After the Festival Run

Beneath a Mother’s Feet has reached the end of its nearly two-year festival run. Its final screening took place at the fifth edition of the Marrakech International Short Film Festival, which felt like a fitting place to close this chapter.

The film’s journey was largely driven by its own momentum. I wanted it to be seen as widely as possible, and I was open to invitations from inaugural and lesser-known festivals if it meant the work could sit in front of an audience. What I learned very quickly is how personally rewarding those experiences can be. Many of the most meaningful encounters happened in rooms that were small, local, or far from the usual centres of attention.

Along the way, the film received awards and generous critical responses. That recognition mattered to me more than I expected. As a writer and director, I believe in my own taste and voice, but I also know how easily confidence can falter. There are moments when you wonder whether you are seeing clearly or simply convincing yourself you are. This journey reassured me that the work was communicating something real. Deep down, I know I have more to offer, and this process helped steady that belief.

I realise I have not posted here in a long time. That absence came from a mix of being absorbed in the festival journey and trying to balance the practical realities of life alongside it: developing other projects, working a day job, and navigating family commitments. Writing here often slipped down my list of priorities.

Now feels like the right moment to reflect. I tried, wherever possible, to travel with the film. I journeyed with it to Morocco, Mallorca, Budapest, Tunisia, and across the UK. I always value being present when the work is shown. The conversations that followed screenings were often as important to me as the screenings themselves. People responded through the lens of their own lives, the difficult moments they had faced, the impossible choices they had encountered, and the weight of their own family histories.

Many viewers expressed empathy for Wedad, our central character, who was inspired by my mother. They understood the decision she made to leave. Others could not reconcile the idea that a mother could ever leave her children. That tension sat at the heart of almost every discussion. I never intended the film to function as a moral argument. I did not want to offer reassurance or resolution. I wanted to present a situation that leaves audiences grappling with the fact that some questions cannot be answered neatly, and that sitting with that discomfort matters.

The film came from a deeply personal place. It was assembled from fragments of personal testimony and memory, from physical artefacts such as a wedding photograph with the groom’s face scribbled out, and from my own experiences of spending long summers in Morocco from the 1980s onwards with my grandparents in M’diq, in their modest one-room bungalow. Folklore also played a role, particularly stories of the djinn passed down through my family. These elements came together like zellij.

The film is a tribute to my mother, my family, and my Moroccan heritage. It is also an acknowledgement of anyone who has found themselves at a difficult juncture in life. In my mother’s case, that juncture was between remaining as a single mother under intense pressure to remarry, or leaving and attempting to build a future on her own terms. She chose the latter. That decision carried stigma, particularly the idea of a mother “abandoning” her children, even though her intention was always to reunite with them once she was in a more stable position. The consequences of that choice have rippled forward in time to the present day.

What interested me was not simply her decision, but the conditions surrounding it. Where does responsibility sit? With the individual, with family structures, with society at large? And why is condemnation so readily directed at mothers who leave, while fathers who relinquish responsibility are often met with far less scrutiny?

In many ways, Beneath a Mother’s Feet was a test for me. I wanted to see whether I could work in a way that might be described as unorthodox. I wrote a screenplay, but I treated it as a guide rather than something sacrosanct. I wanted to remain responsive to the environment and to the people within it. Nisrine Adam, who played Wedad, was the only professionally trained actor in the film. The non-professional actors around her were carefully chosen and encouraged to draw on their own instincts and sensibilities. All of the dialogue was unscripted. It was guided for narrative purposes, but it emerged from them.

The dinner table scene was inspired by something my mother had recounted from her own life, although the real event was far more dramatic. In our version, I spoke to each actor before shooting and explained what their character was carrying emotionally. For Rahma, played by Fatiha Zouine, I described a situation shaped by exhaustion, proximity, financial strain, and the belief that marriage might offer a way out for everyone involved. I wanted the tension to feel lived-in rather than performed.

I was careful to avoid dialogue-heavy improvisation. Over time, the cast grew more confident. Silences emerged. The rhythm settled. When Bouchra asked for a glass of water, it felt like something unfolding naturally rather than something staged. That process gave me confidence in this way of working. When the right people are chosen, the dialogue that emerges can feel more truthful than anything I might have written in advance.

I intend to carry this approach forward, not rigidly, but when it serves the work. Beneath a Mother’s Feet is only a fragment of a longer narrative I hope to explore further, with later parts set in the UK.

Now that the film’s festival life has ended, I am thinking about what comes next. I would like the film to find a home online and through broadcast, and eventually to be freely available to audiences.

This debut taught me a great deal. I learned to trust my instincts while remaining flexible. I learned the importance of holding onto a core idea even as circumstances shift. I learned how much stronger the work becomes when you allow others to bring their intelligence and skill into the process, and when you remain open to being surprised. I also learned what I would approach differently next time, whether in another short film or, eventually, a feature.

I hope it will not take another twenty years before I make the next project.

Thank you to everyone who has followed the film’s path so far.