Your latest work, Sabali (“Patience” and “Immortality” in Arabic) is an epic film that tells the story of Moudou’s exodus and the resilience of his migration. What triggered the idea of the narrative and how did this evolve into the finished story?
When DJ Snake introduced this stunning remix of the African anthem Sabali by Amadou & Mariam, along with the intention to tell a story that resonates both emotionally and politically, we (with Birth and Hugo Legrand-Nathan, my producer) immediately felt compelled to be part of it. Witnessing what’s happening in the world right now, the resilience of ever-growing displaced populations, that was the real trigger.
DJ Snake represents the vibrant and bold spirit of contemporary North African culture, while Amadou & Mariam symbolize the global rise and empowerment of African music. Bringing these visionary artists together offered a unique chance to create something powerful and visible – a tribute to Africa, its challenges, and its beauty.
The inspiration for the original concept came from the song’s title, Sabali, which means patience and immortality in Arabic. I aimed to craft a visually poetic film centered on patience, immortal love, and the enduring spirit of African youth.
Cast on location with director Valentin Guiod
Did you work with the artists on the narrative – what was the process like – was there a lot of exchange of ideas?
What makes this process truly unique is that I was given complete freedom to shape the film in the most cinematic, raw, human, and documentary-driven way possible.
I had the incredible opportunity to cast actors from the film industry, assemble an artistic team experienced with feature films, and spend a month in Senegal immersed in scouting and shooting. Everyone came together to make the narrative as powerful as it could be. It was a beautiful, multicultural collaboration, spanning from Birth in Paris to Astou Films in Dakar, with a stop at 2Horloges in Algiers.
It’s rare to have the chance to develop an 11-minute music short film — one that allows silences and rhythmic pauses to let the story unfold and even take precedence over the music. We even reworked the song to fit the narrative and the visual storytelling. This creative conversation with the artist was extremely collaborative, and the writing actually took a full year to reach its final draft. After loads of back and forth and a common vision, I was given carte blanche to direct it.
This had a profound effect on the final outcome: it became an emotional and formal exploration of breaking boundaries and borders, following Moudou’s unpredictable journey, shaped by travels, pauses, hope, and struggles.
How much were the scenes based on other exodus stories and what did your own research involve?
The catalyst for this project was discovering a remarkable book titled Partir et raconter by Mahmoud Traoré (Éditions Nouvelles Lignes, 2017), who embarked on a three-year migration journey to reach Europe and chose to share his testimony about the entire experience. Stories like these are rarely made accessible, neither in literature nor in cinema, so encountering one of them became a pivotal moment for me in this project. It is a narrative that will never be shared enough.
As we were preparing the film, Matteo Garrone’s Io Capitano (2023) was released, and it had a profound emotional impact on me. The film’s fearless portrayal of the migration journey deeply resonated with me. It reaffirmed my determination to contribute to shedding light on this reality, using the platform of prominent music artists to amplify the message. And they were fully committed to bringing it to life.
Valentin Guoid with Alassane Diong as Moudou; and DP Benoît Soler on location
Were the scenes such as the opening shots in the refugee camp and mosque staged or were they real sites?
These sites have very limited access so I had to stage them with the most accurate authenticity. I immersed myself in documentation, reports and testimonies. Both of the scenes are very much inspired by the camp in Ceuta, facing overcrowding and held responsible for violences towards retained refugees.
But beyond authenticity, I often found myself grappling with the question of legitimacy. How can you truly connect with a pain you’ve never felt? How do you convey a reality so layered with political and cultural complexities? Why is it our responsibility, and why at this moment?
As artists, these are the questions we must confront—constantly reassessing our motivations to ensure we don’t fall into the trap of cultural appropriation, especially in today’s world.
I firmly believe that poetry is a more powerful tool than politics. Our innate empathy as human beings allows us to deeply understand others. As artists, our role is to translate this understanding with sensitivity, using our chosen medium.
Through numerous conversations with locals who have lived through migration, I quickly realized that this story, though personal, is one that will resonate universally in time. It speaks to broad, timeless themes — family, love, resilience, and the search for belonging. These are human values that anyone can connect with.
Mariam & Amadou
We know DJ Snake’s roots are French-Algerian and Amadou & Mariam were from Mali but what was your relationship with the African country you based the film in?
I genuinely believe that events unfold for a reason, and my personal connection to Africa through my family’s history played a crucial role in shaping my approach to this film. During my teenage years, I spent considerable time in Bamako, immersing myself in Malian music, discovering artists like Amadou & Mariam, Ali Farka, and exploring Malick Sidibé’s photographs.
So, from a young age, I always felt a deep connection to Panafrican cultures. When I realized I would be working with Amadou & Mariam’s music, everything just fell into place. I felt an overwhelming desire to honor their culture, which had always inspired and nourished me. It was truly a privilege that my world could intersect with theirs.
Shooting in Senegal also made a lot of sense as the whole cast (Omar Sy, Alassane Diong and Anna Thiandoum) originated from this country. It was a beautiful way to pay tribute to these roots.
How did you go about casting Moudou? And what were the challenges of finding the extras and Moudou’s love?
Alassane Diong and Anna Thiandoum (playing Moudou and Aida) are part of a remarkable new wave of actors who are passionate about exploring fresh narratives and untold stories. I first came across Alassane’s work in Tirailleurs, a French and Senegalese film about Senegalese soldiers who fought for France during WWII. I was struck by the depth and intensity he brought to his performance. He has a subtle yet powerful inner strength that was exactly what I needed for the role.
I met Anna during a casting session in Dakar, and the connection was immediate and undeniable. She radiates a complex, captivating charisma and a natural, unsettling mystery. Initially, her role in the script was secondary, but our encounter sparked the need to expand her presence in the story— becoming a constant thread, a haunting memory that would provide Moudou with the courage to keep going.
When it came to the extras, recreating the conditions was both deeply emotional and challenging. Many of the camp scenes required 250 extras, all dressed in poor conditions and packed together tightly. At times, the line between fiction and reality blurred in a way that was profoundly unsettling, and heartbreaking to witness.
Did the narrative change much in the edit – or did you micro plan everything in pre-production?
Every scene was meticulously planned, with mood boards and shotlists in place — but there’s always a cultural reality that can’t be anticipated and must be embraced. Sometimes, moments simply cannot be scripted. For instance, I recall the children performing their ablutions in the camp, suddenly bursting into song in a local dialect. This kind of spontaneous cultural expression is enchanting, and it just makes you want to stop your agenda, roll the camera and capture those fleeting, suspended moments.
In the editing room, Zoé Sassier, my editor, did an exceptional job weaving a rhythmic complexity into the way the story unfolds and incorporates music. We aimed to establish a formal parallel between Moudou’s journey and the film’s pacing, allowing for pauses and more narrative depth. From the beginning, we envisioned it as a short film, rather than just a music video.
The vibrancy and crispness of the images give the film a sharp visual language – what was the stock you shot on or was it all digital ?
Yes, everything was shot digitally using the Alexa 35. I really appreciated the vibrancy it brought to the footage, especially since we filmed nearly everything with natural light. We fully embraced the rich colors and sunlight, which gave the visuals a similar feel to film.
With hindsight, what were the key challenges of making the film? Is there anything you would have done differently?
I honestly can’t identify any. The production and co-productions fostered a thoughtful and cooperative atmosphere, ensuring the smoothest possible experience for a filmmaker. Every obstacle was consistently overcome through the mutual respect everyone had for shaping the story into its best possible form.
Ironically, if there was one challenge, it would be the immense patience this project required over time. Assembling this top-tier creative team was no small feat in terms of logistics! And getting them all to a remote island in the heart of Sine Saloum is truly something to applaud the production team for.
We also loved your short film Frater which scooped up at last year’s 1.4 Awards. Was this autobiographical?
Absolutely, the film is inspired by my own experience of brotherhood and the fantasies I had as a child. It’s the story of a brother I never had the chance to meet.
The film was born out of a deep urge — the urge to explore grief, often hidden in many family stories like a secret that hovers over us. After all, how can we evoke something that exists but doesn’t? How can we protect those who remain? How can we avoid blaming them for simply being? In the torment of such a brutal and unexpected loss, words fall short, shields crumble, and silence takes over. Out of this reticence, I wanted to approach the essence of these solitudes — the ones that pass but never truly meet.
Perinatal mortality affects countless women, men, and helpless mothers and fathers. But I chose to take a personal perspective — focusing on the impact it has on the firstborn, and by extension, the entire family. Through the eyes of the child I once was, I examined my expectations, my ability to forget, to idealize, and to build a life that felt more bearable. I embraced my childhood memories with the perspective of adulthood, striving to capture them as vividly as possible. My direction was driven by those pure, raw, naive emotions, guiding the narrative like fragments of recollection.
If you want to discover Frater, it is available on Canal+ and is currently travelling to festivals worldwide!
What are you currently working on?
I’m currently working on several exciting projects, all produced by Birth, and just as committed.
I’m in the process of making Magma, a coming-of-age short film set on Reunion Island, exploring the eruption of teenage desires and the journey of learning to love oneself.
I’m also writing my first feature, Potemkine, which delves into the dehumanization within the military, and I’m co-creating a TV show called Fuck, Yes, which focuses on sex positivity and the exploration of new identities. As any typical French person would say: J’ai du pain sur la planche! (Literally, “I have bread on the board” — meaning, I have a lot on my plate!)
