A woman translated it. A man filmed it. The culture war that followed says less about Homer than about who still gets to decide whose story counts. Emily Wilson, Nolan, and the Fight Over a Hero Why would a University of Pennsylvania classics professor need a dedicated “misogynistic trolling” button on her website? In Emily Wilson’s case, it’s because she dared translate Homer’s epic poem The Odyssey, becoming the first woman to do so in English and helping inspire Christopher Nolan’s new $250 million blockbuster. Yes, you read that right. The written versions of the nearly 3,000-year-old Greek saga that English speakers have received and retold for hundreds of years were all rendered by men. That should be the headline. Instead, what everyone wants to talk about is whether Wilson’s gender impacted her retelling of The Odyssey, and perhaps colored Nolan’s 3-hour IMAX extravaganza, accused of “wokeism.” In fact, Wilson’s work, Nolan’s film—and the culture war that’s erupted around both—reveal how the ideas of the ancients are so tightly woven into our identity and society today that people still care very much how they’re worded and represented. They also offer a case study into how contentious cultural representations of women’s bodies, power, and agency continue to be. Apparently, 3,000 years isn’t enough to warrant change. This article originally appeared in Provoked Magazine. Welcome to Odysseygate You remember Barbenheimer? Well, welcome to the summer of Odysseygate. Even before The Odysseymovie’s July 17 release, the internet was aquiver over perceived inaccuracies in wardrobe, story, characters, and casting. (A black Helen of Troy?! A trans actor and a rapper?!) The use of modern American English (“dad,” the F word) and a lack of Greek actors also ruffled a few feathers. Academics chuckled in return at the sudden obsession with an epic poem most haven’t read, not to mention mild confusion between fiction, mythology, and history. They questioned why the loudest critics—mostly white men—feel such entitlement over ancient myths and civilization. But if you consider their traditional exclusivity over Western cultural heritage, it adds up that men might feel the most threatened by reinterpretations of inherited gender and racial identities or new conceptions of “greatness,” as Wilson has alluded in interviews. When you’re a supporting character on the hero’s journey, you have less to lose in a retelling. The Words She Translated Differently Wilson’s translation has earned renewed scrutiny—and a spot on the bestseller list—after Nolan cited it as one of his inspirations. But it’s been catching controversy since its 2017 publication. Why? For starters, she’s written in an unusually accessible English and used Shakespearian iambic pentameter to naturally capture the rhythm of the original Greek poetry. She’s not the first translator to do this, but she’s apparently the first in the modern era, and her phrasing is straightforward and immersive. It’s been called “a radically contemporary voice” for Homer. Wilson also reevaluated the derogatory portrayals of women characteristic of previous translations. While English readers are accustomed to slurs like “slut,” “whore,” and “nymph” for the saga’s female characters, Wilson determined that some of these interpretations weren’t strictly faithful to Homeric phrasing and carry derogatory connotations in English not intended in the original. “This ancient poem isn’t interested in scolding women for their sexuality, but in the establishment of honor in the elite household,” she told Vulture. Elsewhere, she has criticized a tendency “to simplify the text’s ethical and narrative complexities” by depicting Odysseus as a modern-day hero while downplaying the significance and sympathy given to other characters’ perspectives. Since it’s all Ancient Greek to me, I’m inclined to take the expert’s word on this. Should we be talking about what previous renditions had to do with the gender of their male translators? What Nolan Kept, and What He Changed And then there’s the movie. The online hostility hasn’t hurt The Odyssey’s box office appeal; it may even have helped. The film rocketed to a global $263.7 million on opening weekend, a career best for the director. The screening I attended was packed, and nearby showings were sold out. Reviews have been generally positive, with a few notable exceptions—including by Wilson herself, who called it “a combination of grandiosity and superficiality,” a “confused” vision with “underdeveloped” characters. “I would be ashamed to have written any part of this script,” she chafed. Nolan’s Odysseus (Matt Damon) is a flawed war hero, a cunning leader who nonetheless makes mistakes, gets lost, and feels guilty for the damage his warriors have caused and the basic social rules they’ve disrupted. This is an Odysseus for a war-weary generation, though the film also revels in the violence of its impressive action sequences. Nolan’s Women In my opinion, concerns about a “feminist” retelling were overstated. As with his previous films, Nolan’s focus is on a “complicated” man (the much-discussed word in Wilson’s opening line). And, like most of his other works, it doesn’t pass the simple Bechdel Test (minimum standards for female characters). The majority of scenes feature Damon and his warriors. Women still aren’t the stars of this male-centered tale, but they’re not pure villains or victims either. “In this world, a man does what he chooses,” Anne Hathaway’s Penelope says in the film. “I do what I can.” As Hathaway put it in an interview, Nolan removes some traditional blame from female characters. Odysseus and his men are responsible for their own missteps, and sexuality isn’t a driving force in this telling. Nolan’s Sirens only remind men of their own aspirations and shortcomings. His Circe (Samantha Morton) turns warriors into pigs, but she offers a reasonable excuse and quickly reverses the spell. Nolan’s Calypso (Charlize Theron) cares for Odysseus, but he numbs his own mind to avoid confronting the past. Whose Experience Counts According to Wilson, Homer was very specifically concerned with female agency and power—“anxious” about it, even. She’s pointed to multiple scenes in the original where female characters, not just goddesses, are seen as more powerful than Odysseus and therefore frightening. In Nolan’s version, though, the female characters mostly function to heal, protect, and guide the male protagonists. They wield power, but largely within human limits—even Zendaya’s Athena seems more reactive than proactive. In the movie’s most outwardly feminist moment, Penelope angrily reminds her son that although he’s the intended heir, she’s been sitting on the throne for Odysseus’ 20-year absence.“My knowledge? My years of experience? That’s all nothing compared with the bristles on your chin,” she sizzles. Every woman who's been the one with the knowledge and the years of experience knows exactly what she means. The Power of Storytelling For Nolan, Homer’s female characters are “deceptively simple. Each era has really been able to interpret those characters according to the interests at the time and then the values at the time.” It’s a key point: All great works merit renditions, and “all translations are interpretations,” as Wilson puts it, also reminding us that Homer’s epic is itself an adaptation of existing myths and “many generations of storytelling.” No two of the dozens of English translations of The Odyssey are exactly alike, just like no two staged versions of Shakespeare are the same. Odysseygate is a misplaced controversy, but this summer’s cultural phenomenon reminds us that stories matter. Words matter. Representation matters. Wilson’s work especially stands on its own as a radical rethinking of a classically male-centered tale. She and Nolan offer variations grounded in the subtleties of the original, but the potential impact of their work extends far beyond the bookshelf or the movie screen. After 3,000 years, The Odyssey belongs to all of us. Whose version of the tale we accept as the canon may ultimately come down to who is doing the reading or the watching. Images courtesy of Universal Pictures.

A book both beloved (over 100 weeks on The New York Times bestseller list) and banned (in Iran), Iranian author Azar Nafisi’s memoir, Reading Lolita in Tehran, was adapted to screen in 2023 by Israeli filmmaker Eran Riklis based on a script he co-wrote with American Marjorie David. In 2024, it won the Audience Award and Special Jury Prize at the Rome Film Festival, the city where it was filmed. Reading Lolita in Tehran is set to premiere in the US on July 10 through Greenwich Entertainment. The delay is curious considering the book’s popularity in the US. “It was hard to get an American distributor for some reason,” David admits. “It got European distribution immediately. I don’t know why nobody picked it up here for so long. It seems nuts! It’s of the moment, it’s of special interest to women. It’s of interest to anybody interested in Iran.” American interest in Iran could hit a new high this summer as a result of current events. Whether the ongoing US-Iran hostilities will help or hurt the film’s release is yet to be seen. One thing is for sure, though—Americans can and perhaps should gain insights into the people and culture of Iran from this story. And those who have read the book will appreciate how loyal the script stays to the true story at its core. David is a Hollywood veteran. She’s written for some of contemporary television’s most memorable series, from Hill Street Blues to Chicago Hope, and from the 90210 revamp to Brothers & Sisters and Taken. She is also a prolific producer, with executive producer credits on these and nearly a dozen series in the last 25 years. AWFJ had the chance to talk with David about her work adapting Reading Lolita, on which she also has an executive producer credit, how it fit with her career and what she hopes audiences will take away from the film. Read the full interview on AWFJ.org.

For a young Spanish director to make her first feature film in English with a Euros 8 million ($9.4m) budget—more than double the Spanish average—and with internationally renowned actors like Rebecca Hall, Noomi Rapace, Gael García Bernal and Beanie Feldstein is unusual. For her film to be invited to premiere at the Cannes Film Festival is even more out of the ordinary. But that’s precisely what Maria Martínez Bayona has achieved with her debut feature, The End of It, invited to screen in Cannes Première this month. The Catalan screenwriter and director, who is based in London, has garnered attention with her short films Mia, Wake and Such Small Hands. Now, she is premiering her first feature-length film on the biggest international stage. AWFJ spoke by Zoom with Martínez Bayona (no relation to fellow Catalan director J.A. Bayona) prior to the festival, which runs May 12-23. Interview edited for length and clarity. Read the full interview at AWFJ.org.

Co-narrator Woody Harrelson promises “not another depressing documentary” at the start of this one, and he’s right. Don’t expect Groundswell to absolutely blow you away; its storytelling isn’t markedly innovative, and the basic science has to be explained like in any climate-oriented documentary. But this one does feel different in its sheer vastness. Filmmakers Joshua Tickell and Rebecca Harrell Tickell have put in the work, traveling to more than half a dozen countries and interviewing nearly two dozen experts on systems that work. It all builds up to a clarion call to consider regenerative agriculture as a macro solution to the climate crisis. And it’s a convincing call, considering the many ways it’s working on a micro level, which the documentary visualizes and explains very well. This film is the third in a trilogy and may be the best yet, thanks to its expansive ambition and globally inclusive framework. The message is clear, compelling, and convincing. What more can you ask of a documentary? Premiering as a Special Screening May 13 at the Cannes Film Festival 2026. Originally published by Common Sense Media. Images courtesy of Amazon Prime Video.

This tearjerker picks up steam in its emotional second half, thanks to skilled acting and an absorbing storyline—as well as a few surprises (at least for those who haven't read the book). Field and Pullman are well-matched as flawed, grieving outcasts in Remarkably Bright Creatures, which also benefits from likeable supporting actors such as Colm Meaney, Kathy Baker, and Sofia Black-D'Elia. It's not hard to relate to the characters, who capture the loneliness of modern American life. The Pacific Northwest setting provides a luxurious background as well as a moodiness that fits the story's tone. The octopus narrator is faithful to the book but arguably wasn't necessary in the screen adaptation, where his musings can come across as overly expository. The actors and script articulate the story just fine on their own. Then again, Marcellus is smart, loveable, and lives his own poignant story arc, so why mess with a best-seller? Originally published by Common Sense Media. Images courtesy of Netflix.

If you didn't already love Martin Short, you're going to after this loving profile, directed by longtime friend Lawrence Kasdan. Marty, Life is Short offers a close-up view of the actor's joy-infused and celebrity-filled life. Marty has loved and been loved by a big, happy family and a wide group of lifelong friends (the fact that those friends include figures like Eugene Levy, Tom Hanks, Steven Spielbergand so on doesn't diminish their genuine mutual affection). It's also a story about the contemporary history of comedy, particularly the troupe that came out of Canada's Second City and '70s and '80s-era Saturday Night Live, with Short as a through-line. His life mottos could serve anyone well—ideas like tragedy happens, and it's up to each person how we choose to handle it, or not to live with regrets. He's said to "maintain the merry theme of life," and the home videos and clips certainly show a lot of merriness. Marty is "good at life," a friend concludes. What a lovely way to be remembered, especially while still living that good life. This review originally ran on Common Sense Media. Images courtesy of Netflix.

Informative, humanizing, and at moments downright scary, this eye-opening documentary is sure to make waves. Interviewees in The Plastic Detox  ask how it’s possible that industrial companies have been allowed to make such prevalent products without knowing or addressing the potential and proven harms. Viewers will want to know the same after this wake-up call, which explores the correlations between plastic chemical exposure and a huge range of illnesses, defects, and health problems. The film could inspire individual and societal action. Make this film required viewing – and then run out and buy your bamboo toothbrush.   What makes it so impactful is the combination of science, through engaging animated explainers and expert interviews, with human stories, including six couples experiencing unexplainable fertility issues and a majority-Black community in Louisiana that stands up to big industry. A barrage of proof is supplied to show that the chemicals in plastic are everywhere and have detrimental health effects on humans and the environment, while a lack of regulation at the government level has left us (and our planet) vulnerable. You’d be forgiven for not expecting a happy ending, but the documentary surprises there as well.  This review originally ran on Common Sense Media . Images courtesy of Netflix.

This tragic, strange, beautifully filmed, hypnotic movie is both hard to watch and tough to take your eyes off. Sir ā t was a finalist for best international film and best sound design Oscars. That latter nomination recognizes the sensory experience of the film, which sets striking frames of the desert to the pulsating techno beats and haunting strains of rave music. The technical work on display from the sound team, cinematographer Mauro Herce, director Laxe, who co-wrote the script with regular collaborator Santiago Fillol, and the rest of the film’s creatives conjures a story that is limited in scope but meticulously developed. When tragedy strikes, you’re both unprepared and yet not totally surprised. Laxe has called it a spiritual film, a rite of passage, and a ceremony of death. It is also an exercise in realism, with many non-professional actors and actual raves.   The characters encounter military troops declaring a state of emergency and evacuating citizens, while radio reports refer to a war that will change the world. Do you notice World War III when you’re at the end of the world, a character asks? “We’ve been at the end of the world a long time,” another replies. Such cryptic messages and moments of suggested metaphor or deeper symbolism feel rife in this evocative film. Small humans face existential crises in the vast desert, the title signifies a path between hell and paradise, the alternative communal lifestyle is at odds with the individual drug trip, and a televised scene of a spiritual hajj pilgrimage is reminiscent of the ravers in communal trance (its melodic prayers fade into rave music). Like a hallucination or awakening, what it all means might be up to each viewer’s interpretation and experience. Review originally published by Common Sense Media Images courtesy of Neon

My answer is no, but maybe I need to "read the damn book," as the Columbia Journalism Review admonished. This article was originally published by The Alliance of Women Film Journalists . A lot has been written about the depiction of female journalists in "She Said," director Maria Schrader and scriptwriter Rebecca Lenkiewicz's adaptation of New York Times reporters Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey's book about their Pulitzer Prize-winning investigation into sexual misconduct allegations against Harvey Weinstein. Reviewers have praised the film for offering what other investigative journalism movies (think "All the President's Men" or "Spotlight") have not -- the female perspective, especially outside the newsroom. Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey (played by Zoe Kazan and Carey Mulligan) are seen juggling family life and work in the film. They're also covering a story that impacted women especially, so most of their sources are female. Their reporting helped invigorate the #MeToo movement, which empowered women around the globe to publicly denounce sexual misconduct and has resulted in some very high-profile men, like Weinstein, being held accountable for inappropriate and even illegal behavior, as well as some changes to workplace oversight (as end credits describe). Stating the obvious, as a journalist and a woman, I was excited to see this film and predisposed to like it. I am its target demographic: according to The Hollywood Reporter , almost half of opening weekend ticket sales went to people aged 45 and older, and more than 60 percent of viewers were "older females." Unlike many critics, I was surprisingly underwhelmed by this movie. I wasn't convinced by the depiction of the reporters' uniquely female concerns, nor by its portrayal of high-stakes investigative journalism. I do think the film does an excellent job of portraying the fragility of survivors and the potential long-lasting impacts of sexual violence. I'll try to explain here, knowing I'm treading into controversial territory. We are apparently so starved for these kinds of stories that critiquing the ones we get might be considered bad form. Juggling Work & Kids Never Looked So Easy The buzz about She Said is that we finally get to see female journalists at home, outside their work, and juggling motherhood and marriage. Woodward and Bernstein didn’t appear to have families of their own in their paper-cluttered apartments — work was their life, according to the 1976 film about their Watergate investigation. The same can be said of many on-screen journalists, including women, though three-dimensional depictions are out there, including recent ones like Danish series Borgen and the new ABC/Hulu show Alaska Daily . If only the portrayal of Kantor and Twohey’s home lives were more realistic. For example, both reporters are apparently married to saints. These are husbands who never appear to lose their patience, don’t mind at all when phones ring in the middle of the night and who are never, ever not available when the women need to work long hours or fly across the continent or ocean. It’s hard to imagine there wasn’t at least occasional tension or scheduling problems. Their Hollywood-ization diminishes the realism, in my opinion. Twohey struggles with postpartum depression in the film. Mulligan portrays this in an honest and understated way. Both Kantor and their female editor, Rebecca Corbett (played by Patricia Clarkson), are empathetic in talking to her about it. But the depression seems to magically disappear when Twohey gets back to work. I was left wondering if the book gave this more attention. Meanwhile, Kantor has two children, and her older daughter is precociously attuned to the subjects her mother is working on. As a mom, I know what it is to have a child’s watching eyes and listening ears at sometimes inconvenient moments. But a scene where Kantor breaks down after Facetiming with her daughter, who uses the word “rape” for the first time on their call, feels forced — and not just because of Kazan’s noticeable acting (for me, an issue throughout the film). The idea of showing her older daughter as aware of and impacted by Kantor’s work on the Weinstein story is commendable, but it’s done in a heavy-handed way in that it involves the daughter asking difficult and pointed questions about the investigation almost every time she’s alone with her mom on screen. It’s an issue of adaptation. It’s one thing to try to condense months or years of lived experience into a 320-page book, and yet another to adapt that to 129 minutes of screen time. Things get lost, and many experiences must be concentrated into far fewer emblematic moments. That seems to be the case with the reporters’ home lives and families in this film. Journalists Take Better Notes It’s also the case with their work lives. The movie has to condense a ton of reporting legwork into bits and pieces, crafting an ultimately disjointed portrayal of investigative journalism based as much on trying to create suspense and elicit emotion from viewers as on representing the actual work of journalists. It makes me think that the most qualified writers and directors for films about journalists might be former journalists themselves. For example, we see a lot of interactions between the journalists and Weinstein’s alleged victims, but Kantor and Twohey rarely record conversations and barely take notes in these scenes. The implication is that more thorough, on-the-record interviews take place off-screen, but these aren’t shown. Will every viewer make that assumption? The film builds up to a final scene where multiple people are painstakingly editing the final draft of the story, but the grunt work beyond the tracking and initial meetings with sources and off-the-record conversations — the recording and triple-checking of facts, the call-backs, the sifting through documents — is, again, more suggested than shown. Twohey also seems to conduct an awful lot of very sensitive phone calls while walking the busy streets of New York City, according to this movie. Of course journalists have to take calls while on the move, but I find it difficult to believe this reporting veteran would choose to make important calls herself while out walking among noisy crowds and city traffic. My guess is the filmmakers wanted New York City to feel like a character in the film — it’s the setting where Weinstein reigned supreme and, of course, home base for the paper, one of the few left with the resources to support investigative work like Kantor’s and Twohey’s. This could be a stretch, but I wonder if the treatment of the setting isn’t also related to the fact that the director and scriptwriter are both not originally from the US? NYC represents a lot of things and is often tasked with representing America as a whole. Weinstein & the Women The filmmakers also make the odd choice to use an actor to play Weinstein but only have him heard on calls or seen from afar or from behind. Maybe the idea was to make him seem more menacing by showing him less? Was the actor necessary, in that case? Same for the recreated flashbacks of some victims’ stories. The film does include what appears to be the actual recording of Weinstein taped by a woman who wore a police wire. Will audiences unfamiliar with the details of these individual cases understand what’s real and what’s reenacted/acted? Does it matter? One aspect I think the film handles very well is the portrayal of the female journalists as extremely patient and notably empathetic with their sources. A scene where a man offensively tries to hit on the journalists at a bar and Twohey (Mulligan) lashes out at him hints at the reality that many female journalists may have a more lived empathy than their male counterparts for female victims of sexual harassment and assault. The film also shows how both journalists themselves received or perceived threats for their reporting. By far the most compelling part about this screen adaptation, for me, isn’t the female journalists but rather the victims/survivors. It’s hard to take your eyes off Samantha Morton and Jennifer Ehle, playing two former Weinstein assistants, as they waver between tears and steely resolve in recounting past experiences with him. Ashley Judd, another Weinstein accuser, makes a surprising and powerful appearance as herself in the film. Their stories lay out how a powerful predator can get away with abusive behavior for decades, and how his actions can have devastating and long-lasting effects. “Read the Damn Book” I found myself wondering constantly during the movie just what She Said was leaving out in its adaptation of the book. A Columbia Journalism Review (CJR) critique of the film subtitled Read the Damn Book reminded me to put this tome back at the top of my to-read list. I gather that in their book, Kantor and Twohey describe in detail the steps involved in piecing together their story and convincing women to go on the record. The film attempts to show this too, but it leaves a lot out and expects audiences to make connections and fill in blanks themselves. On the recent recommendation of a friend, I’ve been reading Ronan Farrow’s book, Catch and Kill , about his own investigations into Weinstein for NBC and The New Yorker, which shared the Pulitzer with Twohey and Kantor. So I’m up on the details of the multiple allegations that broke this story open. I honestly had to rely on that reading to keep track of names and events alluded to or mentioned in passing in She Said . My teenage daughter watched with me and we had to pause regularly so I could explain what was going on. The problem is, the film should stand on its own without requiring viewers to read the book or know the details of the investigation beforehand. Again, it’s a matter of adaptation — selecting what to include and what to leave out. I think the film relies too heavily on viewers knowing the ‘story’ behind the story and takes audience investment (particularly among its target demographic) for granted. On its opening weekend, even despite positive reviews, the film had “one of the worst starts in modern times for a major Hollywood studio release,” as The Hollywood Reporter put it, sending analysts into a tizzy trying to explain why. Kantor and Twohey’s reporting deserves continued attention and praise. Flawed or not, the film could reach more and different audiences than the book, and it has the potential to inspire renewed interest in the power of journalism as well as the importance of holding the powerful accountable. And that would be a good thing. Images courtesy of Universal Pictures and Penguin Press.

This is a sensitive piece of filmmaking with insights into the band's origins as well as how its members today, once head-banging punk rockers, now feel about their lives and legacies. The Rise of the Red Hot Chili Peppers: Our Brother, Hillel is also a film about the wild and creative milieu of Los Angeles in the 1970s and 1980s. The use of a digitally engineered voice for Hillel, the beloved bandmate who died of a drug overdose in 1988, could raise eyebrows. But it comes across as natural here in between the other bandmate interviews, which get surprisingly emotional, and alongside montages of their early days and Hillel's original artwork and writings. It's also interesting to reflect on the free-range life of kids in the 1970s, with all its pros and cons, as compared to childhood today. Review originally published by Common Sense Media Images courtesy of Netflix

Costa Rican director Antonella Sudasassi spent two and a half years talking with older women for her film  Memories of a Burning Body (Memorias de un Cuerpo que Arde) , Costa Rica’s submission for the International Oscar. “In the beginning, I was looking for a specific kind of woman,” she says. “I was looking for someone more traditional, who got married, had kids, always lived with her husband and eventually died or divorced or whatever.” “I also looked for someone who was more open about her sexuality,” she adds, admitting that she thought her initial “idea of talking about sexuality and trying to understand how women of that age live their sexuality” might be funny and full of “juicy details.”  Sudasassi initiated the project out of a longing to have had these conversations with her own grandmothers before they died or lost their memories.  But through the long conversations with the women, which took place during the COVID shut down, Sudasassi says she “realized that it was about something else. It was about identity. It was about understanding themselves as women.” “And quite honestly, when I started talking to them, I realized that they had never talked about this with absolutely anybody, not even their mothers, daughters, sisters or granddaughters. They’d never talked about this, and they had such a need to talk about it. It felt a bit urgent for them to talk about it.”   Indeed, the women interviewed reveal very personal information. There are eight voices in the film in total, though only one woman is seen on screen (and younger versions of her), and she is an actress embodying the group of interviewees. Sudasassi says she decided to “intertwine” their voices and stories and wrap them into one “because I felt like there was such a common experience, even if the context was different.” The result is a fascinating piece of documentary work (that some are calling fiction because of the dramatized reenactments of the women’s words). In an interview with AWFJ, Sudasassi explains her process. Read the interview on AWFJ.org at this link . Read my review of the film here.

As a woman in one of the 22 short films in Palestine’s International Oscar entry, From Ground Zero , says, the loved ones lost in the ongoing war in Gaza are at risk of becoming “just numbers.” This film aims to resist that happening. But it also aims to go beyond stories of human suffering, according to producer Rashid Masharawi, who conceived of, organized and financed the anthology. On the one hand, he notes, the film intends to “document what’s going on.” On the other hand, he says, “I want this film to be shown internationally. It’s about life, it’s about love, it’s about hope. It’s about resistance. It’s not trying to show complaining all the time.” Masharawi is an award-winning, Gaza-born filmmaker ( Curfew , Haifa and many more) responsible for launching the Cinema Production and Distribution Center in Ramallah, which offers training and workshops for aspiring filmmakers as well as a mobile cinema and a children’s film festival. The film doesn’t focus on “political discussions or debates.” Instead, “It has to do with our life, with our culture, with our history. It has to do with people who want to have all these dreams – to make stand-up comedy, to paint, to dance, to sing. It’s about life.” There is also a heavy presence of women creatives in this collection, something that “was not easy,” Masharawi notes, “because women are having a difficult life during this war. They are more responsible for lives and family, kids, food, for many things, than men are. Besides, they live in tents and they have no privacy.” Getting them to take time to make a film was tough, but he says “it was very important for me to have maximum women.” I spoke with Masharawi by Zoom from France about the inspiration and logistics behind this collection. From Ground Zero had its North American premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival. Read the full interview here on the Alliance of Women Film Journalists page. Read my review of From Ground Zero here.