A young man uses music to rebel against the existing order, while an older woman tells stories. In Hala Elkoussy’s East of Noon [+leggi anche:
recensione
intervista: Hala Elkoussy
scheda film], shown in the Directors’ Fortnight at Cannes, shot on film and set at an unspecified time, generations clash, hoping for a better life – in the past, present and future.

Cineuropa: There is a lot of playfulness in your film – is it because you come from visual arts? Do you find it challenging when people – and festivals – have a narrower view of cinema?
Hala Elkoussy: I decided to make my feature debut, Cactus Flower [+leggi anche:
trailer
scheda film], because I was encouraged by the fact that my previous short, even though it was made for museums and galleries, was picked up by festival programmers, too. I thought: “Maybe there is space for what I am doing?” Then, an important funding body – explaining why they didn’t select it – wrote that they “didn’t understand anything”. It was suggested I should “just stick to drama” and get rid of the playfulness. But there are many respected directors who are already doing that – I wanted to make films my own way. Actually, I wanted to be as playful as possible. That became the goal.

It can be frustrating when you decide to tread this path – so many times, you are not even given a chance. Many people were quite dismissive, and yes, I have been rejected. Then I got lucky with the Netherlands Film Fund and the Mondriaan Fund, which has a special programme for artists making films. Once they got on board, things got easier.

Parts of this story are ambiguous, but then someone says: “They were so frightened that their imagination escaped.” That’s such a timely line.
When you are making art, the question is: “Why make it now?” It has to be pertinent. I wanted to talk about big themes and make sure it was meaningful – today. This world is quite troubled, and it doesn’t feel like we are heading in the right direction. Then again, I came to the conclusion that if I situated this story outside of time, I could be freer. Yes, it’s quite timely, but it could live on because it talks about the battle between the young and the old, imagination and power, remembering and forgetting.

I am the mother of a teenager; I also took part in the 2011 Egyptian Revolution. During that special time, there was a blurring of social and age barriers. For a brief moment, everybody wanted the same thing, and there was this sense of equality and justice. I started talking to much younger people, and I liked their impulsivity: they were really holding onto their ideals. When things didn’t turn out the way we wished, and took a turn for the worse, they suffered the most. Most important changes are not brought about by the elderly or the wise. In the film, I am giving these young people the respect they deserve.  

At times, East of Noon looks like an Italian neorealist movie – then things get weird. Did you shoot on film?
I shot on 16 mm black-and-white film and 35 mm colour film. It was to distance myself from the current world. In 50 years’ time, you won’t think it belonged to 2024. The clothes and the props mislead you as well.

So do your characters: not all youngsters are good, and not all elders are bad. An older woman opens up about her life, talking about “not being an angel”. How did you want to show women? They are very open, even discussing abortion at one point.
She says: “There are no angels in hell.” It was a personal realisation because as you grow older, you accept the fact that by making certain choices, you can’t escape guilt. There was a song once where the singer pleads: “Forgive me love, I was busy trying to save the world.” There are all these things to do and people to take care of, but also all these ideals you would like to pursue. In the end, you are stuck somewhere in the middle. My women are nurturing and funny. They are resilient – I like this word because it’s closely connected to being a woman, not just in our part of the world. They have to be this way: they take on so many roles. I also make them the carriers of stories, the writers of history. In that sense, I give them power and the key to the future.

“We start anew,” someone says. Is it optimistic, or does it mean we are always repeating the same mistakes?
I think it’s both. Why was hope allowed to escape from Pandora’s box? Does it mean it’s evil as well, or is it good? Rimbaud would say that the most unbearable thing is that everything is bearable [laughs]. We keep on going because we have hope, and we have hope because we keep going. As long as we have a vision for the future, even if it feels impossible right now, there is hope.

Or as long as we have music, which is also used as a tool here.
It can reach people so effectively. Music is one of the most effective tools of revolt.