Films

Here is my filmography presented in an unofficial and non-chronological manner, allowing my thoughts to dance freely upon each of my cinematic endeavors.

2020s

A Hero of Our Time (2023) is my debut feature that took eight years to complete, from the initial spark to the final edit. It was shot in Pazar, Rize, a small town surrounded by the Black Sea and endless tea plantations in northeastern Turkey, home to me and the Laz People, an indigenous ethnic group of the Caucasus.

The film draws inspiration from Lermontov’s namesake novel, specifically his captivating main character, Pechorin, and more precisely, Lermontov‘s brilliant mention of him in the book’s preface: a portrait built up of all our generation’s vices in full bloom. And my own central character, Mert, likewise provides a negative generational portrait of contemporary Anatolia. He is a mirror reflecting a generation that’s oddly averse to taking responsibility, a living paradox navigating all the misguided routes. And, of course, his reflection is a pretty brutal look at both myself and the rest of my generation whom I once considered heroes of our time, a misled tribe, captivated by the myths of personal development, and entangled in the spaces between their envisioned universe and the one they inhabit.

The film features 32 static scenes, each captured in a single take, and these scenes aren’t just about what’s on-screen, they’re windows into the unseen world, where actions dance just beyond the frames which is largely guided by the auditory realm of the film, a symphony co-crafted with the sound designer, Cenker Kokten. As you watch them, I invite you to construct a world in your mind and connect the dots to weave characters into a story. This technique, one I’ve toyed with in my shorts, aims to spark interactive storytelling. And now, I’m thrilled to unveil its evolved form in this full-length feature.

As you can notice from the stills, my cinematography dances away from the drama of high-contrast cinematic visuals. I prefer a flatter visual palette, where shadows and highlights cozy up, and the deep focus allocates equal attention to all corners of the frame. Think of it akin to the artistry of genre paintings, especially those from the 17th-century Dutch era, such as the works of Jan Steen.

I must give a nod to the colorist, Burak Turan, whose artistry has seamlessly woven these visuals perfectly in line with my envisioned style:

Besides that, you can spot some resemblances with the artistic flavors of filmmakers like Roy Anderson, Tsai Ming-liang, Yang Zhengfan, and even James Benning (let’s not forget about Turkey’s prophet of cinema, Nuri Bilge Ceylan). But keep in mind that pondering differences instead of similarities is the secret sauce for cinematic pleasure.

About the Poster

We collaborated with illustrator Isin Fidan to create the poster image that features our hero in the exact replication of Anthony van Dyck‘s portrait of Charles Louis, the King of Bohemia, with slight alterations. The image also bears a resemblance to Lermontov‘s iconic portrait, a popular choice for his book cover designs. Rather than just a reflection of the film; I wanted the poster to become a narrative device, specifically a red herring, a subtle diversion for the audience, leading them to unexpected and intriguing interpretations. So the idea was to observe him not just as he appears in the film but also to capture how he might envision himself, perhaps as a 17th-century king, so that it could add an extra layer to the film, extending beyond the confines of it. Initially, I intended to use the original piece as a reference for a unique approach, however, I realized my admiration lay not in a 17th-century king but in Van Dyck‘s remarkable style, which leads us to imitate this grandmaster. I don’t know what Isin feels about it, but I embrace that guilt with pride.

Trailer

Credits

The list of people that I collaborated with: Emre Halisdemir, Mert Yasar, Gokhan Baris, Yilmaz Atabey, Ugur Telatar, Emrah Gulsen, Mustafa Kandemir, Elvan Canakoglu, Evrim Cervatoglu, Ahmet Mutlu, Berat Efe Pullu, Nurhan Halisdemir, Hatice Demircioglu, Tugba Güven Kurt, Cemil Kutsal Biber, Erkan Ataman, Kemal Erman, Nurettin Kadioglu, Emine Kadioglu, Mert Naiboglu, Emrah Birben, Danis Sezgin, Okan Kal, Melike Kal, Ebru Terzi, Ali Eren Guven, Burak Turan, Utku Urlu, Cenker Kokten, Alper Ozsen, Ali Oren, Okan Kal, Isin Fidan, Melissa Lara Clissold

You can find details regarding their roles on our production company’s website.

Contributions: Antalya International Film Forum Script Development and Project Design Workshop, San Sebastian Film Festival Work in Progress Europa Selection.

Financial supports: Ministry of Culture and Tourism in Turkey Scriptwriting and Production Fund, Malatya International Film Platform Script Development Award, Meeting Point – Vilnius Lithuania Work in Progress Award, MedFilm International Film Festival Work in Progress Award.

Private funders: Hasan Kadioglu, Dogan Akaroğlu, Ali Yasar Kahya, Suleyman Kesimal, Akın Kemal Memisoglu, Turan Karahan, Neset Cakır, Nurettin Ince, Adem Kanber, Leyla Veyisoglu, Yahya Terzi, Zeki Kaboglu, Pazar Ticaret ve Sanayi Odası, Pazar Ziraat Odası, 53-8 Cay Ekiciler Kooperatifi, Pazar 4 No’lu Motorlu Tasiyicilar Kooperatif, Selale Restoran, Ozben AVM, Yaylacı Ticaret

Patreon supporters: Canan Pehlivanoglu, Halil İbrahim Karaca, Kaveh Vares, Maxwell McIntosh, Rezan Ugurlu, Ezgi Coskun, Serkan Yellice, Oguz Tarhan, Elena Kuznetsova, Mei Ling Li, Cemal Aksu, Luka Vidmar, Gabor Nagy, Amira Zayed, Can Ertan, Ercole Caruso (Once the picture was locked, we couldn’t include all the supporters in the film credits. So, I have specified the rest of them here. If you still don’t spot your name, that means you’ll shine in upcoming projects.)

Where can I watch the film?

The film has not been distributed yet but we will be working on it.

Recently, we are at the stage where festival programmers exclaim: “Oh, another film about a Turkish man? How original!”.

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2010s

In 2016, while immersed in the final stretch of my master’s degree in documentary filmmaking at the University of Lusofna in Portugal, I found myself adrift in a sea of uncertainty regarding my graduation project. Back then, I believed cinema should stand alone as an unadulterated audiovisual art, with notions like subject, theme, dramatic structure, conflict, and characters seen as intruding viruses from other disciplines. Therefore, I decided to adhere to a prescribed form and style while blissfully neglecting all else.

I aimed to capture the essence of Roy Andersson‘s painting-like static shots, but I wanted to infuse real-life locations and real people instead of the studio backdrop he chose. My goal wasn’t to replicate reality but to paint an artistic aura onto the actual world around me. I wanted to convert my daily surroundings into my artistic medium. So, I dived into the work without any predefined concepts; letting the subject and its themes organically emerge as I created, disregarding any need for preconceived notions.

In the delightful Portuguese town of Ericeira, I found the perfect playground for my project. Nestled along the Atlantic coast, this haven welcomes surfers from across Europe every weekend, yet gracefully slips into serenity during weekdays. Amidst this tranquil rhythm, I seized the chance to turn my vision into an expansive canvas, with the town itself unfurling as my open studio.

Throughout the project, I established some fierce guidelines:

• I committed to using images taken in a single, static shot with a 20mm lens.
• I split the frames horizontally into thirds: the near, the middle, and the far, and, into every part I embedded precise visual elements, enriching the space with profound depth.
• The depth of field always remained sharp.

In the places I’ve observed, I’ve devised a technique for crafting the scenes. I focused on the recurring incidents within the chosen frames. Picture this: a pair of dogs stationed in a house’s courtyard, howling at those who stroll by, a dependable routine. This spectacle, a daily affair, lent itself to repetitive documentation. I jotted down these instances and then conjured up parallel occurrences that could harmonize with them. As an illustration, envision this: the dogs’ chorus greeting a motorcyclist cruising past. Now, this motorcyclist, a novice actor of my curation, enters the fold. Employing akin strategies, I’ve captured uninterrupted shots of the seemingly modest, easily overlooked fragments of each day.

Every shot was like a standalone scene, yet they all mingled with familiar characters and objects. These shared elements didn’t weave a narrative line, but, for sure, viewers could still latch onto them. You know viewers are taught by the films they’ve seen, they always pick up certain patterns, and they tend to link this with that. So, when I pieced together these snaps, I had to play to these tendencies by shuffling the sequences. I even flipped a few links that may occur, taking a wild guess at what might click with the audience. Sometimes I would tuck key pieces where they’d peek out later, or maybe hide them so slyly even keen eyes might miss at first glance. Each new find is a fresh chance to spin a new narrative line, and any newfound nugget could shatter what we thought we knew about the narrative so far. Absolutely this is a nod to Flemish Painter Pieter Bruegel‘s style. He tucks his main muse tiny into a vast canvas, a clever trick that escapes your eye at first while you spy on everything else happening in a grand scene in which daily life bustling in all its glory. Take The Census of Bethlehem and Fall of Icarus as prime instances of this artful play. (And check out this post, where my admiration for his works is on full display.)

Truthfully, when I kicked things off, I wasn’t aiming to create a framework conducive to these types of connections. My key aim was for viewers to take in these frames just like they’re soaking in a painting—appreciating each frame on its own. But, try as I might, the viewers would keep on with this reading practice, and if I ignored this reality, my film would’ve been seen in a whole other light than I intended: a universally accepted dramatic structure could potentially transform my work into a crass endeavor, something I definitely didn’t sign up for. So considering the audience’s tendencies, I created a structure that doesn’t seek unanimous agreement. I didn’t just stick to visuals and their order, but I dabbled in sound manipulation too. Crafting a world beyond the screen with sounds, I let viewers dive into a snapshot while they pondered what lies beyond the edges in the off-screen space. I was really fortunate with the sound mixer, Tiago Matos (arranged by my university) who put in extra effort to grasp my intentions and mirror my vision. So, mixing all these bits and bobs, I birthed a film that plays with the audience like a cinematic game, a constant invitation to conjecture kept the audience engaged, allowing narratives to unfurl in countless permutations, depending on the dots they chose to connect.

So, in this film, the audience’s contribution played a pivotal role. You know the old cliché about art films not giving a darn about the audience. Some filmmakers embrace this notion as an alternative to churning out crowd-pleasers. But I think they’re barking up the wrong tree. Tailoring your work for the audience isn’t the same as pandering to their preferences. All art dances for an imaginary audience – a wild mix of people from different walks and eras. So, why shy away from that, if some people are gonna watch in the end? Considering the audience is not about turning into a crowd-pleasing puppet, it is more like a cool tango, acknowledging the audience without becoming a commercial sellout. Abbas Kiarostami beautifully reflects on the role of the audience in the realm of cinema, suggesting that in the upcoming century of film, an inherent appreciation for the audience’s intellect and creative input will become unavoidable. He proposes a shift from the traditional notion of directors as sole authorities, implying that filmmakers should also embrace the perspective of viewers. For a century, cinema has been in the hands of filmmakers, yet Kiarostami envisions a future where the audience becomes a creative part of its evolution. My method aligns closely with this notion: I play the role of the audience in my own film, capturing the scenes I yearn for while mindful of the imaginary audience I conjure.

The significance of this film lies in my candid portrayal of how the audience contributes to the entire cinematic experience and my revelation of my approach to engaging with them. This is why I divided my filmography into Pre-Permutations and Post-Permutations eras during the 2010s, letting this film shine extra bright even though the instructors at university didn’t give it much of a nod, but then again, they probably don’t even feature in my imaginary audience.

Trailer

Credits

The list of people that I collaborated with: Nicole Carp, Okan Kal, Tracie Holder, Susana Barriga, Tiago Matos, Marco Amaral, Margarida Cardoso, Tiago Hespanha, Victor Candeias

You can find details regarding their roles on our production company’s website.

Where can I watch the film?

You gain access to the film by making a small donation to our Patreon page. *

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Pre-Permutations era

The Hawk (2013)

The Hawk (2013) is a one-shot three-minute microfilm, that is crafted as a ticket to the DocNomads master’s program. It echoed the style I would later refine in Permutations (2016). Picture this: a humble peasant family caught mid-routine, a mere snippet of their lives. Like a cinematic dance, I orchestrated attention within a single frame with the actors’ and objects’ subtle moves, both in and out of frame.

You can watch the film here:

The list of people that I collaborated with: Mustafa Kandemir, Fatma Kosoglu, Yilmaz Atabey, Mustafa Atabey

Downtown (2014)

Downtown (2014), is a twenty-minute short film in which I delved into existential themes. While echoing the naturalistic style of The Hawk (2013), this film took a different route: centered around a few days in the life of a high school teen, it embraced the journey of a character, inviting the audience to bear witness to fleeting moments in his everyday existence. So, channeling Francois Truffaut‘s vibe from The 400 Blows (1959), I took a dive into my personal Antoine Doniel territory.

This film was my wild experiment, a whirlwind of unfiltered emotions and artistic methods, that allowed my creative instincts to run freely. Sadly, luck wasn’t on its side. Even though it earned selections at various festivals, it never graced the screen due to cancellations. So this short film embodies youthful naivety, brimming with passion and effort that ended up tasting like a bitter disappointment. Yet another issue with the film is that I stumbled through the rookie director’s playbook: I intensely injected my personal interpretations and symbols into the mix, aiming to conjure meaning from the chaos. Looking back, I label this approach a cinematic malady that gripped me during that era.

Here is an excerpt from the film:

The list of people that I collaborated with: Emre Halisdemir, Mert Yasar, Ali Eren Guven, Yilmaz Atabey, Nurettin Kadioglu, Emine Kadioglu, Danis Sezgin

Stove (2012)

The Stove (2012) is a six-minute short film revolving around a man who crept into a fisher shelter, intent on pilfering food, but upon encountering a stove, he remained, willingly facing the consequences. His longing for a home morphed into an all-consuming desire, a transformation I aimed to capture. Later, I wanted to thread a connection between this piece and Downtown (2014) under the theme of the yearning for a home — not solely material, but also social and even spiritual manner. So, a short film trilogy was on the horizon, and actually, it was completed later on with Yard (2018). But this trilogy idea was exactly what I meant by the cinematic malady: developing thematic concepts centered around symbols while aiming for a bold thesis. You know, it catches every filmmaker at least once, just like measles. But it’s hanging out with the audience too: some people always hunt for meanings through thematic symbols, they see metaphors in everything, and they find metaphors in their sleep. Of course, I am not against anybody doing this dance of the mind. But a filmmaker should not construct a film solely upon symbols to be decoded, for then the film turns into a mere tool. A film is not just a vessel to ferry an idea or notion; a film should brew up its own meaning, and be an idea in its own right. Alas, back then, I didn’t quite reckon this insight. But we live, we learn, right?

Here is the trailer of the film:

The list of people that I collaborated with: Mert Yasar, Serhat Atasaral, Recep Ekmekci

The Children of The Rain (2011)

The Children of the Rain (2011) is a twenty-minute short film that embodies an evident approach: Activism. It addressed anti-nuclear efforts while dealing with a proposed power plant in a small town still recovering from the aftermath of the Chernobyl disaster. But l will be clear: It was not a cinematic attempt — It was activism given breath, woven into existence using the threads of visuals and sounds. And now, it seems to me that activism is a potential disruptor, a menace to the film world. I believe the true power of art comes from nurturing long-term empathy. Activism, though, tends to zoom in on quick wins, expecting immediate results. Yet, that’s not always feasible in the short run. Paradoxically, pushing too hard with activism might dilute its impact. These activist films lull viewers into a false sense of accomplishment. People watch them, mull over the issue, and perhaps share them with pals, feeling like they’ve done their bit. Unfortunately, often the real, action-demanding problem goes unresolved.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not painting activism as a villain, it has its merits, but slotting it as pure or indie cinema is a tad misguided. Those curating socio-politically inclined content should steer clear of overshadowing true cinematic pieces since art dances to its own tune, driven by the artist’s essence, not by any particular cause. Artists shouldn’t feel pressured to defend causes; their magic lies only in creation and inspiration in their personal agenda. Those days, I danced to the tune of others’ expectations. But let’s not forget to applaud artists for the sheer act of creation and the sparks they ignite. Our expectations, sometimes, should just let them be.

Yet another little anecdote I might share is that this film captured the attention of millions on the internet in Turkey. This was a time when YouTube and other social media hadn’t yet become the behemoths they are today but the film found its way onto nearly every social media platform, and people couldn’t stop clicking. But there was a shadow lurking in this newfound popularity, every time I tried to reclaim my copyright, someone would snatch the content from the primary source and repost it somewhere else. After a while, I made the decision to completely remove the film, a year-long process that wiped it from the web. Nowadays, I cherish the few discerning eyes that watch and interpret my films more than I ever did those millions of fleeting views. Of course, I don’t shun popularity entirely. I want my films to reach the right audience, but within my realm of values, I perceive any populist attitude as morally suspect. And to me, those viewership figures are nothing more than cold, impersonal statistics.

Here is a still from the film:

The list of people that I collaborated with: Emre Halisdemir, Mert Yasar, Betul Azmanoglu, Nurettin Kadioglu, Okan Kal

On the Square (2015)

In addition to these films, I’ve got a stash of unreleased student short films from the Pre-Permutations era. Most of them were shot for specific purposes, so I’ve left them out of my filmography. However, I want to shine a light on On the Square (2015), a five-minute one-take film co-directed by my classmate, the great and only Cecilia Bandeira. Imagine a swift glimpse at the face of a young woman, lost in anticipation at a renowned square in Budapest. Who she is, who she waits for, remains a mystery. As we join her in silent contemplation, the city’s symphony gradually fades away, if just for a fleeting moment.

Here is a still from the film:

The list of people that I collaborated with: Cecilia Bandeira, Tamas Almasi, Attila Kekesi

For a glimpse into relics from my Pre-Permutations days, check out our Patreon page. *

(And, of course, I am leaving those unreleased works for future film historians to unearth.)

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Post-Permutations era

Yard (2018) marks the final act of my trilogy of short films, which also includes Stove (2012) and Downtown (2014). As I mentioned above, this trilogy was originally an exploration of the yearning for a home theme, each approached from unique angles.

In this film, my filmmaking approaches came to a showdown: Permutations (2016) thrived on my keen observations, but Yard (2018) dared to dream up an alternate scenario, even constructing a whole set for it. Picture this: capturing a traditional Muslim funeral ritual from one fixed angle, blending an elegant frame with the graceful dance of actors on and offstage. Just like a moving painting.

Snapshots from the production design phase:

The film set took shape in a spot that truly tickled my fancy. This locale gifted me a chance to weave a sprawling tapestry, strategically placing elements both near and far. But the moving painting idea fell short, my wild musings on paper failed to dance their grand performance upon the stage, defying my eager anticipation. Then, one day serendipity stepped in. While lounging around the set, a trail of smoke emerged across the valley one fine day. Amidst the lush stillness, the smoke ascended gradually, injecting a stunning dynamism into the static tableau. Alongside a colleague, I brainstormed the smoke’s origin. Odds were, the villagers sparked up a fire to craft molasses from grapes, all due to the vintage season being in full swing.

That smoke got my gears turning and I envisioned that rising smoke right within my moving painting. So a fresh idea unfurled, mirroring the stylistic vibes I honed in Permutations (2016) as the very heartbeat of the space I dwelled in commandeered my creative compass. And thus I would capture the essence of the place through meticulous observations, choreographing a situation with the chosen frame’s organic elements. I wondered, what would be the connection between the somber funeral and the elusive smoke? This question pushed me beyond my observations and a narrative emerged: the smoke held the key to a post-funeral story.

Now, how could I sprinkle in the magic? Of course, I played with sound, hints just beyond the frame, and interactions that tickled the audience, inviting them to step into the film with their senses. I wanted them guessing and engaging. In Permutations (2016), only ambience sounds existed, but in Yard (2018) dialogues mingled with those off-screen whispers, breathing life into storytelling. I went for a simple idea: starting with a naturalistic funeral ceremony right up front, then blackouting the screen. Using sounds, I crafted an atmosphere that felt like night and initiated a conversation between two unseen men in the darkness. From here on, it was all about the progression through sounds and dialogues, much like a radio play.

Robert Bresson claimed that the eye craves when the ear is fed, and vice versa. I took this to heart. So, by satisfying viewers’ eyes with the funeral scene initially, I sparked their curiosity. I even stripped away all spoken sounds in this scene to avoid ear fatigue and let the visuals speak. And then the dark screen urged the audience to open their ears and truly listen. For a good ten minutes, the audience experienced the two men’s dialogue solely through their voices against the dark backdrop. As the film neared its end, the darkness gave way to light as the day broke and incidents hidden beyond the yard unfolded with a cloud of smoke rising.

Pre-production phase storyboards crafted by the Spanish artist Guillermo Gomez Moreno:

Yard (2018) marked a turning point in my cinematic journey, crystallizing my stylistic inclinations on screen. My process for making a film became distinctly defined: immerse myself in the setting, soak in its organic essence, frame it just right, and then weave the narrative and mise-en-scène into that very frame.

As for its place within the trilogy, it explores the spiritual homelessness of individuals, a progression from material and social homelessness examined in my prior works. A thematic trifecta, if you will. But, to be honest, I’ve outgrown the compulsion for such thematic constructs. They feel trite, mere tools for shallow artistic promotion. But the trilogy has already earned the label as Homeless Trilogy, and feel free to read between the lines as you like. You know, in an ideal world, perhaps we wouldn’t need labels or names for films. After all, they are audiovisual creations, while names are literary adornments, external elements tinkering with the film’s very form. The American painter James McNeill Whistler seemed to get it right: his most famous portrait of his mother is titled Arrangement in Gray and Black No. 1, emphasizing the form over all else. This perspective resonated with me once and I actually adopted a similar approach to Permutations (2016). Alas, this is not the most marketable technique in today’s cinematic landscape. Anyway, moving beyond the titles, these three short films share a cinematic universe, and that’s enough to bind them naturally into a trilogy. But what truly matters for me now is crafting a visual and auditory experience that forges a direct connection with the audience.

In 2019, I stumbled upon an article reviewing Yard (2018), written by university students who also awarded the film at the Trento Film Festival in Italy. I hadn’t crossed paths with these people before, never whispered a single detail about my creation to them. Yet, when I finally got around to translating and absorbing their words from Italian, a warm realization washed over me: My cinematic visions had danced delightfully in harmony with them as an audience. That’s how I dig communication.

Anyway, flaws and all, this trio of short films has been my personal cinematic academy, an enlightening six-year journey, a worthy endeavor, an act of reflection, and documentation of my vision in progress.

Trailer

About the Poster

Amidst his garden toil, Mert Yasar, a creative companion in this film, urged his grandfather for a quick shot with a humble mobile phone. A casual moment and his grandfather’s untrained eye at the helm resulted in a charmingly askew composition. With a deft touch, I polished and repurposed it for the poster. Of course, the film’s essence doesn’t flow directly from this image but its earthy textures intertwine with the film’s fabric.

Credits

The list of people that I collaborated with: Emre Halisdemir, Mert Yasar, Ali Eren Guven, Guillermo Gomez Moreno, Mustafa Kandemir, Danis Sezgin

You can find details regarding their roles on our production company’s website.

Financial support: Ministry of Culture and Tourism in Turkey Production Fund

Film crew (photographed by Ugur Dizman):

People standing, from left to right: Veysel Biliciler, Osman Kaya, Nazim Kurtulus, Yusuf Akbal, Metin Atasaral, Enver Ergenc, Seref Atabey, Ali Kemal Ozdilek, Maksut Azakli, Yilmaz Atabey, Zeki Atabey, Ahmet Canbaz, Zehra Canbaz, Nurettin Kadioglu, Nevin Akpulat, Caner Akpulat, Koksal Kaynar, Veysel Kandemir, Mustafa Kandemir, Hasan Kadioglu, Danis Sezgin, Omer Kiymaz, Nejla Demircelik, Bora Ince, Hayrettin Halisdemir,

People sitting, from left to right: Mustafa Kosoglu, Filiz Bayraktutan Sayın, Fatma Kosoglu, Utku Kosoglu, Asiye Kose, Yigitcan Kosoglu, Yigitcan Sarioglu, Emine Ozdilek, Emine Kadioglu, Nurhan Halisdemir, Zeliha Tuncer, Mirac Atabey, Emre Halisdemir

Screenings

International Film Festival Rotterdam, Trento Film Festival, Vilnius International Film Festival, Dokufest International Short Film Festival, Rio de Janeiro International Short Film Festival, MedFilm International Film Festival, International Film Festival of Uruguay, Lille International Short Film Festival, Tetova International Film Festival, Leggimontagna International Film Festival

Where can I watch the film?

You gain access to the film by making a small donation to our Patreon page. *

Wrapping it up for now. If you are curious about what’s cooking next, head over to the Works in Progress page for a sneak peek.

* I confess, these short films lack commercial appeal, and any substantial income from donations seems unlikely. Yet, my desire is simple: I wish for my films to be seen in exchange for goodwill. They might hold unique worth for a handful of dedicated souls, unafraid to invest a modicum of effort. This brings me immense joy. It transforms the film audience from mere statistics to cherished participants. A single individual’s commitment suffices to satisfy me. Yet, astonishingly, a greater number than I envisaged has displayed curiosity towards my films and contributed. It works.