Another interview with the director
Your debut film, Wadjda, about a 10-year-old girl living in Riyadh, who dreams of owning a green bicycle, is the first full-length feature shot entirely inside Saudi Arabia. Is it autobiographical?
I come from a small, conservative town in Saudi Arabia where there are many girls like Wadjda who have big dreams and so much potential. These girls can, and will, reshape our nation.
In Saudi, women are not allowed to work alongside men and they can't vote until 2015. Yet your female characters have a lot of will…
It's very important to celebrate resistance, pursuing one's dreams. Sometimes, it's easy to make a character in a place such as Saudi a victim; people exploit them, they give up hope.
Did you always plan to open the film with Wadjda wearing trainers under her abaya?
In Saudi, the dress code is about honour. You always have to be in black, to maintain this chastity. I wanted her to wear Converse to express this rebellious spirit. In the Arab world, we don't celebrate subculture and this kind of individuality. We all dress in exactly in the same way.
How did you cast 12-year-old Waad Mohammed as the lead?
A lot of Saudis don't want their girls to be in front of camera. But when Waad came in wearing jeans and Chuck Taylor sneakers, hair curled, listening to Justin Bieber, she looked exactly like a teenager in London. I realised there is a universal youth culture.
You received backing from King Abdullah to make the film but is it true you had to hide in a production van, directing your male crew members via walkie-talkie?
Saudi is a very segregated society. As a woman, I am not supposed to work in public. Men and women cannot be on the streets together, particularly if the woman is seen to be directing the men.
Your father was the poet Abdul Rahman Mansour. What was your childhood like?
My father was very open-minded. He and my mother gave us a lot of space to grow as individuals; I never felt I couldn't do anything because I was a girl. He encouraged his daughters to study. He brought home films for us to watch. I had a green bicycle. But he was under a lot of pressure. People would write letters saying: "You are an honest, good man. How could you let your daughter appear on TV and make films? That is very corrupt and wrong." But he wanted me to do what made me happy. I have so much respect for him.
What was it like growing up as one of 12?
You push for attention and compete with the other siblings, but you're never bored. Because we grew up in a very small, conservative town and my family's not conservative, we didn't mix a lot. We were the family nobody wanted to play with. We always felt like outsiders because my sisters and I didn't cover our hair. We studied abroad – I studied comparative literature at the American University in Cairo – in a culture where women are married off after high school or even younger. It was good to have lots of siblings so as not to feel alone.
Was it natural to ask them to appear in your first short film?
Yes. My sister was holding the camera. My nephew played the little boy in the film. My brother was the criminal. My family and friends helped by giving suggestions on the script, costumes, lighting. I really didn't think it would go anywhere, but I submitted it to a small local competition and it was selected. At the time, I was working at an oil company but I felt completely invisible as a woman, a second-class citizen… So next, I made a documentary called Women Without Shadows [about the hidden lives of women in the Gulf]. I started being invited to film festivals. My world was opening up.
Do you still feel you navigate two cultures?
Being married to an American has given me an advantage and a way into western culture, which we don't understand in the Middle East. We always feel like we're outsiders. I met my husband when he was working in Saudi as the American cultural attache. They showed my films at the US consulate and had a Q&A… and the rest is history. We lived in Australia for two years. But then we moved to Bahrain because it is close to my mother and my kids, now five and three, can see my family. They go to international schools and have a different life from my childhood. But, yes, I feel at home when I go to Saudi. I miss the intense heat and the sun and the coffee.
I read that you drove yourself to your wedding in a golf cart. Were you sending out a message to Saudi women?
I was having with fun with it. I drove with my sisters, who were my bridesmaids.
In April, Saudi Arabia lifted its ban on women cycling, albeit in controlled areas. Has the film had a subliminal effect?
I'm so happy that girls will have more opportunities to learn to ride bikes and feel the freedom and exhilaration that goes with any type of outdoor sport, and hope it helps pave the way for more and more steps in the right direction. The religious police should be commended for giving more liberties to women, even small liberties.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/theobserver/2013/jul/14/haifaa-mansour-wadjd a-saudi-arabia
Good news about women being allowed to ride bicycles!
When I'm not with youshare
I dream of my hair falling out