that at all. And so I think this is where the audience is touched so much––because they see somebody who could be their friend, and then she just gets eradicated. Also, she’s never cursing, not insulting. She’s not being hateful. She’s very luminous, and I guess that makes a difference.
In your conversations, you get into very delicate things. As a filmmaker, were there any questions you pulled back on asking because you didn’t want to get into such personal territory? Or were you thinking, “This is your moment. I’m just going to ask everything that’s on my mind”?
Yes, I was pretty open, I think, when I felt like asking a question. I think I went about it perhaps unconsciously––maybe I wasn’t asking her very intimate questions in terms of her love life or things like that. But even then, when she fell in love, she told me she was going to get engaged, and I didn’t put it in the film because I didn’t want to bring it in. But, no, I don’t think I was self-censoring.
Laura Poitras and Sepideh Farsi at the 63rd New York Film Festival. Photo by Mettie Ostrowski.
You mentioned you have 100 hours of footage. Can you talk about that editing process? Could you make a second film or release even more footage in some way?
There could be, but it doesn’t make sense because what I did––and that’s the usual thing that happens in the editing process––is that you choose the strongest moments, not that the rest doesn’t value. It’s not that. It’s just because of the apparent formal monotony of the film––because we are very limited in the form––this is my basic decision: the conversations and video calls and the news. And a little bit of some things that, in my life, happen around them, but basically it’s very simple.
What I tried to build was a narrative arc, an emotional arc. That was my guide of what to keep, because essentially all of our conversations were interesting. Yeah, it is that some of them had more emotional potential, or some specific things happened. Or the same question I would ask her in different ways depending on the days and then I made the choice. But there are some moments I would have kept, and then I was thinking, “It’s going to be too long. We’re almost two hours.” It could go a bit longer, but we’re at the limits of sustainability.
You didn’t know this when you were shooting it, but the film does become a memorial or testament to her entire life. I know it was a very short time between her death and then the premiere, but when you received that news, did you revisit the intention of the film at all, outside of adding the ending?
No, actually, when I watched the film––because I did watch it many times to finish it––we were really in the process of post-production, the last stages, and I think I had already made the decisions that I needed to make in order to have that thing where I felt that I had a structure that was holding, that it was viable. And it had a balance, and that was what was sent to Cannes. When she was killed, and I watched it and I thought of it, I didn’t want to change it; I didn’t feel like changing. And actually I refrained for a few weeks. I finally decided to do it a week or so before the Cannes premiere, because even that last bit, I wanted to go as it was.
But then I thought it was really important to have those last moments included. The other thing about the length is that each of the conversations were an hour or an hour-and-a-half. In the film, you see 10 or 15 minutes max. So the important rhythm to achieve was to cut them short, but also to leave a breathing space because the film is a mixture of both. The disconnection moments are, at the same time, frustration moments for the audience and as it was for me, and the breathing moments as well. So it has a double function in that way that, when you look at it from a distance, it’s a talking-head film, but it is not because you have all these mini events happening: cutting, sound goes, image goes, freezing image. Which I love. There are moments where the image is really ugly in a classic way. It’s the default image, but it’s very interesting because it becomes like a painting, her face. It’s fascinating when I watch some of those moments––all of a sudden she becomes an icon.
Because so much is based on the conversations, when you aren’t showing that, the other parts really stick out. The sections of her photos are really impactful. Can you talk about the process of weaving those in?
Well, this came at a slightly later stage, meaning that my choice of the moments of the conversations was the first thing to come. I started editing very quickly; within a week or so after the first call, I was already editing, simultaneously. So meaning: I was filming and editing, and that was also the hard thing because, psychologically and physically, it’s two different moods totally. Usually two different people do that. To be you and to be in the film behind and in front of the camera plus editing––it was [a lot].
So the choice of the conversation moments came first, and there were moments that were actually naturally good for the photos to come in, and so then I would make a selection of the images that I wanted to put and to build them around the sound. Once it’s the poem that she’s reading and once it’s her song. Another time it’s almost silence, minimal noise, and then at some other point there’s music. The placement for those photos came naturally at some point when the conversations were already structured, then I knew where to put them in.
In America, we’re obviously very privileged and not directly involved in what’s happening. There’s a lot of protests and acts of solitary, but I’m curious, as a filmmaker who is much more entrenched in what’s happening, do you think any acts like this are even meaningful anymore, or is there greater action needed?
Opinion has been changing. Obviously, if I believe that it didn’t matter at all, I wouldn’t do it, because you have to believe that the film that you’re doing has… in fact, when I finished the film, I knew that it was something very special, not only in my life and my films, my career, but also generally. I was convinced that it was something special had happened between us and I was going to deliver it to the rest of the world. I knew that, and then she was killed. Then it became something even more special. At that point, I thought this would be a huge, shift-making element. And it was, in fact, but perhaps not to the extent that I had imagined. Because I had imagined something bigger than this would happen.
And I think it is happening, though, because as I’ve been traveling a lot, every time I see it the audiences are so moved. I’ve barely seen something like that happen––not only for me, but as the audience. Then I receive the messages afterwards because many people write to me from different countries. They don’t even know me. Because my social media is open, you can send me messages. So they write to me on Facebook, Instagram, and sometimes email. I get tons of messages, and I see how much of an impact the film does have. And in that sense, I think it is important. I wish only that it could be more. I’m thinking of showing it in the U.N., something like that. I think more politicians have to see it. So, depending on the day, sometimes I’m disappointed. I think this is not enough. And sometimes I think it’s worth it.
I saw the news yesterday with Trump claiming credit for the supposed Hamas/Israel ceasefire. When you see things like that, what is your reaction to this truth of it?
I’m desperate. It’s just so frustrating to listen to these claims and just remain and answer politely. It doesn’t make sense. I mean, since the moment he was elected––already within the Biden administration, before the arrival of Trump––there were claims of a ceasefire, none of which worked. And then Trump came and he had already claimed that he would stop the war within 48 hours, and this and that, and nothing happened. And it’s gotten only worse. I have news from north Gaza, Fatma’s mother, who was the only one who survived that attack because the rest of the family was killed. From her best friends, from other friends in Gaza, all of them have been forced to move.
So, in fact, when they are talking about ceasefire––and he’s claiming that he has reached a deal––it’s the worst moment in the history of Palestine. It’s so far from any kind of decency to claim this kind of thing. The GHF (Gaza Humanitarian Foundation) was a disaster. It was totally criminal. They claim that they have been delivering food––nobody was going there. Only the people who were really dying of hunger would go there, and they were shot. When two pounds of flour cost $70, we wouldn’t even be able to buy it here with our wages and salaries. How are they supposed to pay for that? And Trump and his administration, they claim that they’ve done a great thing. It’s so absurd that it’s beyond… but when my friends write to me, “We’re waiting for something good to happen,” I shut my mouth. I say, “I am waiting and hoping with you.” That’s where maybe watching these kinds of films might have an effect on some of them, opening their eyes.
The title perfectly encapsulates what you are exploring. When she says it, did you know right away or did that come later?
Not right away. I had other titles, but during the final round of editing, I was reviewing all the material. And then this came up again and then I asked her about it, and she said didn’t exactly remember, but said, “Oh, yes, I guess I was talking about what it means to take photos, but it was such a long time ago.” Then it became clear to me that this was the name of the film because it exactly portrays what she was doing, what it meant to her, and generally to have the courage of just taking photos, and so then it remained.
I’m curious about your background and influences, whether it comes more from cinema or other directions.
I started with photography and then very quickly came to cinema. So I think it’s a mixture. I would say films have influenced me, but also books, music. I think my influences are multiple. Visual arts generally––sculptures and paintings––give me a lot. I think the particularity of what I’m doing is because I have no formal training. I studied mathematics, so I’m self-taught for everything, but without formal training, perhaps that has given me the freedom to go from one genre to another––from photography to documentary and then to fiction, animation, back to documentary––and I think my fictional cinema is fed by documentary, in themes and set-ups a lot.
And perhaps because I do fiction, it gives a different formal approach to my documentaries. I could never do an investigative documentary, certain types of documentary which are very interesting, but I can’t do that. I come from two extremes: one side is really fiction and experimental cinema; the other one is street photography. And then in the middle, this junction is the documentaries that I make.
Put Your Soul on Your Hand and Walk opens on November 5 at NYC’s IFC Center and will expand.
The post Capturing Life Under Genocide: Sepideh Farsi on Put Your Soul on Your Hand and Walk first appeared on The Film Stage.
from The Film Stage https://ift.tt/ro2e7hX
0 Comments