Cinema Jazireh, directed by Gözde Kural, was awarded the Prize of the Ecumenical Jury in the official competition section of the 59th Karlovy Vary International Film Festival in the Czech Republic. The award, presented for the 31st time this year, honors films that highlight spiritual, ethical, and humanitarian themes, as well as artistic expression.
Gözde Kural's second feature film, following her debut feature "Toz" (2016). The film premiered at the 32nd International Golden Boll Film Festival in Türkiye. It was one of the most anticipated films of the festival.
Turkey’s Ministry of Culture and Tourism withdrew its support for Gözde Kural’s drama “Cinema Jazireh” after watching it.
“We fought this decision, but they rejected it. I couldn’t believe it. It’s not even about Turkey, but apparently there were still things they didn’t want to see,” the Turkish director tells Variety.
Seven Springs Pictures is a film production and distribution
company founded by Milad Khosravi in 2020 and based in Tehran. The company is
passionate about creating compelling arthouse and cinematic films from Iran and
the broader Middle East. The name was inspired by Seven Springs, a cherished
fountain in Iran’s Bakhtiari region, where many inspiring films were born from
there.
After surviving her family's massacre, Leila has a goal: to find her son Omid. But in Afghanistan, being woman means being less than nothing. She chooses to change her identity and sets a path where the slightest hesitation can mean death.
In the grip of the Taliban’s oppression rule “Cinema Jazireh” is a poignant drama set in Afghanistan. Leyla disguises herself as a man to search for her missing son, Omid. Leyla’s journey intertwines with Azad, an orphan boy trapped in a creepy world of child abuse called “Bache Bazi”. As they confront unimaginable hardship, they discover the enduring power of resistance and whispers of hope that refuse to be silenced.
[1] Gözde Kural was born in 1987 in Ankara. After receiving her education in Advertising and Film TV, she started her career as an assistant director, directing various videos and TVCs.
She studied Film Production at Istanbul Bilgi University and began her career as an assistant director before transitioning into writing, directing, and producing her own work.
She has directed three short films and made her feature directorial debut with Dust (2015), a drama shot in Afghanistan. The film screened at numerous international film festivals, including the Montreal World Film Festival, Shanghai International Film Festival, and Mumbai International Film Festival. Dust received critical acclaim and won Best Actress and Best Supporting Actor at the Antalya Golden Orange Film Festival in 2016.
Dust / 2016 / Feature Fiction Film / Writer and Director / Shanghai IFF, Antalya IFF, Mumbai IFF
Taking place in Afghanistan, which seems to have normalized after the war but is still seething under the surface, Toz is based on the emergence of secrets from a family’s past one by one. Azra, Emir and Ahmet are three Afghan siblings born and raised in Istanbul. After their mother’s death, Azra sets off to find out why she inherited a house in Afghanistan, to see the house and to really get to know her family. She ignores her brother Emir’s concerns and goes to her uncle, who refuses to tell her anything. Her uncle is uncomfortable with her even going out alone and is rude to his wife and daughter. Azra gets close to a handsome and polite café owner whom she meets by chance and tries to reach her relatives, whose existence she has just learned about, through this man. ×
Seven Springs Pictures is a film production and distribution company founded by Milad Khosravi in 2020 and based in Tehran. The company is passionate about creating compelling arthouse and cinematic films from Iran and the broader Middle East. The name was inspired by Seven Springs, a cherished fountain in Iran’s Bakhtiari region, where many inspiring films were born from there.
The Neighbourhood / 2018 / Feature Documentary / Producer
INTERVIEW
Kural, in his own words, examines Afghanistan, which he sees as the end of the world, and Turkey's current grim situation. In doing so, he explores compelling topics ranging from the relationship between women and men to homosexuality, from Taliban oppression to the "baça bazi" tradition of child abuse and exploitation, a practice seen in parts of Afghanistan and Pakistan.
The film won the "most promising actor award" at the Golden Boll and has now won the "best director award" at the 40th Mostra de Valencia Film Festival.
We spoke with Kural about "Cinema Jazireh."
'THE END OF THE WORLD'
- Your first feature film, "Dust," was also a story about Afghanistan, and so is this film. Why Afghanistan?
I went to Afghanistan at a very young age, right after graduating. It was a place I went to understand the world, with the feeling of, "What's happening here? What's happening? I need to see." Then I said, "Let me make a film here." I also had some questions about life: Where do we live? Where is this world? It can't just be here. Afghanistan taught me a lot at that point. Because it truly is the end of the world. And it's a country that's so easily ignored. I returned. This time, it started asking me questions. At the same time, the world wasn't going anywhere good.
So I tried to tell this story through Afghanistan, but of course, the film isn't just about Afghanistan. It's a film that says something to us, too: to those above us, below us, and even further away.
- The film begins with a mother searching for her son. We say we'll be watching Leyla, and the story of a mother searching for her son entirely. But then the frame suddenly shifts to "bacha bazi." How did you go about implementing this transition?
I had both stories in mind from the very beginning. Only the "Cinema Jazireh" section came in much later.
In the final stages, I decided it would make more sense for the two sections of the script to run parallel. Where is this place? Because it's nowhere, really. A ghost town. At first, we understand where we are. A colorless world, no children, no women. Then suddenly, we enter another world, a vibrant one. It's so much fun. There's music, there's cinema, but it hides very interesting realities behind it.
'SHE SHOULD FIND HER WAY ALONE'
- We're actually watching two different genders experience the anxiety of motherhood. One is Leyla, the other Zabur. How did you establish Zabur's motherhood?
Zabur is a story in itself... I generally find the emotions of the characters first. Zabur's emotion was the weight of being unwanted, and I'll say it again: I was also deeply affected by the place I live in.
Because here, Zabur is also this person: She's the woman who suffered years of violence from her husband but can't seem to leave that house. Or she's the son who's constantly being abused. Therefore, she's a very complex character who encompasses all of them, and this motherhood is something she takes on. Whether she wants it or not, she's the one who manages things, thinking things will go wrong if I'm not here, etc., and trying to fill that gap, but she can't quite manage it. She's a complex character, in a very in-between, very gray area. Leyla, on the other hand, is more straightforward, has a clear goal, and doesn't get too confused. Therefore, her change isn't a character change. It's a decision-making shift.
- It's actually one of the most important parts of the film: There's a man keeping Leyla alive, and we never saw him again. I wonder if we would have?
Sencer. Zabur and Sencer were the two characters I pondered the most. After a certain point, the tension escalates so much that I didn't want to turn Leyla back into a man, frankly. I mean, I want that woman to find her own path. "Leave her alone," I said. "Gözde," because she did what she had to do.
And most importantly, I wanted to convey, "Look, not every man is like this. Not everyone who lives here is like this. We're not monsters." I believe we walk on equal paths. Besides, even the worst are not that bad. This is not something I can ever justify, but we have to understand each other. Because our first inclination is to fight and struggle against the criminal himself, but if we want to end this, we have to fight crime. Therefore, nothing in life is that black and white. We all have gray areas.
- What if we ask how much of what we watch is real and how much is fiction?
Unfortunately, it's all true. I'm deeply saddened to say this. Even I get goosebumps during some scenes in the film, thinking, "It's not like that, but what if it was?" "Oh my! What if it happened!" But it happened somewhere. Cinema Jazireh is a metaphorical place. There's no such place, but Cinema Jazireh is everywhere. In the Netherlands, in Türkiye, in Syria, in Russia, Cinema Jazireh is everywhere, in different forms.
"WE SHOULD NOT LOSE OUR DIGNITY AND FREEDOM TO HOPE"
- The Taliban, the concept of sharia, the state of motherhood... In your interview, you said, "The end of the world is Afghanistan, and I tried to look at Türkiye from the perspective of the end of the world." I'd like you to elaborate on this a bit.
These things you just mentioned... Am I a good mother? Am I a woman? Do I like men? These are secondary questions in life. First, shelter... You need shelter. Then you need to be fed. While the primary problems haven't been resolved, there's no platform to discuss them there. We can discuss them here. Because we still have the capacity to create such spaces. But we're losing ground. As they say, "That won't be enough," "This won't work either," it happens, and that happens too. No one got anywhere overnight. First, ideas were destroyed. Then they spoke out. And then it was put into action. I'd like to say, "Don't come here. This is not a good place." If my country were a person, I would want to shake it and say, "Don't go. Turn around. Turn around now, or it's no good."
I dedicated the hope in this film to hope because I saw the despair in the eyes of the people in my country. Because no, we cannot lose it. In these dark times, we have two things: our dignity and our freedom to hope. We cannot lose these two. It's impossible.
-So what should we do?
First, we must urgently look at each other. And we must hold on to what unites us, not what divides us. Because the other side is busy emptying the very concept that unites us. No. We will hold on to these things. We will hold on to them without turning up our noses. We must stand together. One of us may have a crooked eye, the other may be a mess. It doesn't matter. We'll talk about that later. But we must urgently hold on to what unites us.
INTERVIEW
I started working in the film industry at the age of 20, right after graduating, but it wasn’t enough for me; I felt a deep need to understand the world. That urge led me to Afghanistan. I spent a lot of time there, travelled through many cities, met countless people, and read extensively about the country. Eventually, I shot my first feature, Dust (Toz), in Kabul.
After returning home, I realised I had gathered so many untold stories, and at the same time, things were rapidly changing in my own country and region, with a growing wave of radicalisation moving backward.
It was during my time in Afghanistan, observing practices like Bacha Bazi (the exploitation of boys for dance and sexual entertainment) and Bacha Posh (where families disguise a girl as a boy to gain social advantages or overcome the stigma of not having sons), that the initial idea for Cinema Jazireh struck me.
Can you tell us more about the practical journey to gather the funding for the film?
In countries like ours, where currency fluctuations are rapid and the economy is unstable, bringing a film to the production stage is a major challenge. But Cinema Jazireh was especially, both due to its subject matter and the geography it deals with. Every partner had to be convinced one by one.
I began by participating in pitching platforms to make the film more visible step by step. Later, we continued the journey with new co-producers who came on board. Even after the contributions from Bulgaria, Romania and Iran, there was still a significant financial gap. With our producer Bulut Reyhanoğlu, we managed to close that gap thanks to a few angel investors from Turkey who genuinely believe in auteur cinema. To give just one example of the financial challenges we faced: after reviewing the film, due to certain policy considerations, our Ministry of Culture decided to withdraw its support and even requested the return of the previously granted funds. This decision created an additional financial burden for us at a very sensitive stage of the production.
How important was it to you to find a balance between the film focusing on the specifics of the situation Afghanistan faces whilst also having more universal resonances?
There’s a piece of wisdom I once heard that stayed with me while building the structure of the film: “What we tell is only ever understood as much as the other side is able to comprehend.” That became a kind of guide for me. The goal was never to deliver slogans or force didactic messages; at least, I don’t believe that’s what cinema should do. So, striking a balance between the specific and the universal was extremely important to me.
How did you cast the leads of Fereshte Hosseini, Mazlum Sümer, and Ali Karimi?
Zabur is arguably the film’s most complex character, and for a long time, I couldn’t quite picture the right actor for him. One day, a writer friend insisted I meet Mazlum Sümer. The moment I saw him, I was struck by the energy in his eyes. He had barely appeared in any films before, and he was from Turkey and didn’t speak Farsi either. But after a few meetings, I felt he was worth the risk. Watching the finished film now, I realise just how big of a risk we took, and how fully he rose to the challenge.
Fereshte Hosseini was an actress I already knew. When casting a woman who would disguise herself as a man, her facial structure was also important. It was our producer Milad Khosravi who first suggested Fereshte, and honestly, I didn’t hesitate. She was perfect for the role, not just physically, but also emotionally and politically. Being an Afghan-born Iranian, she fully understood the layered identity and the stakes at hand.
Ali Karimi’s casting was a different story. I had worked with child actors before, but given the nature of this character, we had to be especially careful. I watched many auditions, and the moment I saw Ali, his presence, his eyes, and his intuitive grasp in front of the camera really moved me.
What projects are you planning to do next?
After two feature films about Afghanistan, it’s time to return home. Currently, I’m working on a project that’s very close to me, which explores the tensions between rising nationalism, social pressures, and individual freedom within an urban Turkish setting. The film focuses on how public symbols and collective identities can intrude upon private lives, creating a complex mix of conflict, irony, and dark humour.
[1] Gözde Kural was born in 1987 in Ankara. After receiving her education in Advertising and Film TV, she started her career as an assistant director, directing various videos and TVCs. 
Dust / 2016 / Feature Fiction Film / Writer and Director / Shanghai IFF, Antalya IFF, Mumbai IFF 
Kural, in his own words, examines Afghanistan, which he sees as the end of the world, and Turkey's current grim situation. In doing so, he explores compelling topics ranging from the relationship between women and men to homosexuality, from Taliban oppression to the "baça bazi" tradition of child abuse and exploitation, a practice seen in parts of Afghanistan and Pakistan.
'SHE SHOULD FIND HER WAY ALONE'
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