Sundance 2022: Dania Bdeir
We spoke to Dania Bdeir about her short film, Warsha, about a crane operator from Syria finding freedom in the skies of Beirut. She talks us through green screens, learning from your mistakes, and collaborating with actors.
Tell us a bit about your journey as a filmmaker so far – what motivated you to start making films?
It was very apparent at a very young age that I loved dressing up and playing different roles. I thought that I wanted to be an actress when I grew up. My parents both worked full-time and my sisters are significantly older. I didn’t really have anyone to play with when I was a kid so I basically grew up watching American TV non-stop and imitating all the Western characters that I saw. I guess my dad, may his soul rest in peace, saw something in me because I was the only one out of my sisters who was gifted a video camera when I was around 15 years old. And that was that. I started filming everything around me, completely enthralled with the stories and characters of Lebanon.
When it became time to apply to university, I didn’t have the courage or the encouragement to go to film school so I ended up studying graphic design in the American University of Beirut. I was a terrible graphic designer. But the good thing is, the program was very much rooted in the environment, so in those four years I actually got to go all around Lebanon, meet a lot of people, and soak up a lot of stories. I am not someone who approached film because of a love for cinema. I started because I felt the need to tell complex human stories that I saw all around me, but that I felt were never represented on screen. The love for cinema came later. So as soon as I graduated from graphic design, I packed my bags and moved to NYC where I got an MFA in filmmaking with a focus on writing and directing.
What inspired you to make this short film?
It all started when, in 2017, I was sitting on my balcony in Lebanon overlooking all of Beirut and I saw a man standing on top of one of the tallest construction cranes. At first, I was afraid, thinking the man was going to jump. It all looked so dangerous and unsafe. Then as he kneeled down and put his forehead to the ground, I realized that he was praying. It was a beautiful sight, and this is when I became infatuated with the mysterious world of crane operators. These men who operate these gigantic beasts from these tiny cabins where they can see the world and no one can see them.
The more I spent time in construction sites speaking to engineers and workers, the more I was convinced that I wanted to make a film where the protagonist was a crane operator. Throughout my visits, I was overwhelmed with three main palpable aspects: That space was very masculine. It was very loud and the construction workers were all underpaid and often undocumented Syrians. I was drawn to the idea that the crane operator, out of all these workers, was the only one who gets the chance to escape these three aspects when he climbs the dangerous ladder up towards the sky. Up there, there’s no noise, no judging eyes, no one to label him.
Soon after that, I had the chance to attend a performance by an amazing gender-bending multi-talented artist called Khansa. After the performance, he and I talked for hours and I told him about Warsha. We started asking ourselves: what if the crane operator was seeking the space and the privacy to break out of gender norms and express himself truly, in a way that he can’t in his daily life.
Khansa and I spent a lot of time building the character of Mohammad together. He poured a lot of himself into Mohammad by drawing memories from his own childhood, insecurities, dreams, passions, and especially the experience of craving the private space to experiment and unleash a desire burning deep within. We also drew a lot from the experiences of Syrian workers. We organized for Khansa to spend two days working in a construction site where nobody knew that he was an actor and where he received no special treatment. Khansa entered the male dominated world of Syrian workers and felt the physical and emotional strain, the pressures, and the marginalization. He was able to bring this experience into the psyche of Mohammad’s character. This invaluable experience brought a very important additional layer into his performance, which, even though he had no dialogue, had to portray so much through eyes and body language.
What was the most exciting part of the whole filmmaking process for you?
Every part of the filmmaking process was very special to me. The fact that it took four years to make it a reality meant that I had the luxury and privilege to get into the most minute details during each phase, and I had the chance to allow some creative decisions to evolve, progress, and simmer in order to reach maturity. I loved taking my time with the script, which was finally locked after a very helpful screenwriting workshop called Short Film Station that took place during the 2019 Berlinale Talents. After that, I was excited about preparing for the role with my lead actor, Khansa. Even though he’s never acted in a film before, Khansa is an extremely talented and sensitive multi-disciplinary artist who focuses a lot on body language and telling stories through movement. That process of creating and preparing the character was very fun, collaborative, and rewarding.
Then came the production period, which is always great because it brings the words on the page to life. We begin to see, live, and breathe the world we created in the script. We had the opportunity to shoot in both Lebanon and France, in real locations and in a studio setting, which was my first time.
Finally, the post production period is special because I love sound design and that's really when all the different elements come together.
Did you encounter any new challenges from making this film that you had not faced before?
Of course! This film was full of new challenges. On one hand, the past four years happen to have been very eventful: there’s the global pandemic, which created challenges for everyone around the world. Then, of course, on top of that, Lebanon particularly has been going through its own set of difficulties between the Lebanese revolution, the economic crisis, and the Beirut Blast. There were many times where we wanted to give up but after every obstacle, we’d get back up, lick our wounds, and get straight back into it.
In addition to the socio-political challenges, we of course had our logistical challenges of shooting Mohammad in what’s supposed to be the tallest and most dangerous crane in Lebanon and then filming him hanging off the tip of the crane and performing an aerial choreography overlooking all of Beirut.
At first, I wanted to shoot everything on location in the cabin and I wanted us to figure out a way to do the performance safely. All it took was me going up there in 2018 in order to shoot the teaser for the film for me to get convinced that there is no way that can ever happen. I’m someone who’s very comfortable with heights and even I felt dizzy as I climbed the crane ladder. There was no way that those scenes could be shot with a crew, even if limited, in such dangerous and high circumstances.
So my producer Coralie Dias met the wonderful VFX company La Planète Rouge and, together, we applied to and thankfully received a grant from Region Sud which allowed us to shoot at Province Studios in Martigues.
The only thing we shot in Lebanon was Mohammad climbing the crane ladder. After that, everything inside the cabin and everything related to the aerial chain performance was shot at La Planète Rouge’s state of the art The Next Stage Studios, which was newly decked out with Unreal Engine LED technology which is, in my opinion, the future of filmmaking.
This is the same technology used in [Disney projects] such as The Mandalorian, and I was so incredibly happy for the opportunity to have this experience. When I first realized I wasn’t going to shoot on location, I was worried about having to shoot and direct Khansa in a green screen studio, but what this technology does is allow us to capture 360 drone images from Lebanon and input them into the 280 degrees curved LED walls. Instead of having to imagine, or tell Khansa to imagine, that he’s seeing Beirut from above, we could all see the Mediterranean shimmering and truly feel the height of Beirut right there in the studio in France. The cinematographer and I were able to frame the character while seeing the background and it freed us up to behave as if we were shooting on location but without any of the danger. It was truly amazing and it looks so real.
What does it mean to you for your film to be a part of the 2022 Sundance Festival?
Getting into Sundance is a huge honor. I’ve always loved and respected this festival and dreamt of showing a film there, just like most directors around the world.
It’s a festival that’s known to be extremely competitive (the acceptance rate for a short film is less than 1%) and has a very strong curation as well as an eye for uncovering new, up and coming filmmakers. Even though I wasn’t able to go with this year’s festival being virtual, I was actually able to enjoy the New Frontier’s Spaceship that the Sundance team developed. It doesn’t replace the experience of a physical festival, but it gets us as close as possible when we’re each cooped up in our apartments in different corners of the world. I actually ended up meeting some really interesting people and even “running into” some old friends and professors.
I’ve gained so much from the exposure that Sundance has, which reaches even wider when it’s virtual. Finally, winning the Jury prize for Best International Fiction helped put me on the map and only catapulted that exposure further.
Is there a current filmmaker out there whose style of work particularly excites you?
I’m a very big fan of Asghar Farhadi. I feel like his films do a wonderful job of representing a complex culture, but then moving beyond it quickly enough so the audiences can focus on the characters and their human experience. This is something I really strive to do because I’d like to make Arabic films that feel both authentic to Arabs, all the while presenting universal characters that anyone can relate to.
Knowing what you know now, what advice would you give to your younger self at the very beginning of their creative journey?
When I first started at NYU, I was very intimidated by its reputation and how a lot of its students had films in world-renowned festivals. This made me feel like I needed to be of that standard right away and I think it prevented me from pushing myself creatively and experimenting. When my first short didn’t get into Sundance, I was so devastated and felt like a failure. At the time, a professor had told me “each film is a preparation for your next one”. Now, three short films later, not only did I make it to Sundance, but I won an award. I guess the main advice I’d give myself is not to be too hard on myself and enjoy the journey. No one is amazing the first time they do something. Everything needs practice, patience, and hard work and it’s all about learning from your mistakes and refining along the way. I believe that it’s something I’ll keep doing for the rest of my life.
And finally, what sort of project would you like to undertake next?
We’re currently touring with Warsha and we’re hoping to show it to as many audiences as possible. Since we’re now eligible for the 2023 Oscars, we’d like to try to create a buzz and have a strong promotion and marketing campaign. Also, since an incredible amount of creative and technological effort went into this film, starting with Khansa’s performance and not ending with the VFX work, we are planning on releasing some limited edition NFTs out of the unused footage from the film.
Apart from that, I’m currently developing my first feature film called Pigeon Wars, which is also set in Beirut. Writing a feature film is a very different beast than writing a short film, but I feel ready and excited to dive into it.
Finally, I’ve also been very interested in entering the episodic world. I find myself consuming more and more episodic series and I’d love the experience and challenge of working on this type of storytelling that spans multiple episodes, seasons, and through many characters.
