“Passions” (EXCLUSIVE) Interview Patrycja Skawska

-Who is Patrycja Skawska?


I am a Polish director and filmmaker, but above all, a curious observer of life. I am fascinated by people who devote themselves to something with extraordinary passion, especially those whose stories might otherwise remain unnoticed. My films often explore loneliness, the need for belonging, human connection and the search for meaning. I am particularly drawn to people who create their own worlds through their passions, sometimes in circumstances that seem impossible to overcome. My path to filmmaking began with a background in acting, followed by a professional course in directing and cinematography. Working across different countries and cultures has shaped the way I see the world and deepened my curiosity about how we experience life, find meaning and relate to one another. My directorial debut, Rap Like Grandma: Suni & 7 Princesses, took me to South Korea, where I encountered a group of elderly women who, after learning to read and write later in life, began transforming their poetry into rap. The documentary has received numerous international awards, including the Audience Choice Award at the Vindhya International Film Festival, Best Documentary Short at the Milestone International Film Festival and Best Women Empowerment Film at the Milan Indie Film Festival. In Greece, I directed Like a Rolling Stone, a documentary about Panagiotis Manikis and his lifelong dedication to natural farming. The film explores our relationship with nature and reflects on contemporary ideas of progress, consumption and the ways we choose to live. It received the Grand Prize at the International Taygetos Film Camp. My third documentary, Passions, brought me back to Poland and to the story of Tadeusz Modrzejewski, who spent more than thirty years hand-copying the works of Nobel Prize-winning author Władysław Reymont. His extraordinary devotion became a starting point for a reflection on artistic vocation, cultural memory and what it means to dedicate a life to something deeply personal. The film has received three international awards at the Pageant Film Festival, London Indie Film Festival and Mei International Film Festival. Although these stories unfold in different countries, cultures and circumstances, they are connected by my fascination with people who follow their own paths and remain deeply devoted to what gives their lives meaning. I am interested in lives that are not necessarily defined by conventional ideas of success or recognition, but by commitment, curiosity and a sense of purpose.
I believe documentary cinema can preserve not only stories, but also memories, values and ways of seeing the world that might otherwise disappear. Through my films, I want to create space for voices that are rarely heard and invite audiences to reflect on their own ideas of purpose, belonging and the different ways a meaningful life can be lived.

-Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?


I fell in love with cinema relatively late, and it happened gradually rather than in one particular moment. For half of my life, I didn’t have the opportunity to watch films, and cinema was never my favourite art form. I started with short documentaries, then moved on to psychological films and longer forms, which expanded my perception of the world. Through paintings, art exhibitions and photography, I began to see reality in frames, experimenting with images myself and carefully observing the world around me.
What fascinates me about cinema is its limitless creative potential. It allows multiple narratives to unfold simultaneously, exploring various issues and events through different layers. Sound, imagery, screenplay and narration offer distinct ways of conveying meaning, while metaphors introduce additional depth. Cinema can evoke emotions in countless ways and stimulate the imagination, allowing viewers to discover interpretations that the filmmaker may never have consciously intended.


-Tell us about your project “Passions”.

“Passions” is a documentary about Tadeusz Modrzejewski, a man who devoted more than thirty years of his life to hand-copying the works of Polish Nobel Prize-winning writer Władysław Reymont and bringing the world of his novels to life through painting. I met Tadeusz just three months before his death. What began as a film about an extraordinary dedication to literature became something much more personal: a reflection on solitude, the passage of time, the meaning of creation and the invisible forces that guide our lives.
The story begins with a dream, which becomes the first thread connecting two lives separated by time. Reymont, who preserved the spirit of rural Poland through his writing, and Modrzejewski, who devoted decades to preserving and reinterpreting those words, enter into a quiet dialogue. Built around Tadeusz’s last recorded interview, the film is not a conventional reconstruction of his life, but an exploration of the choices, beliefs and passions that shaped it.
I was fascinated by the question of what makes someone dedicate decades to an activity that may never bring recognition or material reward. Where does such devotion come from? Is it passion, a sense of mission, a spiritual calling, or perhaps something we cannot fully explain? How does passion become a way of living rather than simply an interest?
The film moves between memory, imagination and reality, exploring the relationship between an individual and their inner world. Solitude becomes the beginning of creation, while the candle, a recurring visual motif, symbolises both the fragility of life and the persistence of the creative spirit.
For me, “Passions” is also a story about cultural memory. Tadeusz’s work became an act of preserving not only literature, but also the Polish language, traditions and a vision of life rooted in simplicity and a profound connection with nature. Every culture survives because there are people who quietly decide that it is worth carrying forward. At the same time, the film raises questions that extend far beyond one man’s story. What gives life direction? Is creative freedom still possible in a world increasingly shaped by visibility, constant noise and the need for approval? What does it mean to follow one’s own path, even when it leads away from
conventional ideas of success?
One sentence accompanies the entire film: “In hopelessness, there is hope.” I have never understood it as blind optimism. For me, it speaks about the courage to keep searching for purpose, even when the way forward is uncertain. It reminds me that life is never simply black and white, and that meaning can sometimes be found where we least expect it.
Ultimately, “Passions” is an invitation to slow down and look at a life measured not by recognition, but by dedication. It is a reflection on creative independence, the preservation of memory and the courage to remain faithful to one’s own values. Above all, it asks a question that has no single answer: what gives a human life meaning?

-Which director inspires you the most?


I admire Almodóvar for his unconventional visual language, bold use of colour and expressive compositions. His ability to combine melodrama with dark humour while exploring human relationships, desire, identity and the contradictions of human nature makes his films particularly compelling to me. I appreciate how he uses imagery to express emotions that dialogue alone cannot capture. On the other hand, there is Miyazaki, who inspires me through his approach to storytelling, the construction
of his screenplays and the way he guides the unfolding of events. His films are rich in metaphors, symbolism and hidden messages. I particularly appreciate how he portrays reality through his unique visual language, exploring profoundly human experiences, our relationship with nature and the delicate boundaries between good and evil. His stories embrace the complexity of life, leaving room for mystery, reflection and meanings that reveal themselves differently to each viewer.


-What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?


What troubles me most is the system that shapes modern life. How time is spent, the lifestyles that are encouraged, and how the human mind responds to activities and forms of entertainment designed to capture its attention. I find it disturbing how little space is left for searching for truth, connecting with nature or questioning the purpose of existence. So much time is devoted to choosing professions, pursuing careers and building social status that the spiritual journey and the fundamental questions of why we are here and what gives life meaning can easily be forgotten.
I believe in our capacity for self-sufficiency, yet the pursuit of wealth, power and social status has led us to spend much of our lives earning money only to buy things that, at least in part, we could provide for ourselves. Growing food, cultivating plants for natural remedies, making cosmetics or simply understanding what the earth can offer us are examples of knowledge and independence that have gradually been pushed aside. Instead, consumption has become an integral part of everyday life, while our connection with and responsibility towards the very thing our existence depends on, the nature, has weakened.

I believe there is room to reconsider this relationship, to understand the value of the soil beneath our feet and recognise how closely our own well-being is connected to the health of the planet. These questions are also reflected in the stories I search for in my films. I am drawn to individuals who follow their inner calling, question conventional definitions of success and refuse to let material possessions determine the meaning of their existence. Their dedication, independence and search for purpose fascinate me, particularly when their choices challenge the expectations of the society around them.
If I could change something, I would want to challenge the systems that shape our desires and our relationship with time, creating more space for reflection, independence and a renewed connection with nature.


-How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?

I imagine cinema becoming increasingly immersive, with technologies allowing audiences to experience stories in ways we can barely imagine today. The boundaries between film, virtual reality and other artistic forms may gradually disappear, opening entirely new possibilities for storytelling. At the same time, I wonder whether technological progress will make us appreciate simplicity even more. Perhaps, surrounded by increasingly sophisticated images and artificial creations, we will develop a deeper
longing for authenticity, imperfection and genuine human experiences. I hope cinema will remain a space for experimentation, artistic freedom and personal expression, rather than becoming entirely shaped by algorithms and commercial expectations. Whatever form it takes, I believe its essence will remain connected to our desire to understand ourselves and others, to imagine what we have never experienced and to discover new ways of perceiving reality.


-What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?


What I appreciate most about WILD FILMMAKER is that it gives independent filmmakers a voice and creates opportunities for their work to be seen and heard beyond traditional industry structures. I particularly value the space it offers to share not only films, but also the ideas, experiences and personal perspectives behind them. Through its interviews and international community, it allows us to discover filmmakers more deeply, understand their creative journeys and encounter different ways of seeing the world. I believe there is great value in exchanging ideas, learning from one another and finding inspiration in perspectives we might never otherwise encounter. For me, WILD FILMMAKER represents something important: a space where cinema is not simply about recognition, but also about connection, dialogue and the freedom to express an individual artistic vision.

“Anguish” (EXCLUSIVE) Interview with Daniel McEwan

-Who is Daniel McEwan?

Well, I’m many things, a son, brother, friend, writer, filmmaker, triathlete, a recovering alcoholic and drug addict, a man of God, but above all else, I’m just a guy trying to do the next right thing. Trying to be of service and help where I can. Trying to be a better man than I was yesterday and hopefully I can inspire someone, or give them hope. When I see that smile, or look in someone’s eyes, how grateful they are for something I did, words can’t describe. Then they want to ask how they can repay me? Seeing them do well means more to me than they can ever know. Giving love to people will always feel better than receiving it. I love when I get recognition for something I worked hard on but when I get to help someone, truly help someone, there is no better feeling in the world!

-Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?

The first movies that got me into story telling and nerdy things were The Avengers (2012) and The Dark Knight. The Dark Knight is still my favorite movie and The Avengers is still in my top 5. They are definitely movies that I’ve watched the most in my life. But the movies that got me to want to write and make films are, Whiplash, Goodfellas and Pulp Fiction. They showed me that movies can be so much more than just big action set pieces. They can be dramatic and tell a grounded, human story and be just as inspiring, and amazing as a big action movie!

-Tell us about your project “Anguish”.

Anguish is a fictionalized vision of my addiction and mental health journey. I’m currently in recovery myself from alcohol and drugs as well as struggling with depression. I had the idea for the film and thought it would be really emotional and powerful. I wrote about 20 to 30 pages, then kinda set it aside and went off to other projects. I had a really bad relapse and when I was beaten up and coming off all the horrible things I put into my body, I had a big rush of inspiration. I wrote for two days straight, while the pain of yet another relapse was still fresh. I wrote most of the script in those two days but as I learned more about my own recovery, I would add and remove things. That probably went on for a few months and I finished it up once I got out of treatment and to see it do so well is amazing! I’m now coming up on 6 months sober and the fact that this specific work of mine is doing so well, means the world to me! My hope is it gets made and helps someone who is struggling. I love how art can say things that are hard for people to say. So when I start a new project,  I ask if it can help someone, and I think Anguish can!

-Which Director inspires you the most?

Christopher Nolan for sure. I love his work and as I said, The Dark Knight is my favorite movie. I also love Interstellar, Oppenheimer, Inception and his new film The Odyssey, OH MY GOD! Seeing that in IMax was so amazing! I love how he blends practical effects with CGI to make things feel as real as possible! Also his first film, Following, the story of how it was made and seeing where his career has gone, that inspires me to make movies!

-What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?

I wish people loved more, there is too much hate. I don’t want to push this on anyone, it’s just my opinion, it is okay if you disagree but I think it’s because people have moved anyway from God. When I was out there doing my thing, drinking and drugging, I didn’t have God in my life and I was hateful, resentful and angry. But once I got sober and started working my recovery program, I found God again. And I realized that God never left me, I left him. He didn’t move, I did. So I just wish we could be more empathic with each other and help where we can. You don’t have to do what I did but I think we can all work on ourselves in our own way and try to be a better person than we were yesterday. We are all a work in progress and for sure I am! 

-How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?

100 years is a long time. AI scares me for sure but I also think it can be useful. I hope that film keeps telling the stories that should and shouldn’t be told, you know? I hope movies keep making people laugh, cry, think and most of all, feel. That’s what great art does, make you feel something. And just because you or I don’t feel something from a film, someone else might! Which is why I think all films and art have a place in this world! Keep making people feel something!

-What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER? 

I think WILD FILMMAKER is amazing! I’m truly honored that they wanted to give me an interview and I hope they like what I had to say! They do great work and I’m blessed to be a part of it!

“N-W-G (New World Gangsters)” (EXCLUSIVE) Interview with John Snell

-Who is John Snell?


I’m retired and spend my time as a screenwriter and inventor from California.

-Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?


I watched a lot of Saturday morning cartoons growing up. Johnny Quest, Space Ghost, and Shazzan to name a few, that first caught my attention with TVcinema. I suppose I really began to fall in love with cinema when I was old enough to start going to the movie theater as a young teen with my brother and sister, and friends my age and began to experience the big screen theatrical experience. Watching blaxploitation films like Shaft, Superfly and Pam Greer movies like Coffee. I also liked the spaghetti westerns with Clint Eastwood, and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Also, things like Mission Impossible,
and the first James Bond movies. Drive-in movies were also a favorite growing up.

-Tell us about your project “N-W-G (New World Gangsters)”.


The (New World Gangsters) concept came to be when I was discharged from the Army in 1982, and moved in with mother who was living in a low income neighborhood in east Oakland, California at that time. It was the beginning of the crack epidemic, so I was seeing a lot of brown on brown violence and kids being killed over turf wars, and family members and friends becoming addicted to crack and crack related deaths in elevated numbers, which I’d never known or seen anything like that in Oakland, before I joined the Army. I was witnessing a lot of lives being destroyed.
I began to feel the brown community and the young people in the brown community were being led in a self destructive direction. One day I thought, what if the gangs and these kids who had lost all sense of self respect for themselves, and seemingly for life itself, became the solution to the problem, instead of being seen as the problem. That’s when New World Gangsters was born. An organization recruiting and training gangs to fight crime instead of committing crime.

-Which Director inspires you the most?


That would be Ryan Coogler. I love his work and what he’s been able to accomplish. And, we’re both from Oakland, so I feel that kinship.

-What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?


I’d say racism, inequality and others feeling they’re somehow better than others. As the bible teaches, all men were created equal.
I feel those who fear that teaching, and feel they are somehow better than others are taught to fear inclusiveness, unity and equality, and being secure in their own skin with that knowledge. The fact that they are no better than anyone else. My motto is to, live and let live, and don’t worry about what someone else is doing, as long as they aren’t attempting to do you harm in some way.
I feel racism is a sickness that is taught and learned. People are taught to be divisive, hateful, and uncomfortable with ourselves. Or, to want to control or limit another person’s freedom, and say that you have the right to be free, but someone else doesn’t
have the same right to freedom. I’d say, people need to learn how to think for themselves when they’re searching for their truth about reality, and not let others make those critical types of decisions for them.

-How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?


I can’t say that I would look that far ahead. I suppose cinema will evolve with the evolution of humanity, whatever that might look like in a 100 years. My focus would be on how do we make cinema better one day at a time.

-What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?


This is my first encounter with Wild Filmmaker. I feel any platform looking to help industry professionals progress in their journey is a valued asset to the industry. I think it’s great. Thank you for the opportunity

Experimenting to Move Forward (EXCLUSIVE) Interview with Pal Kolndrekaj

-What is your earliest memory of cinema?


I was nine years old. It was summer, the heat was beating down on the streets, and my father was often away for work.
Around that time, many Blockbuster stores had already begun selling off their stock as they prepared to close.
I remember rows of DVDs at home. I spent that entire summer watching James Bond, Bruce Lee, Sergio Leone, Michael Mann…
The following year, drama was added to our school timetable.
Perhaps I still had the images from those films in my head. I remember the class being quite shy and, by contrast, how naturally I kept suggesting things: “Ms Corona, what if I deliver the line while crossing the stage from one side to the other?”
I never felt uncomfortable putting myself forward. Quite the opposite — I enjoyed it. I liked coming up with ideas.


-And after high school?


I studied at DAMS in Rome, but I immediately began looking for experiences outside university.
At nineteen, during a writing course, I met a girl who was involved with an association dedicated to the memory of Alessandra Bisceglia, a young journalist who had passed away prematurely. She suggested that we write a play together.
Il volto della normalità was staged on September 5, 2016, at the Teatro Portone in Senigallia. I remember the theatre being full and, above all, the feeling of watching something come to life in front of an audience when, only a few months earlier, it had existed solely on the page.
From that moment on, I looked for every opportunity that would allow me to experiment, observe, make mistakes, and learn. Even my thesis, which explored the possible meeting point between arthouse and commercial cinema, became the basis for a documentary.
I had the privilege of interviewing Lina Wertmüller, Neri Parenti, and Vittorio Giacci.
That film also won an award, but the award is the least important part of that memory. Being able to listen to people who had devoted their lives to cinema was infinitely more formative.


-At a certain point, you decide to apply to the Centro Sperimentale di Cinematografia. What led you to that decision?


Covid forced me to stop, and paradoxically, that pause forced me to make a decision. I remember thinking, “Damn, am I really heading in the direction I want to go?”
The selection process was particularly tough: the previous admissions round had been suspended, which had practically doubled the number of applicants.
Getting in meant, above all, meeting other young people who shared the same obsession, measuring myself against talents very different from my own, and understanding that you don’t learn cinema simply by listening to someone teach it, but by constantly testing yourself against the way others see things.
It wasn’t always easy, but I have good memories of it. Sometimes you have to fight to make them.


-In those years, the first festivals also began to come along. What did they mean to you?


I was very happy about them, of course, but I still see them as part of my training. Through the Centro Sperimentale, I worked for two years on the Campari web series, which was presented out of competition in Venice. In 2025, three short films I had written — Kushta Mayn, L’acqua sotto la pelle and Dissidia — were presented at the European Film Festival in Lecce, and that same year Kushta Mayn, my graduation film, was selected for the Orizzonti section of the Venice Film Festival.
They were important opportunities, and I’m grateful to the people who chose those films. But I’ve only just started. What mattered to me was getting as much practice as possible, moving between genres, and working with different people and different approaches to filmmaking.
What worries me a little is when recognition turns into a kind of accounting exercise in art: selections, awards, results. They matter, of course, but a work is born first and foremost because someone feels the need to make it exist. Everything else, when it comes, deserves only one word: thank you.


-The stories you have written are very different from one another: how much of yourself has to be in a story for it to feel authentic?


I don’t think a story has to be autobiographical in terms of what happens. But the feeling behind it has to be real.
I can write about someone from another era, another country, someone who has lived through none of the things I have lived through myself; but somewhere, I have to recognise their desire, their fear, their shame. If I can’t find that point of connection, I may build the character perfectly, but it will remain an exercise.


-And when that story reaches the audience, do you prefer them to recognise what you wanted to say, or to find something in it that you never anticipated?


I’d rather lose control of it. I’m much more interested in someone feeling something I never expected than in knowing whether they understood exactly what I meant.
That is one of cinema’s most beautiful mysteries: you create an image, give it a meaning, and then someone looks at it and places a part of their own life inside it.


-How do you imagine cinema a hundred years from now?


I think the cinema of the future will end up resembling the cinema of the past far more than we imagine. The tools will change, but it will continue to do the same thing: preserve the feeling of an era. Films do not simply tell stories; they preserve the way we desired, feared, loved, and looked at the world. They are the emotional record of our time on earth.
And I do not believe at all that everything was better in the past. Quite the opposite: the average quality of images has risen enormously. Today, a thirteen-year-old can pick up a smartphone and shoot images that, technically, would have required enormous resources only a few decades ago. And that is because they grow up surrounded by images. They absorb them, developing an instinct for framing, rhythm, and editing at a very early age.
That is where the great difference from the past lies.
Before, making a film meant going through years of work, and that difficulty forced you to learn how to master the image before you could produce it. Today, the opposite often happens: we can produce images before we have learned how to master them. And we end up being mastered by them.
But I think it is mainly a matter of time: learning to master them as quickly as we produce them. That, I believe, is where part of cinema’s future will play out.


-And now?


At the moment, I’m working to secure the funding to bring my next short film, La Roma Bene, to the screen.
The fact that the screenplay has received attention from Slamdance, BlueCat, and Outstanding Screenplays means a great deal to me, but there is still a long way to go…

“THE LAST KINGS OF HOLLYWOOD” – NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER – WILD FILMMAKER (EXCLUSIVE) Interview with Paul Fischer

-Who is Paul Fischer?

I am an author and screenwriter, primarily based in the United Kingdom.

-Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?

I remember being very young, maybe four or five, and going to my dad’s shelf of VHS tapes on a rainy day, and pulling out the cassette of Raiders of the Lost Ark, because I was intrigued by the cover artwork. I put it on and was completely overwhelmed by it. The music, the swashbuckling, the adventure, the melting faces. I was into movies from then.

-Tell us about your book “THE LAST KINGS OF HOLLYWOOD”.

THE LAST KINGS OF HOLLYWOOD is about the friendships and early careers of Steven Spielberg, George Lucas, and Francis Coppola, and how they set out to take on an American film system that, at the time and in their eyes, was failing and dying. They wanted to make personal films that were also popular films, or popular films that were also personal films — where to draw that line was part of the dilemma — and they wanted to find a way to have creative and financial control over their work, like artists, instead of being essentially studio employees. The book follows them from the moment they meet, in the late 1960s, to about the mid-1980s, when they were the biggest filmmakers arguably in the world. 

-Did you expect this book to make it onto The New York Times’ list of the most successful film books?

I didn’t, partly because I try not to worry about anything other than writing the book. If people like it, amazing, if it sells, great. If people don’t like it and it doesn’t sell, it is what it is. It takes me several years to write each book and I just want to write something I’m proud of. I remember someone once saying you can do this kind of work for the process or for the results, but not for both, and that’s true for me. So I do it for the process. You can’t control the results.

-Why didn’t you include Martin Scorsese among the last kings of Hollywood?

Scorsese is kind of 1B to the Spielberg, Lucas, and Coppola in the book, who are the 1A main subjects, the titular “kings.” He’s very important but he doesn’t fit in the centre of the prism. Essentially, he did not have any interest in taking over the system or running a studio or having that form of power, like they did — Scorsese just wants to make films, and to make every film like it’s his last. And he was a New York guy, not a California guy, which the other three were. And he had great success but not the kind of unprecedented success those guys had, that transformed the industry and how it made films and what films it made. So in the book, as far as cultural history, Scorsese serves more as a contrast, a filmmaker who was influential in other ways, went about things in other ways, while being a very close friend and collaborator to all of them. 

-What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?

I’m middle-aged and grumpy, so there’s plenty about the world I dislike. Right now, mostly, it’s everything the fat cats on the hill are trying to push on us — so-called AI, consumerism, precarious work to live, division and prejudice, digital dishonesty and misinformation, treating everything about being alive like it’s something to be earned through work in the global factory rather than a right we all have. We don’t live in the world most of us want, or a world most of us would thrive in, but we’re all prisoners of this system manipulated by the very few to benefit the very few. I grew up in France, and though there is plenty about French culture I don’t particularly love, I am a great admirer of resistance, of the protest and of the barricade. 

-How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?

Another hundred years is almost as long as cinema has existed already, so who knows? I hope it remains a collective experience. I hope it remains centred around work you go see on a big screen in a dark room with other human beings. It’s about being overwhelmed.

-What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?

I was not familiar with the publication before we spoke, but anyone fighting to remind people cinema is special and worth preserving is fighting the good fight!

“SATORU” (EXCLUSIVE) Interview with Andrew Short & Veronica Orciari

-Who are Veronica Orciari and Andrew Short?


We are a filmmaking duo.


ANDREW: I’m Andrew Short, an independent writer and director from Liverpool. My first short film, Fragile Reflections, explored a troubled relationship through what begins as a simple, almost trivial argument and gradually descends into something much more profound and intense.


VERONICA: I’m Veronica Orciari, an Italian film critic and writer. I regularly write about cinema for publications including Cineuropa, The Animation Journal, Licensing Magazine, and Filmexplorer. I’m also an editor, contributor, and translator for the English edition of Cinecittà News, and I work as a programmer for the Torino Film Festival. My writing has also appeared in Modern Times Review, postPerspective, and Horror Movie Blog, and I’m currently a staff writer at Directors Notes. My work has given me the opportunity to approach cinema from many different perspectives — as a critic and a programmer — and that
experience has naturally shaped the way I think about and engage with films.

-Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?


It’s always difficult to remember one precise moment, because in our case there was never a real “lightbulb” moment, a point when we suddenly thought, “This is it.” It was more of a slow falling in love, what one would call a slow burn. I think it started for both of us when we were around twelve. For me, in particular, I remember the summer between the first and second year of middle school: I spent so much time watching films in their original language and getting lost in behind-the-scenes footage, directors’ commentaries, and interviews with actors. What started simply as a way of getting to know the films I loved eventually taught
me English and, more generally, sparked a huge passion for languages. From there, almost without realizing it, I started building my own little “cinema room.” To this day, I have around 1000 DVDs and VHS in there. I know it’s probably a slightly old-fashioned tradition, especially for my generation, Gen Z, at a time when everything is available at the click of a button. For Andy, that was definitely true too. The AFI Top 100 list from 1998 was kind of his gateway into great cinema — a sort of seed list that gave him a place to start. He quickly found himself watching films like Taxi Driver, Apocalypse Now, and One Flew Over the
Cuckoo’s Nest, and from there, the rabbit hole just kept getting deeper.

-Tell us about your project “SATORU”.


The project was born out of a desire to tell a story rooted in an urban legend. We are fascinated by popular stories, folklore, and narratives that emerge from the people themselves and then develop, change and transform as they are passed from person to person. We started with a real Japanese urban legend, which we adapted and modified, while also drawing inspiration from J-horror more broadly. At the same time, we wanted to give it a slightly more British sensibility, using the classic red telephone box as the setting for the ritual. From there, we tried to find a story that could serve as the foundation for the fictional world in
which we would adapt the urban legend. We began thinking about an often-overlooked kind of horror: the horror of people disappearing. Every year, countless people go missing, particularly children, in many parts of the world. We wanted to tell the story of a mother who is willing to overcome any obstacle to discover what happened to her daughter. That became the starting point from which we developed the short. For us, the real horror of the story lies in the fact that this woman is desperate and willing to do anything to uncover the truth. There are, of course, elements of the horror genre throughout the film, but we see it as being closer to a drama than to pure horror. We sincerely hope the film finds an audience, because we believe it can appeal to people who enjoy different genres and, above all, that it can be appreciated as a deeply human story regardless of its genre context. Of course, we also wish that the film’s technical elements and the atmosphere we worked to create will resonate with audiences.

-Which Director inspires you the most?

There are so many directors who inspire us that it would be difficult to name them all in one answer. We definitely both have our own preferences and films that hold a special place in our hearts. For example, I particularly love Mike Nichols’ films. I think he was an incredibly talented director who was able to work across so many different genres, and The Graduate and Closer are two of my favorite films of all time. For Andrew, on the other hand, Sergio Leone’s films have been particularly important, especially Once Upon a Time in the West. Without a doubt, he really loves Italian cinema: he’s also a huge fan of films by Dario Argento and Mario Bava, and the same is true for me. For Saturo in particular, we drew on films that inspired us both aesthetically and in terms of the story. We’re talking about Don’t Look Now, The Vanishing, and Ring. These are films we’ve watched many times, and they
really influenced what eventually became the final structure and shape of Saturo. In general, we believe cinema is something you watch, talk about, and draw inspiration from. So, for us, it’s really important to have those points of reference and to pay tribute to the filmmakers and films that have inspired us over the years.

-What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?


It’s a very difficult question. There are so many things about the world that we don’t like. If I had to sum one of them up, it would probably be indifference — indifference toward others, and the tendency to, so to speak, turn away when it comes to having empathy. I think that is perhaps the worst thing of all. Unfortunately, social inequality, wars, and injustices in general have always existed, ever since human beings first appeared on Earth. Obviously, it would be right for them not to exist. The problem is that there seems to be a kind of human tendency toward cruelty, domination, and the pursuit of profit. And I believe that the way to prevent these things from happening is to eliminate indifference. But in order to eliminate indifference, we need to be aware. We need to learn, to inform ourselves, to understand. And cinema is fundamental in this sense, just like all the other arts. Cinema doesn’t simply entertain; it allows us to dig deeper into the problems of contemporary and past society, and even to anticipate those of the future. We’re working on a new short film titled Chalk Beach that fits very well into this discussion because it tells a story about immigration. What we wanted to do was shed light on a situation that exists and is extremely important in our
everyday lives and in the contemporary world. Immigration is an anthropological element that has been part of humanity forever, but it is constantly brought into political discourse and instrumentalized for political purposes. We want to bring it back to the fundamental question:
What would I do if I found myself in the same situation?” We want to shed light on the journeys people undertake, the importance of human understanding in the search for a new sense of stability, and, ultimately, the possibility of moving beyond prejudice.

-How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?

Technology will certainly change, but the core of the story and the heart of storytelling will remain the same, in the sense that the key elements of any story have always been the same for centuries. Just think of the success Christopher Nolan has had with his version of The Odyssey: bringing back to life a type of story that worked thousands of years ago and continues to work today, despite the fact that the technology has changed. Once, stories were told orally, and today, they’re told on an IMAX, but their power remains the same. So, we’re curious to see how the world of cinema will evolve, obviously with the necessary caution
when it comes to the use of new types of artificial intelligence or innovative production systems. But there’s no doubt that cinema, being such a young art form, is inevitably subject to an evolution that is much faster than that of traditional arts—and that’s part of its beauty. At the same time, we can see that, much like what happened with vinyl in music, there’s been a return to shooting on film rather than digitally for many filmmakers. So, despite all the innovations, there can also a return to the past when it comes to certain aesthetic styles.

-What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?


Our impression of Wild Filmmaker is that it is a community, and “community” is one of the key words when we talk about cinema. Of all the arts, cinema is perhaps one of those that requires the greatest sense of unity, a shared vision, a collaborative effort, and a group of people working in unison. In many other art forms, it’s possible to grow and develop on your own, individually. In cinema, however, there is always a strong emphasis on the collaborators you have the opportunity to work with, because, as we all know, the joint effort of many different people is necessary to make a good film. Just think about the length of the credits at the end of most films you see in theaters. That said, “community” isn’t the only keyword. There is also discovery and research, meaning that we shouldn’t limit ourselves to mainstream cinema, but remember that mainstream cinema itself was once experimental cinema. The names we see today on cinema marquees were once unknown names, and they were discovered along the way. So the purpose of a community like this is precisely to give independent filmmakers a platform. Finally, we would like to thank Wild Filmmaker for giving us the opportunity to do this interview, and we congratulate the organization on its work.

“PATH” (EXCLUSIVE) Interview with Firouz FarmanFarmaian

-Who is Firouz FarmanFarmaian?

I’m an Iranian-born diasporic contemporary artist, filmmaker and musician. My family’s displacement following the 1979 Iranian Revolution, and our presence today across several continents, have shaped a very fluid idea of identity in my work.

At the same time, our roots reach back toward Central Asia and a nomadic heritage to which I have always felt connected — perhaps partly historically, partly mythologically, through imagination. That search has become an important territory in my work and led to projects such as Gates of Turan, developed for Kyrgyzstan at the 59th Venice Biennale.

My education in Paris moved between art, architecture and film. Two important influences also shaped me: Monir Shahroudy Farmanfarmaian, who showed me how tradition could become a radically contemporary language, and my grandfather, one of Iran’s important modern architects, who transmitted to me a fascination for the dialogue between classical culture and the avant-garde.

That intersection — displacement, memory, nomadism and experimentation — continues to connect everything I do across cinema, visual art and music. It is also what led me to co-found We R The Nomads, an independent creative platform through which we develop projects across these disciplines and increasingly produce our own films.

-Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?

I owe my love of cinema completely to my father. From a very young age, he introduced me to Italian post-war neorealism and then to the extraordinary generation that followed — Antonioni, particularly Blow-Up and later The Passenger, Visconti, with The Leopard still one of my favorite films, and above all Fellini.

Fellini taught me something that has stayed with me ever since: that the frontier between imagination and reality doesn’t really exist. Somewhere along that very fine line between reality and fiction lies poetry, and that is still one of the territories I am constantly searching for in my own work.

Later, as a teenager and in my early twenties in Paris, that foundation opened onto the city’s cinéphile culture — Godard, Truffaut, Cassavetes, and the late-night screenings in the small cinemas of the Latin Quarter around Saint-André-des-Arts. From there came the discovery of the new cinemas of Asia and Iran, particularly Abbas Kiarostami and Wong Kar-wai, which opened another door entirely.

So there wasn’t really one precise moment when I fell in love with cinema. It was a language my father gave me very early, and one that I am still building.

-Tell us about your project “PATH”.

PATH began with a very specific adventure. I was invited to Kyrgyzstan as a cultural Ambassador to develop the country’s first national pavilion for the 59th Venice Biennale in 2022. What began as an artistic and cultural mission became an extraordinary journey through Kyrgyzstan, its landscapes, communities and contemporary identity, leading eventually to the installation of the pavilion in Venice.

The film grew out of that journey. Formally, it sits somewhere between documentary, road movie and visual poem, allowing encounters, landscapes, accidents and music to shape its narrative. Music is fundamental to my practice, and in PATH it isn’t simply a soundtrack added to the images; it became part of the architecture and emotional language of the film.It was particularly meaningful to see that dimension recognized with the Best Original Soundtrack award in Rotterdam.

What fascinates me most is what happened after Venice. Once the original mission and installation were completed, PATH somehow took flight on its own. Over the following years, the film became a way of giving the original project another life and a much broader reach — continuing through cinema the same ideas and values we had tried to communicate through contemporary art in Venice.

That fluidity between forms is extremely important to me: the idea that a contemporary art installation can become a film, and that the film can then travel independently and encounter completely different audiences.

Since its completion, PATH has received international recognition across Europe and Asia, including wins in Rome and Rotterdam and, most recently, Singapore. That momentum is now opening another chapter, with international distribution conversations developing across Europe, Asia and the United States.

For me, seeing a project travel from Central Asia to an installation in Venice, and from there into an independent film with its own international trajectory, is perhaps the most exciting expression of what PATH was about in the first place.

-Which director inspires you the most?

It changes with different periods of my life. In my first films in the late 1990s, when I was working extensively with Super 8 and in a much more avant-garde language, Cassavetes and Godard were probably my two strongest references. They represented a certain freedom — the possibility of breaking the rules and allowing cinema to remain raw and instinctive.

Later, Tarantino, Wong Kar-wai and Jafar Panahi became important in developing the kind of East-West visual language I was searching for — something that could move freely between different cinematic cultures without necessarily belonging entirely to either.

But if I return to the roots, Fellini remains fundamental for his poetic approach to cinema, alongside Antonioni — particularly the Antonioni of Blow-Up and Zabriskie Point.

Interestingly, those influences are very present again today as I prepare my next feature after PATHSeason of the Witch, which we are shooting in Morocco this winter. Fellini’s poetic freedom and Antonioni’s relationship to image, space, youth and the cultural transformations of the late 1960s are very much in dialogue with the film I am making now.

So I don’t think I have one definitive influence. Cinema has accompanied different phases of my life, and the filmmakers I return to tend to change with the films I need to make.

-What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?

What troubles me is that we live in an extraordinarily interconnected world, yet we seem increasingly obsessed with separation — borders, nationalities, ideologies, fixed definitions of identity. I have always experienced identity as something fluid, something that travels, transforms and absorbs.

For me, the sparks happen precisely in the interaction between cultures. Wherever that tension and exchange exist, that is where the real avant-garde lies, whether we want it or not.

I was discussing this recently with a New York gallerist: the cultural scene is no longer as city-centric as it once was — New York in the Basquiat era, or Paris before the Second World War. Culture has become horizontal. The most interesting scene can emerge anywhere, at any moment, wherever different worlds collide and create something new.

My greater anxiety is that our lack of communication is preventing us from confronting threats that can only be addressed collectively. Climate change is perhaps the most obvious one. We have created an interconnected planet without necessarily learning how to act as an interconnected civilization.

The planet is on fire, guys. At some point we have to learn to talk to one another.

-How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?

I’ve been very interested for years in the evolution of mixed reality. I’ve experimented with successive generations of Oculus, tested Apple’s mixed-reality systems, and followed the way companies such as Meta and Ray-Ban are beginning to integrate technology much more invisibly into everyday objects. Obviously, we’re not there yet.

But I’ve always wanted to work at that juncture. There is an extraordinarily creative territory somewhere in the interconnectedness between technology and physical reality. I already tried to develop an experimental mixed-reality component for Gates of Turan at the Venice Biennale in 2022, but perhaps I was a little early, and ultimately we didn’t have the time or resources to take it where I wanted.

I believe that at some point technology will become increasingly immaterial — almost disappearing into our everyday environment. When that happens, our perception of storytelling will inevitably change with it. We may move much more fluidly between content and reality, rather than experiencing cinema as something contained within a screen.

So in 100 years, I’m not sure cinema will still be something we simply “watch.” It may become something we enter, inhabit and interact with, while still retaining what has always mattered: imagination, emotion and storytelling.

As Rimbaud said: “Il faut être absolument moderne.” Be absolutely modern — and keep your eyes open.

-What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?

This interview is actually my first direct encounter with WILD FILMMAKER, so I’m discovering the platform through this conversation.

What immediately interests me is its international perspective and its focus on independent filmmaking. Today, films need spaces that allow them to circulate beyond festivals, national borders and traditional industry structures.

That feels particularly relevant to me at this moment, as PATH is moving from its international festival journey into a new phase of distribution and reaching new audiences. Any platform that helps create bridges between independent filmmakers, audiences and the wider international film community is something I’m very happy to engage with.

“Emma” (EXCLUSIVE) Interview with Emily Y Adams

-Who is Emily Y Adams?

I am an English-Japanese director, choreographer and filmmaker from Essex, who fell in love with the power of cinematography during my contemporary dance training. Through the art of Screendance, I discovered a passion for merging movement, dance and film to create meaningful narratives, emotional storytelling and creative twists that relate and resonate with audiences. I draw from my own experiences, emotions and relationships to create stories for film. I believe the most powerful art is made from the worst pain. 

-Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?

I grew up with a book constantly in my hand, and always lost myself into the world of stories to escape my childhood. I filled up many notebooks with story and character ideas and would write down all of my wildest nightmares and dreams. I have always been more selective with cinema and tend to see films that really draw me to watch them. Mostly films and TV shows well adapted from books. My most memorable film growing up was Matilda (1996). As a child, it was exciting to see someone like me, a shy bookworm in a helpless situation, be able to fight back against cruel adults. I related to the little girl on screen. It taught me the power of film to tell shared human experiences. It helped me feel seen and less alone in the world. 

-Tell us about your project “Emma”.

My short film “Emma” is a one-location slice of life, but there’s a quiet sense that something is not quite right. You see Emma typewriting diary entries and spending her days with Nelly. Playing Jenga, watching a film, dancing about the dining room together. [Spoiler Alert] But a knock of old entries reveals that Nelly has never been there. And Emma was alone all along. 

This story was inspired by the loss of my mum, which occurred 3 years before the film. I wanted to portray a warm female connection to reflect our familial relationship and the joyful moments of spending time together. However, I intentionally tried to keep the relationship ambiguous so audiences could relate to the characters in their own way. We all have different people we’ve lost. We all have different stories of loss. 

“Emma” is set post-covid, in a time when people were just coming out of isolation. Emma experiences the loss of Nelly a year before and covid becomes her way to not only isolate in her house, but isolate in her mind, and hide from reality. She never passes the first stage of grief – denial. And that bubble is never broken in the film. The loss of Nelly is revealed to us. But we leave Emma still believing she is there. I focused on the feeling of wanting someone who is gone, to still be here. And desperately holding onto those memories after they’ve left. 

The emotional reveal sequence was inspired by The Sixth Sense and Mr Robot. I wanted the audience to also believe that Nelly was there and emotionally shock them with the reality. I repeated scenes of Emma and Nelly together and revealed Emma alone. Nelly was only real in Emma’s mind. She was never there. 

I also played with different hints in the film. A candle – representing the loss of Nelly – is in shot for most scenes. Emma calls Nelly from the bath for a towel. But it drops into frame from the door. Nelly’s clothes never change as that’s how Emma last remembers her. And Nelly is never in shot on her own. As she only exists when Emma is there. 

-Which Director inspires you the most?

I am hugely inspired by Chloé Zhao and her visually and emotionally beautiful storytelling. I connected deeply with the intense emotion of “Hamnet” and the quiet poignancy of “Nomadland”, which both explore very human themes of loss and grief, similarly explored in my own work. She brings the actor’s truth into the story. Which is a method I resonate with and used to create “Emma”.  I learned what was true to my actors; how they deal with loss, what they would say or wear, to create characters they could connect with. Through learning who they are and bringing them into the story, I found that both actors shared the same favourite song, creating a heartwarming moment of singing and dance in the film. 

To see Zhao, a woman storyteller and director create powerful work in cinema, and become the first woman of colour and the second woman in history to win the Academy Award for Directing, gives me – a woman of Asian heritage – the courage, fire and belief that it is possible for women like us to tell our stories and be recognised for it. I feel female voices are often overlooked, overshadowed and have a tougher fight for being seen. In “Nomadland”, Zhao gave voice to an older woman’s story – another rarely seen perspective on screen – and showed the power of slow, tender, reflective cinema. 

-What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?

I dislike all the harm and suffering caused by a patriarchal society on every body across the world. The oppression, toxic culture, dehumanisation and violence, especially towards women and transgender people. Which seeps into our everyday life, cinema, TV, news and social media. I would change society to a matriarchal one. A world with more empathy, peace, and support, with a system that nurtures all people. And then certain dangerous people would not be in power…

-How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?

The huge technological developments over the past 100 years mean cinema could go anywhere in the next 100. It saddens me, but I imagine cinema will be lazy for short attention spans and AI ridden. However, I believe the power of human storytelling will always survive, as that is how we truly connect to one another. Through our human creativity, experiences and emotions. 

The accessibility and affordability of some technology has also meant that anyone can be a filmmaker. So, I hope the stories platformed in the industry will become more inclusive of marginalised voices. As I, quite frankly, am tired of the same narratives and remakes. Some of the most brilliant stories come from the most unexpected voices. 

-What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?

It is an amazing and important platform that gives a voice to filmmakers and provides an opportunity for them to be recognised and share their work. I appreciate the care and consideration for showcasing different artistic perspectives. It is wonderful to have this space in an industry where there is little support and platforms for independent filmmakers. Through WILD FILMMAKER we can continue to re-discover the art of cinema – through the eyes of different storytellers. 

“Between Being and Becoming” (EXCLUSIVE) Interview with Ehsan Aslani

-Who is Ehsan Aslani?

Ehsan Aslani is a filmmaker, director, and visual storyteller whose work has always been driven by curiosity about people, identity, and the invisible forces that shape our lives.

Academically, I hold a Master’s degree in Architecture, which I studied in Iran, and a Bachelor’s degree in Cinema, which I studied in France. These two disciplines have profoundly shaped the way I see: architecture taught me to understand space, proportion, structure, light, and form, while cinema gave me a language through which those elements could become emotion, time, and human experience.

My background has taken me through architecture, television, documentary, broadcast production, education, and digital media. These different worlds have shaped the way I look at cinema. Architecture taught me to think about space, proportion, light, and silence. Television taught me discipline and immediacy. Documentary taught me to observe. And cinema taught me that sometimes the most important things are precisely those that cannot be explained directly.

But beyond titles, professions, or disciplines, I am, above all, a lived experience carrying millions of questions and constantly searching for answers.

If I had to define myself, I would probably say that I am a seeker: someone in pursuit of meaning, of answers, and of what exists beneath the visible surface of things.

I did not exactly choose cinema. In many ways, cinema chose me, and I had little choice but to accept it. And perhaps there could have been no better language for me than the image.

I often say that there are places in life that no word can reach. Moments when language becomes insufficient and we fall into silence. Sometimes even movement itself freezes within the passage of time. Perspective breaks apart, and everything begins to speak through form, surface, light, shape, and presence.

That is where I exist.

That is where cinema and I meet.

Beneath all of my experiences, the same search has always remained: to understand people, time, memory, identity, and the invisible forces that shape our lives.

Today, I see myself less as someone who simply makes films and more as someone who uses images, sound, time, and human presence to explore questions.

So, who is Ehsan Aslani?

A person still searching, still questioning, still becoming and someone who found in cinema the closest possible language to what words could never fully express.

Tell us about your project Between Being and Becoming?

Between Being and Becoming is a cinematic documentary about Habitat 67 in Montreal and, more specifically, about what we still do not know about it.

I have spent almost ten years researching this project. It has become far more than a film idea for me; in many ways, it is the point where my two worlds architecture and cinema finally converge.

The film begins with the extraordinary ideas of Moshe Safdie, the architect who conceived Habitat 67, but it does not stop at the iconic image of the building that most people already know. I want to explore the entire journey: from the original vision and theoretical principles, to the process of realization, and finally to the reality of what Habitat 67 has become after decades of being lived in.

There is a fascinating distance between what was imagined, what was built, and what ultimately became. And this distance is exactly where the title Between Being and Becoming comes from.

Safdie established extraordinary architectural principles ideas about density, individuality, community, light, privacy, gardens, and a different possibility for urban living. On the theoretical level, many of these ideas were remarkable. But architecture does not exist only in theory. Once architecture enters the real world, it encounters culture, climate, urban context, economics, human behaviour, political decisions, interventions, time, and everyday life.

And this is where the film begins its real investigation.

I don’t want simply to photograph Habitat 67 from the outside. We have already seen those images thousands of times. I want to understand what it means to live inside an architectural idea.

For that reason, one of the essential conditions for making this film properly would be to have access to a unit inside Habitat 67 for a period of time. I want the camera to experience daily life there morning light, silence, movement, neighbours, interior and exterior spaces, seasons, private life, communal life. Only then can we begin to understand the distance between architectural theory and lived experience.

My ten years of research have produced an enormous archive of ideas, questions, documents, observations and connections. I sometimes think of that research as a locked treasure. The material is there; the door simply needs to be opened through cinema.

But this is also an ambitious film, and ambition in cinema requires more than enthusiasm.

I am waiting for the opportunity to work with a strong Canadian or Quebec producer who genuinely understands architecture, urbanism and cinema someone who understands both cinematic technique and architectural thought, who knows why this film requires a serious production approach, where the investment needs to go, and also understands the extraordinary cultural and international potential of such a project.

For me, this film represents a kind of personal debt to both architecture and cinema.

I want it to be a dignified, thoughtful and enduring work of cinema not only a film for festivals or theatrical audiences, but something that could eventually live within universities, schools of architecture, cultural institutions, cinematheques, archives, and organizations dedicated to the preservation and understanding of modern heritage.

It is probably the film I most deeply wish to make.

There are significant obstacles between the project and its realization, and I know that I cannot cross all of them alone. It needs a producer who understands Quebec beyond its surface, who understands the cultural significance of Habitat 67, and who is willing to explore this extraordinary subject with me rather than simply package it.

Perhaps speaking about it here, through wild filmmaker, can help the project find the right person.

Perhaps this interview becomes the starting point.

Perhaps not.

But cinema has taught me that sometimes the most important journeys begin with something very small: an image, a question, a conversation or simply someone, somewhere, deciding to listen.

-Which Director inspires you the most?

It is very difficult for me to answer this with a single name.

Personally, I have a deep affection for Buster Keaton and Rainer Werner Fassbinder and I mean Fassbinder, of course, not Werner Herzog. Fassbinder is probably one of the filmmakers closest to me emotionally.

At the same time, I cannot speak about my own understanding of cinematic narrative without mentioning Abbas Kiarostami, who was my teacher and had a profound influence on the way I learned to look at storytelling, reality, silence, and the relationship between cinema and life.

But then, how can one speak about cinema and forget Last Year at Marienbad? How can I ignore Theo Angelopoulos, Sergei Parajanov, or Akira Kurosawa?

And even that would still be incomplete.

Can we really speak about cinema while overlooking Indian cinema? Chinese cinema? Soviet cinema? Vietnamese cinema? Turkish cinema? Nigerian cinema? Of course not.

They are all extraordinary in completely different ways.

So perhaps the most accurate answer is this:

Cinema itself inspires me more than any single filmmaker.

I have spent my life watching films from different countries, periods, cultures, and cinematic traditions. Every serious encounter with cinema has added something to the way I see.

Some filmmakers taught me rhythm. Some taught me silence. Some taught me framing, duration, movement, absurdity, politics, poetry, or simply how to look at a human face.

I do not want to belong to one cinematic school or imitate one master.

For me, cinema is an enormous collective memory created by thousands of filmmakers across the world.

And that entire memory inspires me.

-What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?

To be honest, the world feels very dark at the moment at least my world does.

I am not a particularly charming person. I am probably too serious, a little repellent, sometimes boring, and, like my films, rather dark. But perhaps that darkness does not come entirely from me. Perhaps it comes from the world I have experienced.

And this is exactly why I have difficulty with the question.

I am not sure there is such a thing as one world.

Each of us lives in a slightly different one, built from our memories, our upbringing, our fears, our education, our culture, our failures, our privileges, and the accidents that happened to us along the way. So when we ask, “What do you dislike about the world?”, we are already pretending that we are all standing inside the same reality.

We are not.

What I certainly dislike in some people’s worlds is a certain combination of arrogance, stupidity, and fundamentalism that wonderful human tendency to become absolutely certain about things we barely understand, and then to reorganize everybody else’s life accordingly. History has demonstrated the results rather efficiently.

But even here there is a problem.

Imagine that every one of us were suddenly given the power to keep everything we like about the world and delete everything we dislike. Within twenty-four hours, we would probably create an unbelievable catastrophe.

Because perhaps you are exactly the thing someone else would like to delete.

So what do you do then?

This is why, with respect to the question, I am not sure I want the power to change the world. That sounds dangerously close to the beginning of every bad utopia.

What we can probably change is much smaller and much less glamorous: ourselves, our behaviour, and perhaps the tiny circle of influence around us.

That may sound disappointingly modest, but we are modest creatures.

We appear for a very short time on a very small planet, make an extraordinary amount of noise, develop extremely confident opinions about everything, and then disappear.

So perhaps the first thing I would change about the world is our obsession with changing the world.

Maybe we could begin by becoming slightly less certain, slightly less arrogant, and slightly more curious about the reality of the person standing next to us.

Let us remain humble, my friend.

The universe will probably survive without our management.

-How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?

I don’t know. I don’t even know what tomorrow will look like, so I would have to be wonderfully naïve to tell you what cinema will look like in a hundred years.

The speed of change is enormous. Human beings have changed, machines have changed, the way we live has changed, and almost everything around us is radically different from what it was a century ago.

So, no I really don’t know.

Maybe in a hundred years cinema will be called “sausage,” and sausage will be called “school.” Why not? We already live in a world full of arbitrary structures, labels, and conventions that we treat as if they were eternal truths.

Much of the world we live in is shaped by systems, agreements, markets, and formulas created by people with power and money, and then the rest of us learn to live inside those formulas as though they were natural laws.

So perhaps instead of predicting what cinema will become, I can say what I hope it becomes.

I hope cinema can move toward a place where it no longer needs to obey somebody else’s formula.

Where the filmmaker is not constantly calculating what the market wants, what the algorithm wants, what the platform wants, or what a committee believes an audience should want.

I would love cinema to rediscover its own formula a formula born from the mind of a human being in the purest possible sense.

Not pure because that person is innocent or perfect, but because, for a moment, the image comes before the market, the question comes before the answer, and creation comes before calculation.

Maybe cinema in a hundred years will be completely unrecognizable.

I just hope there will still be a human being somewhere behind it, looking at the world and saying:

This is how I see it.

-What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?

To be honest, I have only recently become familiar with WILD FILMMAKER.

But I believe that any organization that is genuinely faithful to what it claims to represent will naturally attract independent artists. Independence is built on trust, and trust begins when words and actions remain close to one another. From what I have seen so far, I have had that impression of WILD FILMMAKER, and I congratulate you for it.

I would genuinely like to learn more about your work, your practical activities, and especially the ways in which you support independent filmmakers. These kinds of platforms are valuable because independent cinema often needs precisely this: visibility, connection, dialogue, and people willing to take filmmakers seriously outside the usual commercial structures.

Of course, supporting independent cinema may not always be the easiest or most immediately profitable path. But with the right structure, community, and long-term vision, I believe cultural value and sustainability do not necessarily have to oppose one another.

I am very happy to have had this conversation with you, and I sincerely appreciate the invitation and the opportunity to share some of my thoughts.

Thank you, humbly, for having me.

Cheers!

Indie Oscar – Director’s Cut (EXCLUSIVE) Inteview with Vivian Tsang

In your opinion, what is the relationship between cinema and truth?

The relationship between cinema and truth is fundamentally a delicate balancing act. Achieving the proper harmony between artistic film elements and authentic reality is especially difficult in documentary and live-action filmmaking. Behind the scenes, prioritizing truth over cinema is considered the necessary and right approach.

However, the nature of this relationship shifts significantly when creative considerations come into play. Creativity allows for the development of distinct stylistic elements within a film. Because different film genres—such as science fiction, drama, action, and romance—require their own unique styles and artistic tastes, the way cinema and truth are measured and valued ultimately varies from one category to another.   

What kind of change do you hope to inspire in someone who experiences your art?

I want my art to awaken curiosity and open up new pathways of exploration. My goal is not to define a specific realization or reflection, but to inspire the viewer’s imagination so they can develop their own ideas. Because everyone brings their own unique background and perspective, I choose not to set boundaries around how my work should be understood. Through my short documentary, I invite audiences to embrace a more poetic and artistic lens, remaining fully open to all reactions—including rejection—as a means to evolve and refine my creative practice.

What does the word future mean to you?

Future introduces new fashion, technology, ideas, and concepts, creating things that have never been used before or significantly improving existing ones. It covers both digital and traditional mediums, evolving traditional art into entirely new forms. A leading example is AI filmmaking, which represents a forward-looking approach to cinema. This developing digital medium has the potential to become widely adopted, fundamentally shaping how we perceive and experience art in a modern creative landscape.

Briefly describe your creative process. How do you select the ideas that eventually become a screenplay?

The process begins by gathering inspiration from artistic mediums, past projects, and real-life experiences, after which a single raw concept is selected and expanded using targeted interviews to uncover fresh angles. Once a foundation is set, the project’s feasibility is evaluated against team size, timeline, and available resources, concluding with test footage experiments to determine if the idea can be developed into a full documentary screenplay.

To select and turn an idea into a finished screenplay, you must first evaluate whether its central concept has enough power to carry a full feature, weighing practical constraints like budget, size, and writing timeline. Once confirmed through feedback from industry professionals, trim the story down into a sharp logline to test its main narrative drive. From there, use pitch materials to attach key talent or interviewees, write the full script, and transition into pre-production planning—bringing on external collaborators whenever specialized legal, financial, or technical help is required.