Your films feel visually intentional down to the smallest detail. When does a project begin for you — with an image, a character, or a question?
Almost always with an image. A single frame that won’t leave me alone. It might be someone standing in a doorway, or light hitting a face in a specific way. From there, I ask why that image exists. What happened before it? What will happen after? The story grows outward from that stillness.
You’re known for working closely with your cinematographer. How do you build a shared visual language?
It starts with conversation. We exchange references — paintings, photographs, even architecture. I’m less interested in copying aesthetics and more in defining emotional tone. Is this world claustrophobic? Is it expansive? Once we define that, the camera becomes an extension of the character’s psychology.
How do you guide actors toward the performances you envision without restricting their instincts?
Trust. I cast actors who bring something unexpected. My job isn’t to control them — it’s to create an environment where they feel safe to explore. I give direction in emotional terms rather than technical ones. Instead of saying, “Move here,” I’ll say, “You’re trying not to be seen.” The body follows the emotion.
Your pacing often feels deliberate and restrained. What draws you to that rhythm?
Silence can be more powerful than dialogue. I like when an audience leans forward instead of being pushed back. Slower pacing creates tension because it allows viewers to sit inside discomfort. I don’t want people to just watch my films — I want them to inhabit them.
Directing requires both creative intuition and decisive leadership. How do you balance those roles on set?
Clarity is kindness. When a crew feels that you know where you’re going, everything moves smoother. I prepare obsessively before production so I can remain flexible during it. You need conviction, but you also need humility. Sometimes the best ideas aren’t yours.
What has been the most challenging creative decision you’ve had to make?
Cutting scenes I loved. Attachment can cloud judgment. If a moment is beautiful but doesn’t serve the film, it has to go. Directing is as much about restraint as expression.
How do you define your relationship with the audience?
I don’t want to spoon-feed them. I respect viewers enough to let them interpret. Film is a collaboration between the screen and the mind watching it. Ambiguity invites participation.
In an era of fast content consumption, do you feel pressure to adapt your style?
I’m aware of the landscape, but I don’t chase it. Trends fade. Perspective lasts. If you compromise your voice to keep up, you lose what makes you distinct.
What inspires you outside of cinema?
Music, photography, long walks in unfamiliar cities. I’m inspired by stillness. Observing people when they think no one is watching — that’s where truth lives.
If you could describe your directing philosophy in one sentence, what would it be?
Direct with intention, edit with honesty, and leave space for mystery.
