Coming soon is the new film Hello Beautiful, based on the book, “Walk Beside Me.” Here, courtesy of Jaylan Salah is an interview with the author, Christine Handy, and the film’s director, Ziad Hamzeh.

First, the author, Christine Handy.

Jaylan Salah: How difficult and rewarding is it to write from your personal pain?

Christine Handy: Writing from my personal pain presented both challenges and profound rewards. The daunting navigation of emotions was initially challenging, however, this same vulnerability also served as a catalyst to insure others felt less alone in their similar affliction. When we decide to be a vine instead of a victim to our circumstances, it becomes an easier endeavor to write about personal pain. 

JS: When did you first see Willow fully manifest on paper?

CH: The first time I vividly saw Willow on paper was during the early drafting stages of my book. Ironically, I immediately saw her flaws and insecurities. Those traits quickly emerged as the core of her character throughout the book. As I continued to shape the novel, I realized Willow’s evolution from a figure constrained by self-doubt into one of resilience and empowerment. This character arc on paper, became a profound source of reflection for me in my own life. It wasn’t until the book was near completion that Willow’s true manifestation came to life. 

JS: How did your former modeling career help in enriching your writing?

CH: The discipline and persistence required in modeling- maintaining physicality, and managing schedules—translates well to the writing process. As a model, I had to navigate diverse environments and perspectives, which enhanced my interpersonal skills. Collaborating with photographers, designers, and directors demands clarity of expression and adaptability, qualities that are equally valuable in writing. Lastly, the long term commitment to my modeling career enhanced my resilience in the face of rejection, which is prevalent in both industries.

JS: What is the important message that you want audiences to take from this film?

CH: The essential message I wish for audiences to glean from this film is that a cancer diagnosis does not mean an end to life. I also aim to illustrate the intricate nature of the disease as it impacts the entire family unit and how each member is affected. Lastly, it is my goal to emphasize the critical role of friendships during times of trauma and illness. The act of being present for one’s loved ones can genuinely be life-saving. For every writer, seeing characters that they wrote become flesh and blood on screen is a magical moment.

JS: How did you feel seeing Willow played by Tricia Helfer for the first time?

CH: To be honest, I was mesmerized by Tricia’s portrayal of Willow from the very beginning. Tricia and I had a few zoom and phone calls prior to meeting on set. During those initial talks, she asked me insightful questions about Willow’s personality and relationships. Tricia and I both come from a modeling background. I believe that helped her understand some of Willow’s nuances and insecurities. Tricia also read my book in addition to the screenplay. Tricia’s professionalism as an actor really shows up on screen. I continue to be in awe of her powerful and precise portrayal of Willow.

JS: How does Hello Beautiful tie in with your responsibility as a breast cancer advocate?

CH: The movie depiction of my book is a vehicle to further provide hope to the cancer community. I wake up every day with the intention and motivation to be a source of strength and wisdom to anyone battling cancer. This project is meant to be a greater outlet of positive influence because it has the ability to impact a larger audience. One of the most important ways to help others is through honest and vulnerable storytelling. When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I sought out films and literature to assist me in understanding the cancer journey. I found many films that did not end in hope. Because of this, it became my goal to find a way to produce a film that negates the hopelessness that some films have shown.

JS: What were the most difficult characters to write? Which ones were the most fun?

CH: I struggled to write all of the characters. I would not consider myself a professional or seasoned writer. After I published my book, “Walk Beside Me,” in 2017, I attended Harvard University to earn a Masters Degree in Literature and Creative Writing. Prior to that, my sole career was modeling. My writing skills improved significantly during my studies at Harvard. The ‘fun’ characters I wrote were Willow’s meaningful friendships. Accurately depicting those friendships served as a means to highlight the importance of friendships in life and through times of tremendous struggle. 

JS: How do you as a writer ensure authenticity in writing truth while protecting yourself from reliving trauma?

CH: When I decided to write “Walk Beside Me,” it was meant to serve as a tool to help others. But, the actual act of writing this story did evoke some deep emotional pain. In order to provide an authentic recounting of my journey, I had to really detach myself from my trauma. Early in the writing process, I realized that if I held back from showing the darkness and unfaltering parts of my journey, then the impact would be far less. 

JS: Do you have particular writing rituals or habits to get the creative juices flowing?

CH: I learned great discipline working as a model from a very young age. That work ethic has consistently helped me focus during my writing projects. When I struggle with specific character development, I turn to free association writing. This is a helpful tool to hone in on character development. The art of taking a piece of paper and pen and writing freely about a character is incredibly powerful. I also schedule writing time slots and stick to them. Lastly, if I experience a writing block on a particular day, I close my computer and embark on an activity outdoors. Walking away in those moments tends to foster my creative outlets instead of suffocating them. 

JS: What are your future projects after Walk Beside Me?

CH: It has been close to a decade since I set out to be a voice of hope in the breast cancer community. Each day since then, I have juggled several jobs and have dealt with considerable health set backs. I am still a working model, a social media influencer, a novice writer, on the Board of Directors for three non profits, a Nationally recognized Humanitarian, a mentor, a mother, a motivational speaker and now, a movie producer. The next phase of my life will be to slowly step back from some of these roles. But, being an advocate and a voice of hope will always be a top priority. 

And now, the director, Ziad Hamzeh.

JS: You described the structure of the film as a “terrifying roller coaster ride”, how did you decide on how you wanted to build your film?

Ziad Hamzeh: I often think of story structure as a dynamic geometric pattern, something that evolves naturally from within as characters face the challenges that confront them. Understanding this pattern allows me to chart the journey we’re about to embark on, creating a mental map that guides the narrative’s pacing and direction. It gives me the flexibility to be spontaneous while ensuring I stay focused on the story’s core trajectory. In “Hello Beautiful,” for example, Willow begins at the pinnacle of her career, with the world at her feet. Then when her diagnosis is revealed, we witness a rapid and alarming descent, which underscores the story’s impact on all the characters in a way that is both dizzying and profound.

JS: How was it like working with the author of the novel, Christine Handy?

ZH: I hold authors in the highest regard, respecting the fact that they are the creators who first bring an idea to life. My role is to honor that creation by doing justice to their work. After reading Walk Beside Me by Christine Handy, I felt compelled to fully commit myself to her story, because it resonated with remarkable pain and honesty. In bringing Christine’s story to life, I internalized her words and approached each event from a place of empathy, seeing the world through her experiences. Christine’s trust in me allowed for a deep connection which enabled me to shape a character who truly embodies the endurance and resilience she portrays. Our six years of collaboration have been incredibly fulfilling, and I am very grateful for the partnership we’ve built.

JS: What were the biggest challenges that you faced in adapting a bestselling novel to screen?

ZH: Telling a story visually that has already been told in another medium is always a challenge. You must keep the original creator’s intentions front and center while deciding which events are essential and which can be set aside in order to craft a clear, compelling narrative that ensures the film’s impact. Christine’s book is rich with struggles and challenges that worked beautifully on the page but didn’t all translate well in the script. We had to sharpen our focus, carefully selecting which elements to highlight. By streamlining the story, we were able to preserve its depth and complexity, ensuring each layer added meaningful dimension to the film.

JS: How do you think the film succeeded in showcasing the facade of suburban and domestic bliss?

ZH: The environment in the film serves as a crucial character in the story. Willow lives in a sheltered world, insulated from many of the daily struggles that other, less privileged neighborhoods endure. These invisible walls of protection are significant, but they are ultimately a façade, destined to crumble under the stresses of her illness. This setting amplifies the impact of the disease, stripping away the illusion of safety in the face of such a profound challenge.

JS: How do you think the main protagonist’s job as a model has helped in adding layers and depth to her struggles?

ZH: Breast cancer, more than any other form of cancer, strikes at the core of a woman’s identity. For Willow, who had spent twenty-five years as a model, her sense of self was deeply intertwined with her physical appearance. Her beauty was not just a part of her—it was her entire world, the foundation upon which she had built her identity. When breast cancer took her breasts, then her hair, and ultimately her looks, it felt as though her entire life had been dismantled. Willow was forced to confront the loss of everything she had relied on, pushing her to reimagine herself and discover what truly matters. This journey led her to redefine her identity, finding strength and purpose in building a life rooted in substance rather than superficiality.

JS: How was the casting process for Willow, the main protagonist, and was Tricia Helfer your first choice?

ZH: Finding the right actor to portray Willow was, without question, the most challenging aspect of the casting process. The role required someone with extraordinary range and depth, capable of embodying a character who undergoes such a profound transformation. We considered many talented actors, but it wasn’t until we met Tricia Helfer that we knew we had found the perfect fit. Tricia wasn’t just a remarkable actor—she also understood the complexities of Willow’s world on a personal level, having experienced the highs and pressures of being a top model herself. This unique insight added an authentic layer to her performance that was invaluable. As we began rehearsals, my admiration for Tricia’s talent only deepened. Her ability to channel Willow’s vulnerability and strength made the character come alive in ways that far exceeded my expectations. 

JS: I am impressed by the wonderful Lebanese cast, how did the casting process go and how did you assemble your dream cast?

ZH: We took great care in assembling a cast that would truly elevate the story, treating every character as essential and approaching the casting process with that in mind. We searched extensively for the right actors to bring these roles to life. We reviewed countless auditions and interviewed many always aware that finding the perfect Willow was only the first step. Once Tricia Helfer was cast, the challenge intensified—we needed actors who could match her depth and presence on screen. This led us to look far and wide, both within the country and abroad, to find the right talent. Ultimately, we were fortunate to bring together a remarkable ensemble: Tarek Bishara, Sara Boustany, Awni Abdi-Bahri, Susan Shalhoub Larkin, and Sayed Badreya. Each of these extraordinary actors brought something special to the set, contributing not just their individual performances but also a collective energy that resonated deeply with the story. Their chemistry and commitment ensured that every scene served the narrative, adding layers of meaning and emotion that enhanced the entire film.

JS: Which were the most difficult scenes to shoot?

ZH: Every scene presented a unique set of challenges. The exterior scenes were particularly grueling, as we faced freezing temperatures that forced us to modify our shooting plans to safeguard the health of our actors. We had to make tough decisions, sacrificing certain shots to ensure their well-being, which added pressure to get everything we needed in the limited time we were allowed.

The interior scenes, on the other hand, brought a different kind of intensity. These were deeply emotional moments that demanded everything from our actors and crew. One scene, in particular, stands out—the table scene. It was an incredibly difficult sequence that required us all to calibrate the emotional tone with pinpoint precision. The stakes were high, as we knew this scene was pivotal to the story’s impact.

The entire process was intense, with everyone pushing their limits to capture the raw emotion that the scene required. We spent hours refining each take, ensuring that every detail contributed to the overall effect. In the end, the result was nothing short of spectacular. The scene became one of the most powerful in the film, resonating with an authenticity that could only be achieved through the collective effort and dedication of everyone involved.

 In such an intense shoot, how do you as a director ensure the safety of your film set so that your actors would be able to become fully vulnerable while feeling completely safe?

Creating a nurturing environment on set is something I prioritize because it’s essential for everyone involved to feel safe and empowered to deliver their best work. Even before we meet in person, I send a letter to every member of the cast and crew, outlining what they can expect and the kind of atmosphere I strive to create. By the time everyone arrives on set, the tone has already been set.

We kick off with a company meeting, where I reaffirm our collective purpose and the standards of behavior that we all need to uphold. On my set, there’s a strong emphasis on maintaining an atmosphere of quiet focus, kindness, trust, and compassion. Every member of the crew is also responsible for contributing positively to this environment, creating a space where everyone can thrive.

This supportive dynamic is especially crucial for the actors. They can sense the dedication and care the crew puts into their work, and this, in turn, inspires them to be completely open and vulnerable in their performances. The synergy between the crew and the actors fosters a collaborative spirit that elevates the entire production.

On Hello Beautiful, this approach truly paid off. The entire ensemble—from the actors to the crew—worked together seamlessly, creating a film that reflects the care and commitment each person brought to the project. The result was a set where creativity flourished, and the performances were deeply authentic, making the final product something we’re all incredibly proud of.

JS: Was there any consultation with cancer survivors before building Willow’s character to ensure truth and authenticity?

Since Hello Beautiful is based on Christine Handy’s true story as told in Walk Beside Me, I knew from the start that authenticity and honesty were paramount. I immersed myself in Christine’s journey, conducting extensive research and speaking with other cancer survivors to gain a deeper understanding of their experiences. This story demanded truthfulness, and I was committed to ensuring that every aspect of the film reflected that imperative.

One of the key advantages I had on this project was the fact that I wrote the screenplay. I knew all the characters and their dialogue. This gave me an intimate connection with their emotions, allowing me to fully inhabit their lives as I wrote. I made it a point to experience their feelings, to understand where they were coming from on a visceral level. The writing was born out of genuine emotions, directly responding to real experiences, which made the characters feel all the more authentic.

When it came time to work with the actors, I had a comprehensive understanding of what each character was capable of, their limitations, and the depth of their struggles. My primary goal during rehearsals was to ensure that the actors not only understood their characters as deeply as I did but even surpassed that understanding. I worked closely with each actor, guiding them through a meticulous exploration of their roles.

Every moment in the script was dissected and questioned. We asked ourselves: What is the significance of this moment? What drives the character to their next action? These details were not just analyzed but internalized by the actors, allowing them to bring a raw honesty to their performances. Their caliber as actors shone through in the way they embraced their characters’ struggles, adding layers of depth and realism to the roles they played. This collaborative process resulted in performances that were not only authentic but also deeply moving, resonating with the true spirit of the story.

JS: How do you think the difference in cultures (Lebanese and American) has helped enrich the storytelling?

ZH: Several compelling reasons motivated me to incorporate cultural elements into this story. Cultural expectations provide a powerful lens through which we can understand behavior, complexities, and social dynamics. In American films, portrayals of Arab men are unfortunately rare and often limited to stereotypes, such as terrorists. I wanted to challenge this narrow view by presenting an Arab man as a romantic lead—someone who embodies the kindness, decency, and love of family that characterize many Arab men.

Specifically, I chose to highlight Lebanese culture due to the escalating rate of breast cancer in the country, a statistic that remains poorly understood. In Lebanon, breast cancer is often stigmatized, with many patients concealing their diagnosis to preserve their image. In some communities, it is even regarded as a form of “evil.” This cultural context adds layers of complexity to the story, reflecting how deeply ingrained traditions and pride in one’s culture—through language, food, and behavior — can impact individuals facing illness.

The narrative also explores the sense of isolation that cancer patients often feel. For example, an American character who did not learn Arabic, while her children were raised speaking it with their father and grandmother, highlights the emotional distance and insecurities that can arise from cultural and linguistic barriers. This separation echoes the loneliness experienced by those battling breast cancer.

By integrating these cultural elements and tensions, I aimed to enrich the dramatic tapestry of the story, offering a nuanced portrayal that challenges stereotypes and sheds light on the broader human experience.

Film reviewer Conor Truax noted that L’Autre Laurens (2023) features a “Dadaist sense of causality” but that descriptor doesn’t fully capture how deeply strange the film’s unique rhythms can feel when you’re watching it. This Belgian neo-noir/Western feels very much of the moment and, like many products of the European arthouse circuit, it takes its primary inspiration from American B-movies and classic genre films. It captures a sense of disillusionment and bitterness that is commonly found in films of its ilk but possesses a brash spirit that sets it apart from its contemporaries. 

Zita Short had the opportunity to speak to director Claude Schmitz about the film. 

Zita Short: What drew you towards telling a story that incorporates typical neo-noir genre tropes? 

Claude Schmitz: With The Other Laurens, I wanted to make an investigative film, but one with a double purpose: both the “detective” side, with a detective and all the rest, and an investigation into the question of gender in all its forms. The film questions gender archetypes, in every sense of the word. It tackles several film genres at once, mutating as it develops. I also wanted to work with contrasting effects. It starts out as something of a neo-polar, then turns into a buddy movie between uncle and niece, that then turns into a film noir, that then turns into a B-movie action flick, ending up as a tale or fable. But for me, the whole of The Other Laurens is in fact what it ends with, a tale about the collapse of a way of representing the world that I was given to see throughout my adolescence. It was precisely through North American genre films that I was introduced to this representation, in which there was a whole series of archetypal figures. And I wanted to situate these figures in a territory that was both real and imaginary, playing with pretense. And so I had fun recounting the dissolution of these figures in favor of that of a young woman who is less archetypal, or who in any case gradually manages to extricate herself from this mode of representation, this North American imaginary, and to rid herself of all this heritage, both literally and figuratively.

Zita Short: Which influences have shaped your specific comic sensibility and approach to addressing provocative material?

Claude Schmitz: First of all, there’s a whole narrative architecture that has to do with Shakespeare. Because it must be said that this fable I’m talking about, which takes elements from genre films, in fact carries a kind of meta-dramaturgy that would be the corpus in the broadest sense of Shakespeare’s theater. For example, there are obvious references to Hamlet. The first scene, with the vision of the Spanish gangster, is a direct reference to the first scene of Hamlet, in which two guards think they see Hamlet’s ghost. There’s also the nightclub, the Helsingor, which is in fact the real name of Elsinore, where Hamlet takes place. And the identity crisis of Gabriel Laurens’ character, who becomes his brother’s double, also refers to Hamlet’s own identity crisis. And in this sort of Shakespearean corpus, there are also the characters of the two cops, who function a little like Shakespeare’s jester characters, providing a counterpoint to a dramatic situation while at the same time constituting a sort of variation on the same theme. The situation they see and comment on is the same, and they approach it from a comedic, burlesque angle.

So in The Other Laurens, there’s this idea of creating a whole “meta-dramaturgy” that would also have the effect of producing a baroque object, like Shakespeare’s plays. What is baroque is what we define as bicorn, something that isn’t made up of extremely coherent bits. So I wanted to create an object in which the tragic and the burlesque could coexist, all to the benefit of a fable and a tale. In fairy tales, the characters are archetypal and the objects have an almost magical function. There’s also a fetishistic dimension to this relationship with objects. I liked having these motifs, which also meant that we weren’t dealing with naturalism, that we were in a story and a film that had fun with its own ingredients. And the cops have this function of standing back from the narrative, saying at one point that it’s starting to look like a bad movie. This line is very important, because I’m constantly trying to defuse things. But it’s also linked to the strange sensation of finally having a budget, and being amazed myself at making a “cinema” film. And working with a whole panoply of objects – guns, beautiful cars, helicopters – that belong to a certain idea of cinema.

Zita Short: The almost picaresque storytelling devices employed in the narrative feel out of step with many trends in modern cinema. Do you think this style of narrative has fallen out of fashion in this contemporary era?

Claude Schmitz: I’m not really aware of that… I have the impression that there are many trends in contemporary cinema, going in opposite directions. But a certain type of cinema has interested me and still does… often films from the 70s. Strangely enough, it’s a decade I still can’t quite shake off. There was so much going on in Europe and the United States at that time. Herzog, Pasolini, Peckinpah, Cassavettes, Fassbinder, Fellini … All men, I must admit, and I regret it. After that, I have to say that someone like David Lynch had a very strong impact on me.

You speak of picaresque. But at the same time, there’s a contradiction in the film. There’s a kind of immobility in the action and in the film in general. The characters seem to be going around in circles. The fact that we show them getting into their cars to go from one place to another paradoxically produces this stagnation, as if they were going in circles. It’s a kind of action film that has trouble getting going and never gets going. And in keeping with the idea of this commentary on the aging of genre and/or action films, with aging figures, the fact that it struggles to get off the ground is consistent. Moreover, in the last part of The Other Laurens, with the helicopter escape, there’s also the arrival of a kind of lyricism, coupled with a little irony. And once again, the escape doesn’t really happen, they just jump around and it ends up in the desert. What’s paradoxical is that the film plays with pretenses and stereotypes that belong to American cinema, such as the replica of the White House, which is the Laurens’ home, or the Spanish border, which is treated like the Mexican border. And then there’s the desert at the end, which is in Spain, but is assimilated into the Grand Canyon, which has also been a location for many spaghetti westerns. You never get out of this schizophrenic, mirror-like relationship with the United States.

The Other Laurens continually plays with the irony of looking through a glass or a mirror at the influences that have nurtured him. In the end, just as Gabriel reproduces the same patterns and mistakes as his brother, the film reproduces the same patterns as these stereotypes of American cinema. And however much it tries to distance itself from them, in the end, it’s just repeating the same thing, the same circle. But you never know who’s influencing who, when it comes down to it, as the communicating vessels effect. For example, the “replica” of the White House in the film is in fact the original model used to create the one in Washington DC. The Bardenas Reales desert in Spain obviously existed before spaghetti westerns, but was co-opted to shoot films supposedly set in the USA. There really is a very schizophrenic relationship between European and American cinema in The Other Laurens, which can be likened to the relationship between twin brothers, in which it’s no longer clear who influences the other. It’s also quite obvious in the attitude of the bikers, who keep reacting to the presence of the Americans by saying “they’re not going to take the law into their own hands,” even though they’re wearing all the North American paraphernalia they’ve imported from Hell’s Angels. It’s as if the characters can’t define their own identity. It’s really a film about this quest for identity, which is in itself a question of identity. In fact, all I’m interested in is the “trans” question, transgenderism, transgression, creating narratives that summon up the baroque, the biscorn, the association of things that aren’t meant to cohabit a priori.

Zita Short: How do you think that Belgian cinema is viewed abroad and what accounts for the enormous popularity of Belgian arthouse films in the Anglosphere?

Claude Schmitz: I don’t know what Belgian cinema means. If you look at what’s being done in Belgium, it’s hard to say what links all the cinematographic proposals. Belgium is a strange, composite, fragmented territory. It’s almost a non-country. It’s more like an idea…  What’s certain is that this country is so blurred, that its identity is so strange, that it creates peculiar forms. Perhaps this strangeness is the source of baroque objects…    

Zita Short: One also assumes that the Western genre served as a significant influence on the thematic material featured in the film. Why have the genre conventions and moral conflicts that serve as the root of many Westerns continued to endure through the ages?

Claude Schmitz: The Western is a typically American genre. It was therefore somewhat inevitable that it should appear as a watermark in the film. As I was saying, for example, I wanted to end the film in a desert, which is a place in Europe where spaghetti Westerns were made. It’s hard to miss this kind of evocation if you’re making a film that looks at how European and American cinema have influenced each other. Mirror effects, including stylistic ones, are everywhere.     

Zita Short: In reviews of the film, much has been made of the dichotomy between European and American perspectives on the concept of the American Dream. Why do you think that the contrast between these outlooks remains so pronounced?

Claude Schmitz: In my opinion, the American dream is a European dream and the European dream is an American dream. The two feed each other. We live on myths and stories. These are ideas. Everyone looks at the other’s story. The film is about that. How our stories are made by others and vice versa. It’s an intertwining that’s impossible to disentangle.

Zita Short: How did you settle on the idea of drawing 9/11 and, more broadly, the atmosphere of post-9/11 hysteria in the United States into the film’s plot?

Claude Schmitz: In the 80s and 90s I went to boarding school and the movies we were shown in the evenings were American B-movies. Stallone, Chuck Norris, Steven Seagal, and so on. Films we called “Reagannian.” Not very clever stuff that glorified masculine power while offering a Manichean discourse, a caricatured vision of the world, and a rather primitive patriotism. Without realizing it, my imagination was colonized by these patriarchal narratives, and it took me a long time to take a critical look at these films. 

I’m not saying I was totally fooled… but all the same, these films imposed a vision of the world. On September 11, when I was barely twenty years old, I saw, beyond the tragedy, this power that had been conveyed to me so many times shattered. Literally, both towers collapsed as I opened my eyes. I understood that the colossus had feet of clay, and that all the tales of power I’d been told were lies. I’m obviously not talking about conspiracy theories. I’m talking about what fathers give their sons or daughters to see. I use the term “fathers” because, at the time, these were essentially stories – movies – invented by men. Power stories are all lies.  

And the film I made is about that. In a way, Jade’s character is a bit like me. During the film, she painfully realizes that her father is lying to her, and that the figures around her who stand in for him are lying too. So the world falls apart for her… but that finally leaves room for her to start inventing her own stories.  So the film is about the end of a world. The world I knew as a teenager, populated by dominant males, father figures… all the characters you’d find in the B-movies I was talking about. You have to kill the father, as they say. The “father” for me was these movies I watched when I was a teenager, and these movies happened to be American. So as I wanted to be quite honest in the film, and even though I disguised myself as a girl – Jade – I wanted September 11 to be part of the story, because for me this tragic event also represented a breaking point in my way of believing or not believing in stories.     

Much of the American media coverage of the Russian Invasion of Ukraine has focused on the geopolitical tensions between the East and the West and the efforts of soldiers stepping out onto the battlefield. There has been a limited effort to engage with the works of Ukrainian artists responding to the trauma and devastation that the conflict has wrought. For Ukrainian-American filmmaker David Gutnik it was essential to highlight the perspectives of those who use artistic expression as a form of resistance to wartime repression. His documentary Rule of Two Walls (2023) focuses on a diverse set of artists and intellectuals who attempt to continue practicing their crafts in the face of unimaginable horrors. It arrives at a time when calls to preserve Ukrainian culture have become particularly urgent and necessary and manages to perceptively address the concerns of the present moment. 

Zita Short spoke with David Gutnik about the Washington Post article that inspired the making of the documentary, his own family history in Ukraine and the long-lasting legacy of Aleksandr Dovzhenko. 

Zita Short: This documentary primarily focuses on the role that artists play in documenting and responding to the devastating effects of wartime aggression. How would you say that your documentary engages with the debate over whether artists and intellectuals can meaningfully contribute to resistance movements? 

David Gutnik: My family is from Ukraine…my mother’s side is from the East, my father’s side is from the West, my great-grandparents are from Crimea. I have inherited a colonized sense of my own identity, it has been distorted by colonization. My first language is Russian and not Ukrainian. I don’t know my mother tongue and neither do my parents. I began to question the manner in which my origins, my history, my heritage had been discussed. I think this distortion occurs because history is written by the winners. Ukraine has been subsumed and dominated by Russia for three centuries and it has only been a free nation for a little more than three decades. That’s not enough time to write your own history. I am also an artist so I went to Ukraine thinking that I was going to tell a story about refugees but while I was there I read an article in the Washington Post about these artists in Ukraine. Everything switched for me after reading this article. 

I was on a bus into Ukraine and I got in touch with the director of the Lviv Municipal Arts Centre. I don’t know if I’ve answered your question but I would make the case that every film is political. Superhero films are political. They come embedded with a pro-military-industrial complex mindset and help to support American cultural imperialism. When a superhero movie plays in Bangladesh, those values are being exported. When a big American film plays in Bangladesh, it means that smaller local productions are being crowded out of the cinema. You grapple with politics when you focus on the dissemination of information. This has been weaponized in the Russia-Ukraine War to an extreme degree. Putin has stated that Ukraine doesn’t exist and doesn’t have its own history and doesn’t have its own culture. That misinformation is used to justify waging war and committing genocide. The information space is a frontline. It’s a war of identity, it’s a war of memory. We are questioning who gets to tell the story of Ukrainian history. When you’re a journalist or an artist engaged in this conflict your work has life or death stakes. I don’t say this to minimize the contributions of soldiers who are risking their lives and losing their lives. I don’t mean to relativize. However, I think it’s plain to see that the spread of false information can have dire effects in this conflict. 

Zita Short: There is also a great emphasis placed on the process of Russification in the documentary. You question how Ukrainian culture can survive in the face of forced cultural assimilation. How do you, as someone with roots in Ukraine, respond to art produced in this region during the Soviet Period. How do you feel about the works of, say, Dovzhenko, who had to find a balance between making concessions to Soviet authorities and presenting an authentic portrait of Ukrainian culture? 

David Gutnik: I recently made a short film in tribute to my grandmother, who recently passed away, and I was using snippets from old silent films in it. I was talking about it with my producer and she noted that Dovzhenko’s films are still very well-received in Ukraine. You can’t cancel Dovzhenko. I am not somebody who is going to sit here and say who gets to survive these kinds of historical dialogues. There are realities that artists have to face. Filmmakers like Dovzhenko had to make concessions to government officials. It sorts of reminds me of how French New Wave filmmakers fell in love with directors like Nicholas Ray and Howard Hawks who managed to work within the Hollywood system while still smuggling their own ideas into films that had been heavily censored. Maybe it’s a bit like that. 

Zita Short: How did you contact a lot of the people involved in the documentary and how did you get them to agree to take part? 

David Gutnik: I didn’t know anyone when the war began. I reached out to Stefan, a cinematographer who had worked on the Sergei Loznitsa film Maidan (2014). I reached out to him over Signal and told him I was a fan of his work. I asked him if he was safe and told him I was coming to Ukraine. I said I wanted to help and was hoping to make a film. He messaged me back and we started talking every night. We got close and then he connected me with his producer, who was very well-established in Ukraine. After the war, began she became a resistance fighter overnight. Whatever career she had before, she left it behind to become a fixer. We started talking quite a bit and she helped me to get military clearance to shoot in Ukraine. She also helped me to get journalist credentials. I reached out to her after reading the Washington Post article and she said that it resonated with her too. She also helped me to get my director of photography and my great sound guy. That meant I already had a crew in place when I arrived in Ukraine. 

Zita Short: In the press notes, you state that your daughter was born shortly after you made the film. You make the point that it is important to preserve Ukrainian history and culture for the generations still to come and for members of the Ukrainian diaspora. What role do you think the diaspora can play in preserving Ukrainian culture and supporting the war effort?

David Gutnik: I think the Ukrainian diaspora has been playing a big role. I think many members of the diaspora are victims of this rewriting of Ukrainian history. My family arrived in America before the fall of the Soviet Union. We are like hornets in a nest and we were still and dormant for a long time. Then the invasion occurred and Ukraine resisted. Suddenly, it was like all of the hornets in the nest were able to break free and announce their existence to the world. I think there has been a global awakening among members of the diaspora. My mother and I have never agreed on a single thing politically until this full-scale war began. For a long time, she misidentified as a Russian but now she’s ready to step onto the front lines. There’s been an incredible movement of support for Ukraine that, even if it’s not vocal or financial, has been significant on a cultural level. This is an important part of the story of Ukrainian history and we have a role to play in defending Ukraine.