I believe that expectations are detrimental in the artistic field. Obviously, it is necessary to plan a project well so as not to get lost along the way, but I am convinced that the various solutions always come at the right time.
– What projects are you currently working on?
I always have lots of ideas in my head, and very often they are diametrically opposed to each other. I really like this because it keeps my interest alive in anything that can be a creative stimulus. The unexpected is my idea of a project.
– What would you ask event organizers in the film industry to do in order to support the creativity of highly talented independent artists like yourself?
I would ask them not to have expectations (referring back to the first question) so that they always remain open to the unexpected.
– What vision or desire currently guides your artistic choices?
Work through images and sounds. Cinema should be primarily this and not focus mainly on the story and the linear development of the plot. The image should guide the viewer in discovering parts of themselves that they may never have explored. I believe that the future of independent cinema will move in this direction.
As I look ahead to 2026, my main aim is to secure funding for my original scripts. I am hopeful that either a top-tier celebrity might come across my work and feel inspired to support the projects, or that a seasoned film executive producer will genuinely reach out to me and my company to discuss potential collaboration to bring my films to life.
To increase the visibility of my scripts, I am actively submitting to various film festivals and screenplay competitions, as well as using platforms like InkTip to showcase my work. I firmly believe that participating in these festivals will help my scripts gain the recognition they deserve.
Living in Los Angeles, I am often told I have an advantage as a screenwriter because of the creative landscape here. However, the reality is that many aspiring writers flood this market, and the challenge lies in making the right connections with industry professionals who have the influence and resources to help bring projects to fruition. Networking in this environment has been quite challenging, and I have faced significant difficulties in reaching key individuals who can support my work.
To this end, my publicist has worked tirelessly to send my pitch decks and press kits to a wide range of industry figures, including notable names such as Rae Sanchini, Noah Baumbach, Lawrence Bender, Sarah Bradshaw, Don Hahn, Michael Fottrell, David Streit, Kathryn Busby, Jay Leno, Mark Cuban, Francis Ford Coppola, Martin Scorsese, Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie, Jennifer Aniston, Richard Bronson, Ridley Scott, and many others. I hope this outreach will lead to fruitful conversations and potential collaborations.
Furthermore, my entertainment attorney has shared my press kit, scripts, synopses, and loglines with prominent agents and executives including Angie Lucania, Sean Dubravac, Jack Whigham, Steve Levine, Brian Lourd, Ariel Emanuel, Wyatt Dillion, Patrick Whitesell, Mcall Koenig, Dan Aloni, Boomer Malkin, Connor Armstrong, and Amanda Hacohen, among others. I genuinely believe that any of these talented individuals could play a vital role in helping me secure funding or support for my upcoming projects.
What projects are you currently working on?
My ongoing projects include The Hallmark Couple, Only In Malibu, Gold Glory & Nobility, and my latest script, Malibu Madam, which I completed earlier this year.
The Hallmark Couple is a biographical drama exploring the notorious relationship between Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell. This narrative compellingly unpacks how these two individuals transitioned from lovers to co-conspirators in a web of deceit, greed, and exploitation. As we follow their toxic romance and tragic downfall, I aim to highlight the wider implications of their actions on society.
Switching gears, Gold Glory & Nobility transports viewers into a fantastical world where a queen named Mirage, cursed for her selfishness, undergoes a transformation from regal figure to a mere relic of the past. The story unfolds through the eyes of a determined ballerina named Sherri, who, alongside her eclectic companions, encounters enchanting sirens, greedy enchantresses, and monstrous challenges. This adventure intertwines magic and mortality, illustrating that nobility isn’t solely about lineage but also about the choices we make.
Moving into drama, Only In Malibu reveals the glamorous yet dangerous world of love and ambition. Lilith, a District Attorney, finds herself caught in a perilous love triangle with Mark and his brother Jimmy. As both men delve deeper into her life, things take a darker turn, culminating in a haunting conclusion that explores the costs of desire and ambition in a superficial society.
Finally, Malibu Madam tells the story of Olivia, a spirited young woman with dreams larger than her circumstances. Through creating an elite escort service, Olivia and her companions navigate the complexities of societal expectations, female empowerment, and friendship. Over time, Olivia’s journey evolves from escorting to screenwriting, illustrating how success can be achieved in both personal and professional realms.
I believe each of these scripts offers compelling stories ripe for screen adaptation, reflecting contemporary societal issues alongside timeless human dilemmas. I am enthusiastic about their potential and would love to explore support in bringing these stories to life—whether through funding, connections, or industry referrals.
What would you ask event organisers in the film industry to do to support the creativity of highly talented independent artists like yourself?
The landscape of the film and television industry is incredibly competitive, and the success of a script often hinges not just on its content, but on the willingness of others to share and advocate for it. Having been fortunate enough to create a body of work that I believe resonates with audiences, I am eager to amplify its visibility and reach a wider audience. It would mean a great deal to me if event organisers could help in promoting my scripts through the appropriate channels.
Here are a few ways that support could make a meaningful difference:
Promotion via Networks: To share my scripts within network through newsletters, social media, or websites, it would significantly help in raising awareness. I believe that the more people who hear about my work, the more opportunities will arise.
Press Coverage: Any press coverage or features you can provide would be invaluable. Positive press not only increases visibility but also lends credibility to my work, encouraging others in the industry to take a closer look.
Industry Referrals: Connections and relationships with producers, directors, or agents interested in my scripts,referrals would be extremely beneficial. Even a warm introduction can open doors to exciting opportunities.
What vision or desire currently guides your artistic choices?
As a storyteller, I believe every experience, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, plays a crucial role in shaping my understanding of the world and influences my writing. Life is a continuous tapestry of moments, emotions, and lessons that serve as a wellspring of inspiration. The joys, challenges, and transformations I’ve encountered have all found their way into my work, allowing me to craft narratives that resonate more deeply with audiences.
Over the years, I have realised that my own experiences provide rich material for characters and plots. Whether it’s the exuberance of childhood or the complexities of adult relationships, I draw upon the nuances of my life to create authentic and relatable stories. When writing for children, I particularly aim to capture their sense of wonder and imagination. My goal is to evoke the same joy and curiosity I felt as a child, fostering connection and understanding.
Writing screenplays involves translating emotions into a visual medium, which presents its own challenges and rewards. Through film, I aim to portray universal themes that connect people from various backgrounds and walks of life. Understanding the profound struggles and triumphs we all face allows me to craft stories that entertain while also inspiring reflection and discussion.
A key life experience I draw from is the transformative power of storytelling itself. I have seen how stories can bring people together, foster empathy, and offer solace. As a children’s author, I cherish the moments I can introduce young readers to new worlds and ideas through words. I believe stories can empower children, ignite their imaginations, and encourage them to see beyond their immediate realities.
My background has also shaped my perspective on diverse experiences. I strive to include varied voices and perspectives in my work, as I believe representation is crucial in creating an inclusive literary landscape. Each character I develop and story I craft reflects the richness and diversity of life. By sharing these stories, I hope to promote greater understanding of our shared humanity.
In conclusion, my life experiences are the guiding force behind my artistic vision. They deepen my writing and help me create stories that are authentic and meaningful. Through my work as a screenwriter and author, I aim to explore the complexities of the human experience, to connect, educate, and inspire viewers and readers alike.
Five years ago, when the WILD FILMMAKER adventure began, I wrote down a list of names of cinema personalities I hoped to interview one day. At the very top of the list of film critics was Serge Toubiana, for the joy I felt reading the biography of François Truffaut he co-wrote with Antoine de Baecque.
Today is a special day for the WILD FILMMAKER Community, whose mission, beyond discovering independent filmmakers from all over the world, has always been to help preserve the memory of cinema history. For me, it’s a dream come true to welcome to the WILD FILMMAKER Community Monsieur Cinéma himself, Serge Toubiana!
Who is Serge Toubiana?
I am a former film critic (for Cahiers du Cinéma, from 1974 to 2000). I was the Director of the Cinémathèque Française (from 2003 to 2015), and the author of numerous radio programs on cinema (for France Culture). I have also directed a few documentary films (on François Truffaut, Isabelle Huppert, Amos Gitai, Gérard Depardieu) and written several books: a biography of François Truffaut co-written with Antoine de Baecque (1996, Gallimard), a book on Yasujiro Ozu co-written with the novelist Nathalie Azoulai — Ozu et nous (2021, Arléa), and other works such as Maurice Pialat, Les fantômes du souvenir (2016, Grasset), L’Amie américaine (about Helen Scott, 2020, Stock), Les bouées jaunes (2018, Stock), the correspondence between François Truffaut and Helen Scott (1960–1965) — Mon petit Truffe, ma grande Scottie (2023, Denoël), Le fils de la maîtresse (2022, Arléa), and most recently On ne connaît du film que la scène des adieux (2025, Calmann-Lévy).
The biography of François Truffaut, which you wrote with Antoine de Baecque, deeply fascinated me. What does the filmography of the director of The 400 Blows represent to you?
François Truffaut is a filmmaker I discovered during my adolescence in Grenoble, where my family lived in the 1960s. I discovered his films (Stolen Kisses, Bed and Board, Two English Girls and the Continent, etc.) at the same time as those of Jean-Luc Godard (Pierrot le Fou, Masculin Féminin, Two or Three Things I Know About Her, La Chinoise, etc.). My feelings were mixed: with Truffaut, I felt that his films contributed to my emotional education especially through the character of Antoine Doinel, played brilliantly by Jean-Pierre Léaud, while with Godard, his work shaped my political and artistic education. The combination of the two was immensely stimulating for me.
In the early 1970s, I moved to Paris to study cinema at Censier–Paris 3, where Cahiers du Cinéma critics (Serge Daney, Pascal Bonitzer, Pascal Kané, Jacques Aumont) were teaching. I began writing for the magazine during its politically engaged period (1972–1974), when it was openly Marxist-Leninist and enthusiastic about the Chinese Cultural Revolution. It wasn’t the best period in its history, but I learned a lot — especially from Serge Daney, who became my mentor.
In 1974, Daney took over the magazine to steer it back on track, breaking away from ideological dogmatism. I helped him as his assistant or deputy. In 1975, I convinced him to reconcile Cahiers du Cinéma with François Truffaut, with whom the magazine had fallen out — his films were no longer covered. We met Truffaut at his office at Les Films du Carrosse, and that meeting was decisive for me. From then on, I worked to restore the relationship between Truffaut and Cahiers du Cinéma, which I eventually succeeded in doing, as evidenced by the long interview the filmmaker gave the magazine in June 1980.
A lasting relationship and deep fascination grew from there for a man who was both secretive and generous. His death in October 1984 was a terrible shock to cinephiles worldwide. I felt as though a life and a body of work had been cut short and as though I had lost someone essential. Since his death, I have constantly sought to fill that void, that absence, that mourning. That’s why I wanted to write his biography. Antoine de Baecque had the same project, and in 1993 we decided to combine our efforts. It was published in 1996 by Gallimard and translated into many languages. It was a monumental task, based on a deep analysis of his work and his archives. Truffaut kept everything, which helped enormously. But one also had to possess an intimate understanding of his work, his family story, and his inner world.
Some filmmakers, rarely mentioned today, were nevertheless crucial to the evolution of cinema. One of them is Jean Vigo. Do you think it is possible today to renew the storytelling of past cinema to bring younger audiences closer to film history?
I’ll answer this question by connecting it to your previous one: François Truffaut was a passionate admirer of Jean Vigo. This is evident in the recurring presence of Jean Dasté, an actor from Zero for Conduct and L’Atalante, in several of Truffaut’s films — The Wild Child, The Green Room, The Man Who Loved Women.
Having directed the Cinémathèque Française for about a dozen years (2003–2015), I believe it is both necessary and vital to screen films from the past, such as those by Vigo, in the best possible conditions, with restored copies, to introduce them to younger audiences. Today, there is a genuine enthusiasm for heritage cinema, both in cinematheques and festivals, such as the Cannes Film Festival’s “Cannes Classics” section , as well as on cinephile streaming platforms.
We are fortunate in France to have this culture and passion for classic cinema from around the world, and to live within a dynamic and vibrant cinephile tradition.
With artificial intelligence, Orson Welles’ “The Magnificent Ambersons” is being restored. What is your opinion on cinema’s embrace of AI?
I tend to be wary of this obsession with “retouching”, re-editing or altering films, especially when the original authors are no longer alive. It’s crucial to preserve the integrity of the works their duration, format, and artistic truth.
I am convinced that Artificial Intelligence will profoundly transform our lives on every level: health, behavior, lifestyle, systems of representation, even our literary and artistic passions. But we must be careful never to “tamper” with the truths of the past.
World cinema today seems unable to renew itself aesthetically: we are overwhelmed by remakes and films that endlessly reference the classics. Do you think this reflects a lack of courage from filmmakers, or is the industry simply uninterested in promoting experimentation?
I don’t need to draw you a picture you can see, as I do, that the world is in full transition. We don’t really know where it’s all heading, which breeds anxiety. Young people live with this anxiety in their own way in a kind of collective headlong rush. Can we really blame them? I don’t think so.
Cinema today is not confident enough in its future to be inventive, carefree, or self-assured. Major studios are on edge, fearful of being consumed, as many already have been, by massive digital and industrial conglomerates. Mainstream American cinema survives through its franchises — Disney, Marvel, and the like. Independent cinema survives, but barely.
The only thing that truly interests me are independent filmmakers, those who, in extremely difficult conditions, continue to carve their path on the margins of the system. This is true in America, Europe, and Asia alike. Today, it takes real courage, both artistic and political, to persist and make great films.
I recently saw Richard Linklater’s Nouvelle Vague — twice, in fact — and was amazed by it. It recaptures the youth, irreverence, and creative spirit that Godard and the original Nouvelle Vague had at the start. There’s even a touch of “amateurism” that I find refreshing — a brilliant sense of improvisation, values I believe should be rehabilitated.
Auteur cinema, whether French or otherwise, suffers too often from an “air of seriousness” that makes it neither appealing nor engaging. Only young filmmakers, women and men alike, will be able to reconnect with that spirit, a blend of talent and lightheartedness.
What do you dislike about contemporary cinema, and what would you change?
Cinema has become or seems to have become a grave affair, too serious, perhaps because of the state of the world, the numerous global conflicts, and cultural policies that haven’t evolved in forty years.
As a result, auteur cinema lives on its past achievements, anxious about its future, often defensive, lacking in spontaneity and lightness. One symptom of this is the increasing length of films as if filmmakers (writers and directors) fear being misunderstood, and no longer trust cinema itself, in its very form, to tell their stories. To be continued.
First and foremost, I am a storyteller. I built the academic foundation for this passion in the theatre department of the conservatory, where I completed both my undergraduate and graduate studies. Throughout my career, I have worked as both a writer and a director across a wide spectrum, from the theatre stage to commercial sets, and from the world of animation to cinema. Acting and voice-over work have also been significant parts of this journey. All these different disciplines taught me a fundamental truth about cinema: it is the most powerful storytelling medium. Currently, driven by the belief that I have many more stories to tell, I am preparing two series and a feature film project for 2026.
Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?
For me, that “moment” wasn’t so much a scene on the screen, but rather the captivating ritual that took place in the cinema hall itself. The way people would first come together, queue up, pay a price, and then focus on a giant screen in a collective silence… that whole process has always been incredibly fascinating to me. What I truly admired was this silent agreement. I realized then that if you have a story and you want people to take it seriously and listen to it until the end, two of the most powerful things you can do are to stage a play or make a film. That was the motivation that made me fall in love with both cinema and theatre, and that’s why I’ve done both.
Tell us about your project “Silent Plan”
“Silent Plan” is, at its core, a story about hope and disappointment. The film follows the journey of four deaf youths—Kemal, Mustafa, Asya, and Leyla—who have lived their entire lives dreaming of hearing the voices of their loved ones. Their most precious treasure is the collection of voice recordings they’ve saved over the years, holding onto the hope of one day being able to hear them.
The story begins when they are selected for a revolutionary hearing aid project that promises to make their dream a reality. However, just as everything is about to come true, the corporation behind the project lies to them to cover up a technical flaw, removing them from the project under the pretext that they were “not suitable candidates.” This is, in fact, a metaphor for how the system silently crushes an individual’s hope to protect its own reputation.
The youths don’t surrender to this injustice and devise a plan to secretly use the devices to hear those voices, even if just for a moment. The film’s finale is built on a tragic irony: the first sound they ever hear in their lives is the warning shot of a security guard. The moment they remove the devices in shock, the long-awaited voices of their loved ones begin to play. The voices are now there, but they cannot hear them. The film ends with the image of these four young people, closer to hope than ever before, yet simultaneously forever distant from it.
With “Silent Plan,” my aim was to show the conflict between the promises of technology and the fragility of the human spirit, and to illustrate how a dream can be buried in the silence of the system.
Which director inspires you the most? It’s not just one name that has shaped my vision for the art of cinema; it’s more of a mosaic of directors from different geographies and schools of thought. Christopher Nolan’s genius for complex narratives and Martin Scorsese’s power to project the rawest form of the human soul onto the screen have shown me how far the technical boundaries of storytelling can be pushed.
However, my true inspiration comes from directors beyond the West, those who focus on the most fundamental and universal human emotions. From Iranian cinema, Asghar Farhadi’s ability to create tension from ordinary moral dilemmas and Majid Majidi’s pure and poignant poetry in the simplest of lives have taught me how deep and conscientious an art form cinema can be. And of course, Kim Ki-duk’s courage to avoid dialogue and convey the rawest emotions through the power of silence and visuals has been one of my greatest guides in my own pursuits, particularly in projects like “Silent Plan.”
All of these directors, though they speak in different languages, prove one common thing: cinema is the most universal language invented to understand and portray the human condition.
What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?
What bothers me most about the world is how impatience has become a virtue. We live in an age where we can access everything instantly, but we can’t delve into the depth of anything. We get bored within the first ten minutes of a film, the first thirty seconds of a song. We have become blind to the stories told by the lines on a person’s face or the cracks on the walls of an old building. In short, we skip the stories.
If I had a magical power, this is what I would change: I would give everyone the ability to understand the “backstory” of everything they touch or every person they meet. If you could sit on a park bench and feel the first confession of love made there years ago… If, for just a moment, you could see that the driver honking angrily is actually trying to get to their child in the hospital… That bench would never again be just an “object,” and that driver would never again be just an “obstacle.”
This ability would instantly create empathy, the greatest thing lacking in the world. In fact, cinema is my attempt to use this magical power. Through the camera, I try to show the audience, even if just for two hours, someone else’s story—its depth. Maybe I can’t change the whole world, but if I can change a single person’s perspective for the duration of a film, that is the greatest revolution for me.
How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?
It’s hard to predict what cinema will look like technically in 100 years; perhaps we won’t just watch films—we will “experience” them directly in our minds. Maybe they will evolve into virtual reality adventures where we walk inside the stories.
But what I’m truly curious about is not what the technology will be, but what the soul of cinema will be. I believe that no matter how advanced technology becomes, the fundamental function of cinema will not change; in fact, it will become even more vital: to teach us how to be someone else.
The impatience and superficiality we complain about today might become our greatest humanitarian crisis in 100 years. In a future where everything is personalized and algorithms trap us in our own echo chambers, we will need an art form that forcibly pulls us out of that room and makes us a guest in a complete stranger’s life for two hours—more than ever before.
Perhaps the most revolutionary films in 100 years won’t be the ones with the most expensive effects, but the ones that can make us feel a forgotten emotion—someone else’s pain, joy, or silence—in its purest form. Cinema, as an “empathy machine,” may finally reach its true potential then. In short, the screens, the glasses, or the lenses may change. But our need to gather in a dark room to witness someone else’s dream will never disappear.
What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?
For me, WILD FILMMAKER is not just a magazine, but a community that undertakes a vital mission in today’s cinematic ecosystem. In an era dominated by blockbuster hits and algorithms, the existence of platforms like yours that create space for independent, personal, and artistic voices is like a lighthouse.
Arthouse cinema consists of films that show the courage to tell that “backstory” I mentioned earlier. WILD FILMMAKER is a meeting point where these brave stories find each other. That’s why I find the word “WILD” in your name so meaningful; because these films are the authentic and untamed spirits that the industry cannot domesticate. I am honored that you have featured my own story on such a valuable platform.
I am a London-based screenwriter working primarily on comedy feature films.
Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?
I remember watching the James Bond film Live and Let Die with my father when I was probably a bit too young, and appreciating the combination of the images and music onscreen more than the story which I didn’t really understand. Several years later, I tried to replicate this experience by watching The Matrix and it didn’t work.
Tell us about your project “Stephanie Dellacosta”.
Stephanie Dellacostais a romantic comedy feature film which tells the story of Ian Pandourian, a 37-year-old single psychotherapist who is shocked to discover that a classmate he once took on a date twenty years ago is now a Best Actress Oscar nominee. Desperate to resurrect his flagging self-esteem, he engineers a complex plan to meet her again, only to find that she is trapped by the claustrophobia of Hollywood superficiality and desperately seeking authentic romantic connection. The script was recently a Finalist at the Nashville Film Festival 2025 as well as winning awards in Cannes, New York, Oxford and London.
Which Director inspires you the most?
I have a long-standing admiration for Woody Allen, particularly the way he integrates philosophy into his screenplays and his portrayal of the complexities of human connection onscreen. I’m also a big fan of Argentine cinema, especially the films of Gastón Duprat, Mariano Cohn and the late Fabián Bielinksy whose film Nueve Reinas is one of my all-time favourites.
What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?
I’m not particularly fond of shakshuka and would change its new-found prominence on our breakfast menus.
How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?
Real life and cinema will have merged into one and probably be administered by the Chinese.
I am Indrajit Das — an independent filmmaker, photographer, heritage and travel blogger, and lifelong learner from Kolkata, India, currently living and working in Australia.
My creative path didn’t begin with formal training or access to big studios. It began with a simple camera, a deep curiosity, and a quiet urge to observe the forgotten corners of life. Over the years, I’ve made films like Akhrot and Fag End, which reflect my exploration of human emotion — often portraying the subtle pain and fleeting beauty hidden in everyday experiences.
Beyond filmmaking, I’ve been deeply committed to the free knowledge movement. I’ve contributed extensively to Wikipedia and Wikimedia projects, including organizing community outreach events and photographing historical monuments — trying, in my own small way, to preserve stories that might otherwise be lost. I’ve also written articles for various Bengali little magazines, focusing on heritage and travel.
In everything I do — whether through cinema, photography, or writing — I try to document life with sincerity. I believe in storytelling not as performance, but as remembrance.
Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?
It’s hard to pinpoint a single moment, but I believe the seeds were sown in my childhood. My mother had a deep love for music and cinema, and my father was passionate about amateur photography. Looking back, it’s possible that I inherited both the sensitivity of storytelling and the visual curiosity from them.
During my college days, I became more consciously drawn to world cinema — watching Russian, Polish, Iranian, and Japanese films. I was fascinated by how filmmakers from different cultures expressed silence, sorrow, or resistance with such unique language and restraint.
But it was Krzysztof Kieślowski’s Amator (Camera Buff) that truly moved something within me. That film didn’t just inspire me — it gave me a sense of permission, like I too could pick up a camera and try. That was the turning point. I started experimenting with my small 8mm video camera, making films simply because I felt compelled to.
Tell us about your project “Fag End”
Fag End: Story of a Smokey Womb is a deeply personal and metaphorical journey into the silent devastation of addiction and the fragile hope of motherhood.
At its core, the film follows Tania — a woman wrapped in layers of cigarette smoke, alcohol haze, and the haunting echoes of past choices. Her story unfolds not in loud dramatics, but in quiet despair, as she dares to dream of rebirth through IVF. Based on a true story, this narrative stirred something deep within me — the kind of truth that demanded to be told with restraint, respect, and rawness.
Tania’s path is riddled with inner conflict. Her pursuit of motherhood is a form of redemption — an attempt to reclaim her body, her choices, her future. But the scars of addiction are not just physical. They cling to memory, to guilt, to grief. When she momentarily relapses, the consequences are devastating — a miscarriage that leaves her standing at the edge of emotional ruin.
The title Fag End itself is a metaphor — not just for the literal end of a cigarette, but for the frayed edges of life, the burnt-out remains of hope, and the quiet dignity of those who continue despite the ashes.
With very limited resources and a handful of passionate collaborators, I set out to translate this deeply internal story into a visual language — one that leans into silence, minimalism, and emotional realism. It was more than just a project — it was a quiet commitment to honesty, to nuance, and to portraying the often-overlooked emotional interior of someone surviving on the edge.
The film doesn’t preach. It reflects the resilience of the human spirit and the complexity of redemption. Fag End is now streaming on CPICS.TV.
Which Director inspires you the most?
There are many filmmakers whose work has shaped the way I see cinema — but Krzysztof Kieślowski remains closest to my heart.
His films taught me that silence can be as powerful as dialogue, and that cinema doesn’t always need to show — it can suggest, whisper, and reflect. Amator (Camera Buff), in particular, felt like a personal awakening. It didn’t just inspire me to make films — it gave me permission to be vulnerable through the camera.
Alongside Kieślowski, I deeply admire directors like Mohsen Makhmalbaf, Majid Majidi, and Andrei Tarkovsky, whose works explore inner worlds and spiritual questions with poetic realism. Akira Kurosawa’s humanism and mastery of form, Ingmar Bergman’s emotional intensity, and Ritwik Ghatak’s raw expression of partition and pain — all have left lasting impressions on me.
I also love the bold visual storytelling of Aleksandr Petrov, the narrative tension of Alfred Hitchcock, and the profound humanity of Charlie Chaplin, whose silent films still move me deeply.
Each of these filmmakers reminds me that cinema is not just entertainment — it is empathy, memory, and philosophy in motion. I don’t try to imitate them, but I do carry their spirit into my own quiet attempts at storytelling.
What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?
I believe the world, in its essence, is beautiful.
The rhythm of waves, the hum of forests, the laughter of children, the quiet dignity of everyday people — these are not illusions. They’re real, and they remind us what’s worth preserving.
What disturbs me deeply, even in an age when we call ourselves “civilised,” is that wars are still waged — not only with guns, but with greed, ego, and systematic indifference. The pursuit of unchecked control often overshadows empathy, and that has led humanity down dark alleys of destruction. The scars of war, the erosion of nature, the discrimination that poisons minds and divides hearts — these aren’t just political failures; they’re failures of imagination, of compassion.
Hunger still exists in a world of excess. Inequality widens. I want equality for every human being — regardless of caste, creed, colour, class, or identity. Equality is not a utopia, it’s a basic need. A more just, compassionate world is possible only when dignity isn’t a privilege, but a right shared by all.
If I could change anything, I’d start by rekindling the soul of empathy — where leadership is about care, not control. A world where we pause to understand, not just react. A world where kindness isn’t revolutionary, but routine.
John Lennon’s song “Imagine” has always haunted and inspired me. Especially the line:
“Imagine all the people / Living life in peace…”
It’s more than an anthem. It’s a mirror. It’s the will to imagine better.
And as he sang:
“You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.”
I carry that line not just in my mind, but in the way I choose to make films, tell stories, and exist. Because to imagine is the first act of building a different world.
How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?
I have always believed that art — in any form — holds up a mirror to society. And among all art forms, cinema is one of the most powerful and democratic. It doesn’t just entertain; it influences, documents, and inspires. It reaches people across boundaries of language, class, and geography.
In the next 100 years, I imagine cinema will evolve in astonishing ways — through immersive technologies, virtual storytelling spaces, and even AI-driven narratives. But beyond technological leaps, I hope cinema continues to challenge conventions, open hearts, and ask difficult questions. In my view, art must remain a tool of reflection and transformation.
I believe cinema will become more open, more inclusive, and braver in its thinking. The audio-visual medium will continue to shape public imagination, and its responsibility as a mirror to society will grow even stronger.
What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?
Wild Filmmaker has carved out a unique space in the global arthouse community — one that feels genuinely inclusive and open to voices from across the world. In an industry that often feels dominated by gatekeepers and commercial metrics, Wild Filmmaker provides a refreshing alternative — a space where sincerity, independent thought, and experimental vision are truly celebrated.
I deeply appreciate how the platform amplifies lesser-known voices, especially from regions and cultures that are often underrepresented in global cinema discussions.
To be featured here is a privilege. It affirms that even modestly made; emotionally honest films have their place in the global conversation. Wild Filmmaker doesn’t just honour cinema — it honours the spirit of those who dare to make it, against all odds.
I’m a playwright, screenwriter, and producer. A former primary school teacher, my journey into playwriting began in the classroom—writing for theatre-in-education and later for arts and health. Trading as Centre Stage Scripts, I write heartfelt plays and screenplays that educate, elevate and engage audiences.
My creative practice explores themes of resilience, connection, and social awareness, with a special focus on regional communities. Since 2011, I’ve specialised in writing touring plays for suicide prevention and mental health awareness. One such work, Carpe Diem, toured Australia for a decade (2015–2024) in partnership with leading organisations including Lifeline, PHN, Carers NSW, RAMPH, StandBy, and Headspace. The play was performed in cities and small rural towns, earning a NSW Government Partnership Award in 2016 for its positive community impact.
My youth mental health play The Rain Maker also toured nationally. During the pandemic, I adapted it into a 36-minute film—The Rain Maker Film—which now serves as a valuable wellbeing resource for high school students.
In 2025, I completed Lighthouse Radio, a socially charged stage drama exploring domestic violence, intergenerational trauma, resilience and the radical act of bearing witness. Touring is planned for 2026.
I live on a cattle ranch in the Australian Alps with my husband and our pets, while our adult children are based in Melbourne and nearby.
Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema? I’ve always loved film, theatre, and acting. My parents met in the theatre in Perth, Western Australia, and my father—now 95—still recites pages of Shakespeare’s sonnets and soliloquies from memory.
My earliest cinematic memory is seeing Mary Poppins and Camelot with Vanessa Redgrave and Richard Harris. I went with my aunt, who adored musicals and romantic leads—Franco Nero as Lancelot was her crush for years! I was completely swept away by the music, romance, drama and her sheer enthusiasm. That moment sparked a lifelong love of storytelling.
Tell us about your project “Days Like These.“ Days Like These is a screenplay adapted from my stage play Carpe Diem. Both share an important message about mental health, friendship, and resilience. It’s a heartwarming rural dramedy about two lifelong mates, a struggling farming town, and the surprising power of friendship, therapy, and dance to save lives.
The screenplay has earned international recognition, including:
Best Female Screenwriter – New York Screenplay Competition (2024)
Best Australian Script – Best Script Awards, London (2022)
Finalist – Melbourne International Screenplay Awards (2025)
Which director inspires you the most? There are many. I appreciate intelligent human dramas, exceptional acting and beautiful cinematography. Clint Eastwood continues to inspire and Sydney Pollack’s Out of Africa is a master class. I love films that champion a cause, demonstrating the frailties of human existence and justice triumphing. Tom McCarthy’s Spotlight is a perfect example and the fact that it is based on real-life events adds greater impact.
Rom-coms directed by Rob Reiner, Norah Ephron, and Nancy Meyers are comfort viewing. Mel Brooks’ films are wonderful and hilarious. Alejandro González Iñárritu and Guillermo del Toro are inventive and incredibly brave. For each, their vision and intelligence shines through.
What do you dislike about the world, and what would you change? The growing abuse of power and corruption within governments concerns me deeply—the misuse of funds, the erosion of compassion, and the rise of authoritarianism.
Yet there is hope. Around the world, mass demonstrations give voice to the wave of frustration, outrage, and a demand for justice. They bring hope that governments are listening and being held accountable. The recent truce and ceasefire over Palestine are encouraging steps. And the Nobel Peace Prize awarded to María Corina Machado—for her tireless advocacy for democracy and human rights in Venezuela—sends a strong message: “enough is enough.”
These are unsettling but hopeful times. In Australia, though removed, we’re not immune. Concern for our fellow man is fortifying.
How do you imagine cinema in 100 years? It’s difficult to know whether traditional cinemas will exist in 2125. AI and streaming services may dominate, with films primarily viewed on personal devices. But storytelling will endure—it’s part of our DNA.
Future filmmakers will continue to explore the power of the human spirit, the beauty of nature, and the stories of those who uplift humanity—scientists, activists, humanitarians, and visionaries like María Corina Machado. Technology will make filmmaking accessible to everyone. A smartphone, an editing app, and a story—that’s all it will take.
Change is inevitable, but cinema will always mirror it, reflecting how we evolve and adapt. I expect in 100 years humanity will be much more compassionate, less materialistic, and have greater work-life balance allowing more time for creative ventures such as filmmaking.
What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER? WILD FILMMAKER is a brilliant and necessary platform—a bridge between traditional cinema and the bold, innovative paths ahead. It celebrates creative freedom and visionary storytelling, offering filmmakers a space to share authentic voices and ignite change.
I congratulate you on your forward-thinking approach and your continued support of independent creators.
I am a director, screenwriter, actor, producer, and art director. I began my career in theatre at the age of eight and, by nineteen, I had specialized in on-camera performance while also studying history, physics, and semiotics. I worked in the art department on various productions, taking on roles such as assistant and props master, which allowed me to deeply understand the dynamics of each team and the visual construction of an audiovisual work. My specialty as an art director lies in creating models and set recreations at different scales—scenes capable of transporting the viewer to unique places, from earthly landscapes to imaginary worlds.
Later, I produced a marine documentary in collaboration with biologists from the University of Almería and several scientific associations. It was filmed over nine days on the open sea, studying cetaceans. In 2022, I was nominated at the Málaga Film Festival for funding my first short film. Although I didn’t receive the grant, I decided to self-finance, produce, and direct my own project, marking the beginning of my path as a director and producer.
Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?
I think I’ve always been in love with cinema, even before I knew it. Films like The Lord of the Rings or The Mask of Zorro awakened in me the desire to perform, to inhabit other worlds. But it was after watching Conan the Barbarian and discovering, through Emilio Ruiz del Río and his documentary The Last Trick, the artistry behind the camera, that I understood the true magic: creating illusion through painting, sculpture, and perspective. From that moment on, I knew that cinema is the noblest form of deception—a kind of sorcery where every artifice reveals a truth.
Tell us about your project.
Parsec One was born from a childhood curiosity about particle physics and quantum mechanics. I remember that in school, after watching Independence Day, the teacher asked us a series of questions about aliens and their intentions. When my turn came, I replied differently: “How do those ships work?” The man looked at me as if I’d asked for the secret of the universe.
That thought stayed tucked away until, years later, I discovered the Mexican theoretical physicist Miguel Alcubierre and his ingenious theory of space-time distortion through a warp drive. That’s when the spark returned. I began writing a story that combined science, espionage, and ambition—the struggle for a technology capable of altering space-time and, with it, the very nature of power.
I wanted to show how science, in the wrong hands, can become a tragic farce, and how technology is nothing but a perversion of itself unless used for the betterment of humanity, as the juggler of volts, Nikola Tesla, once said. From that impulse came a six-season series, with this short film as its first episode—intended to be the gateway to that universe.
Which director inspires you the most?
I must admit I have several favorites: Spielberg, Ridley Scott, and Cameron—the illusionist who makes entire cities levitate through motion capture in Avatar. But if we’re talking about sincere admiration, Nolan is my silent master. He not only crafts stories that keep one eye glued to the screen and the other to curiosity, but he also pursues realism with the precision of a watchmaker.
I don’t have his fortune to demolish buildings, but I’ve learned from his balance between practical effects and VFX, and from how his miniatures turn the impossible into the believable. The Prestige, Inception—true lessons in patience and precision.
I try to do something similar, but with a twist: merging cinematic photography with video game logic so the audience can play the story rather than just watch it. And I must confess—Hideo Kojima winks at me from the corner, reminding me that camera shots can also be poetry… or clever little traps.
How do you imagine cinema 100 years from now?
Frankly, I’d rather not imagine it. The mix of admiration and fear that modern technology provokes in me would be enough to keep me awake all night. Artificial Intelligence has burst into our lives like a guest who refuses to leave—promising progress but often delivering scams, job displacement, and, of course, “soulless cinema.”
The heart of art—that human varnish that permeates painting, music, and performance—is something no algorithm can replicate. It can imitate, produce, and calculate, but it lacks life, essence, that little spark of chaos that makes an actor move you to tears or a director make you stare wide-eyed at the screen.
Of course, there are those who seek fame and money rather than growing old with their art, and they are the first to embrace tools that replace passionate professionals. If we keep going down this path, I wouldn’t be surprised to wake up in a world where cinema is directed by Skynet—where special effects have more rights than humans, and creativity comes in binary code.
What don’t you like about the world, and what would you change?
I wouldn’t change anything, because according to one of the most important scientific principles, everything is cause and effect. Our actions—good or bad—have set in motion a chain of causes that have shaped the story in which we are the protagonists. Humanity has lived through great tragedies like World War II and the infamous V2 rockets that took so many lives, especially in London, or the Nuremberg Trials that gave rise to international criminal law and the idea of individual responsibility for atrocities.
What we humans do, for better or worse, creates openings through which light finds its way, offering us the chance to evolve and improve. Our history refutes despair. We are what we do, and what we do creates a chain of events that affect others, who in turn are compelled to react and act. Cause and effect.
Naturally, I can’t remain indifferent, and I’d like to change the tragic events that are happening today. But all I can do is contribute my small grain of sand to help evolution proceed rightly along the timeline I inhabit. Changing something would mean altering history, the future, and the events that have shaped who I am—for better or for worse.
I’ll end by quoting Antonio Gala: “To feel like a tiny tessera in a great mosaic: dispensable, minimal, confused—but in its place.”
What impression do you have of WILD FILMMAKER?
My impression of WILD FILMMAKER is that it represents a truly authentic space for free creativity. It doesn’t seek to conform to the rules of traditional cinema but rather to give a voice to those who want to tell real, personal, and unfiltered stories. It’s a community that celebrates passion, experimentation, and the unique vision of each creator.
In a world where much of the content has become predictable, WILD FILMMAKER keeps alive the essence of cinema: exploration, risk, and the truth that hides behind every well-told story.
“No matter what, I first need inspiration to kick start my writer’s imagination.”
That’s how Francis Longworth Billingsley, self-described outsider artist and fiction writer, begins his creative process. Inspiration, he explains, can come from the most unexpected sources — a person, a place, or even a fleeting moment that ignites the imagination.
“For example, in Dancing with Spies @Goddess, my beautiful Russian dance instructor Alakasandra provided the wonderful mental images of a beautiful dancer,” Billingsley recalls. “In addition, my once-in-a-lifetime vacation to Havana, Cuba continually lifted the passion factor and persistence needed to tell a historic, fiction-based espionage love story.”
In contrast, his novel George Turner’s Ghost took shape from a very different spark of inspiration.
“There really was a 1941 tragedy involving Supervisor George Turner,” he explains. “But my idea of a new, present-day fictional supervisor—set in that same historic neighborhood with its old meetinghouse church and burial ground—gave the story an unmistakable All Hallows’ Eve atmosphere.”
On Imagination and Exploration
For Billingsley, creative writing is about curiosity as much as it is about passion.
“If something—a person, place, or thing—captures my imagination or curiosity, then I can enjoy planning different possibilities to explore.”
This open-minded approach is what fuels his diverse storytelling, blending historical intrigue with emotional depth and local character.
The Digital Age and the Outsider Writer
Billingsley also reflects on the opportunities that modern platforms have created for independent artists.
“If Wild Filmmaker and FilmFreeway weren’t available to submit my works to—like Dancing with Spies—it might have died on the vine,” he admits. “Or what if there had not been an Amazon Kindle KDP or Kobo for publications for an outsider artist writer like me to submit to? It could have been impossible to develop an audience.”
Still Creating at 76
Now based in the Village of New Paltz, a college town in the Hudson River Valley of upstate New York, Billingsley remains as active as ever in the arts scene.
“Not only have I acted in two student film productions,” he says, “but I’m in the process of joining forces in some collaborative projects of major interest to me… while I am seventy-six years old and still creating.”
And that, perhaps, is the essence of Francis Longworth Billingsley’s story — a life driven by curiosity, creativity, and a relentless desire to explore the possibilities of art, no matter the medium or the age.
After the great success of The Offline (2021) and Before the Day After (2024), low-budget independent films awarded worldwide, director, writer, and actor Eduardo Cocciardo returns with a new feature film titled In the Bunker, scheduled to be filmed on the island of Ischia in the autumn of 2026.
The project appears highly captivating and, if possible, even more ambitious, both from a cinematic and a production standpoint. The director clearly intends to challenge the Italian production system, which he believes is dominated by a select few and negatively influenced by social-media and television language, leading to stories that often resemble one another and fail to delve deeply into the complex reality of our times.
In this scenario, the only hope seems to lie in independent cinema, which can truly offer a free perspective on the world, beyond any fiction or compromise orchestrated by those who pull the strings of communication. Art, performance, and cinema should, by their very nature, be the ultimate expressions of truth. Yet, this is not always the case. The language of cinema is often tamed, demagogic, and politically correct, but not genuinely authentic.
Thus, every story that tries to deviate from this state of things inevitably takes on a “political” value, re-examining not only cinematic practices but also the entire social system. However, In the Bunker mainly aims to mark a break from the narrative conventions of commercial cinema. It is not merely a matter of visual experimentation, but rather a set of narrative ideas which we won’t fully reveal here to avoid spoilers that completely overturn the clichés of conventional, especially Italian, filmmaking.
A symbolic film? In some ways, yes because beneath the surface story lie deeper intentions that challenge the usual ways audiences approach a film. Drama, thriller, comedy, science fiction “In the Bunker” is a cinematic work that will move you deeply, turning the familiar world upside down, because after watching it, nothing will ever be the same again.
A mysterious villa hidden in the heart of a botanical garden. A group of guests fleeing from a troubled past. Two quarrelsome brothers willing to host them as long as they pretend to be their relatives. Chiara arrives in the middle of the night and soon begins to wonder whether her life has just ended or is only about to begin.
The villa becomes a place outside of time, a refuge for characters escaping the evils of the modern world: a woman with a violent past, a child named Amir and the elderly nurse who saved his life in a field hospital, a young couple bullied by the inhabitants of a small provincial town, a young intellectual struggling to process his partner’s suicide, and a man who narrowly survived a car accident after watching his marriage collapse. Meanwhile, over the world looms the threat of an imminent nuclear war.
We won’t reveal more, because cinema should never be told, but rather seen, without preconceptions. Yet it’s clear that beneath the surface narrative the house, the fugitives, the two clumsy, bickering brothers lie far deeper intentions. Gradually, the story reveals itself as a grand metaphor for the contemporary world, increasingly devoid of values, condemned to injustices, misunderstandings, and conflicts that seem beyond repair clinging to ever narrower mindsets and perhaps teetering on the brink of nuclear war.
The Bunker is the ultimate refuge from pain the primordial place, the final harbor where everything converges, finds meaning, and seeks protection. In a world where racial, religious, and territorial conflicts are re-emerging with alarming force, In the Bunker seeks to reflect on the destiny of humanity and on the urgent need to reconsider one simple but essential truth: that we are all children of the same mother a vast golden spiral encompassing the present, the past, and the future.
To bring this film to life, given the production challenges mentioned above, Eduardo Cocciardo has launched a crowdfunding campaign on the Italian platform Produzioni dal Basso. The director invites the public to support the project by becoming official partners of the film. Anyone wishing to contribute, even with a symbolic donation, can do so by clicking the following link:
