At The International Documentary Film Festival in Amsterdam, we sat down with Palestinian filmmaker Mohamed Jabaly, director of the competing title Life is Beautiful and winner of the award for Best Directing. 

In 2014, the young director took part in an exchange initiative in Norway, when the borders of his home, Gaza, were closed for an unspecified period. This posed several problems, one being that the Norwegian government would not accept his Palestinian passport, thus leaving the filmmaker stateless. Next, his application for a work permit was rejected, because being a self-taught filmmaker meant he didn’t have the necessary qualifications. Jabaly ended up being trapped with his host family in Tromsø. The director talked us through the making of this deeply intimate film, touching on the main human and artistic challenges he faced.

This interview has been edited for clarity. 

Projektor: In Life is Beautiful, we get the impression you’re recording a video diary. When did you realize that filming yourself would have become the subject of the film?

Mohamed Jabaly: From the beginning, I decided to film everything. As a filmmaker, you usually film what you see happening to others. At that moment, coming from Gaza and realizing that the border had been closed and with nothing else left to do, I chose to document everything happening to me, without knowing for how long this would have lasted. It was a difficult choice, but [it’s also been] a way to confront my situation. I felt the camera could help me move forward. Later on, it became even clearer that I had to document what was happening, especially when they said I wasn’t qualified to work as a filmmaker in Norway because I didn’t have a film degree. That moment was special as it made me think about my life. Is it just a piece of paper telling who am I? This was happening when my film [ed. Jabaly’s debut feature, Ambulance] was being screened everywhere and I couldn’t come to present it here at IDFA. I wasn’t able to attend any of the festivals. I felt almost like I was back in Gaza, but I was in Tromsø this time, in the Arctic, somehow, in even harsher conditions [laughs]. 

Because of the weather…

Yes! And, of course, there were moments when I couldn’t even touch the camera. I explored a very personal space, and you go through depression and other challenges. Also, you wonder how you can stand up for your rights, and how to film all of this. In the end, I filmed everything just to document [facts], not aiming to use any particular film language.

How did you end up working with your Norwegian producers?

Before traveling to Norway, in 2013 I met a delegation from Tromsø, which is also a sister city of Gaza. Some of the members have known me since then because I showed them some of my shorts.

A few months later, they invited me to Norway. The first time they invited me I couldn’t travel there. But during a short window, when the border was reopened, I traveled there to take part in an exchange program. I was helped by this huge organization in Tromsø, which is part of their municipality and hosts a film department. I worked there, and they helped me find an editor, so we started to set things in motion. 

We created this Norwegian film team, and I owe special thanks to Hermann Greuel [ed. Jabaly’s host and director of the Nordic Youth Film Festival], a key figure in my life who acted almost like a father and a mentor. I felt I was surrounded by good people while still facing, on the other hand, this problematic political situation.

“You want to be part of the world, but the world looks at you only through these destructive images.”

How much footage did you shoot? And how did you structure your editing work?

I could have used anything from my dailies; I’ve shot so much footage! I’ve got a very good archiving system in my head. I never delete anything; I don’t like deleting things. But I like order. So there were some key moments in this story we highlighted. 

Before I started working with the editor, I made a first ten-hour selection of footage. Then I made another six-hour selection, and we knew the film would have been cut out of these six hours. Next, the editor and I sat to finalize it. A senior editor also stepped in during the last year of the project. It’s a personal film, so eventually, it came to a point where I could no longer watch it, because that’s my life right there. So in that sense, the team played an important role. It’s so difficult to look at yourself in a normal way. At some point, all I could see was Mohamed, and not myself.

What were some of the production challenges you faced?

One challenge was to work on events that are still happening. When you’re editing, you realize this process could be endless. Of course, we had a pre-established structure but we also had so many [potential] endings. Financing was also challenging. It’s a personal story, but insisting on how personal it was has been a key element nonetheless. And the production team helped me tell my story the way I wanted to tell it.

How did you come up with the title Life is Beautiful?

This has been the motto of my life. Even in the harshest moments of my life, even when I was rescuing people during the attacks in Gaza. For me, life is beautiful and this is the way I want to see it and the way I want to live it. I don’t want to see the damage and the destruction, even now when it’s happening as we speak. One child is killed every ten minutes in Gaza. Around 11,000 people already died during these attacks. In the media, you only see this, and people ask you: “How’s Gaza?” “How’s your family?” It’s really tough, especially if you want to work in a creative field. You want to be part of the world, but the world looks at you only through these destructive images. You’re put in a frame, and you’re stuck. I want to break this frame.