A young woman returns to Tunisia after the death of her uncle to discover a truth he kept hidden all his life, a truth that mirrors what she herself is hiding from her family. Sexual identity is a sensitive subject rarely addressed in Arab cinema, but director Leyla Bouzid treats it both delicately and profoundly in her third feature film, In a Whisper. Ahmed Shawky met her in Berlin.
My films are always about intimacy, but from a political perspective. Perhaps my favorite theme is how politics can affect our private, intimate lives. I have films inside me that I want to make. After I finished As I Open My Eyes, I could have made a big-budget film, but I decided to make A Tale of Love and Desire, a decision that some people questioned. I tell the stories I want to tell and share. In a Whisper is linked to my family history. The house we filmed in was my grandmother’s house in Sousse. When my grandmother passed away in 2017, I agreed with the family that I could film there before they sold it, as the buyer would most likely demolish it to build an apartment block in its place. Since my teenage years, I’ve felt a cinematic presence in that house, and I had wanted to film it for many years.
The grandmother plays a central role in the film, reflecting the presence of patriarchy (or maternal authority) in Arab societies. How do you see this character? And why did you choose director Selma Baccar for the role?
If the house is a character, then the grandmother is its beating heart. I wanted to choose an elderly woman and capture the wrinkles on her face. I also wanted a strong woman, because the basis of the film is the strength of all the female characters. Her control over the family should be believable, and at the same time, she should be someone we can love and empathize with. This is a type of character we know well in Arab societies, but which is perhaps not as common in the West. I thought of Selma Baccar, who hadn’t acted before, perhaps because of her consistently strong energy. I showed her the script, and she liked it, but she told me I would take full responsibility: If I couldn’t guide her as an actress, it would be my problem. I think she enjoyed the filming, and the result was very satisfying. In fact, I feel Salma knows the character better than I do. All the female characters in the film are strong—but at the same time, there’s a clear fragility in the male characters, even those with government power. What do you think?
What interests me about the men is their fragility, as well as how they deal with power, which we assume is a given for Arab men, but I think it becomes a burden for them, making them victims to a certain extent. We see this clearly, of course, in the characters of the uncle and his young friend, but also in the other characters. Perhaps I was influenced in this by the cinema of my father, Nouri Bouzid, in films like Man of Ashes, where we see how men can be victims of what society imposes on them.
Perhaps this also relates to Tunisian society, in which women have historically been more strong and empowered than in other Arab societies. Do you agree?
Perhaps. At least within the domestic sphere, it’s clear that Tunisian women have some power, even if they deliberately convince a man that it’s him taking the decisions. I’m not generalizing, of course, as Tunisia is full of variation. But it is one country where women wield considerable influence, particularly in major cities like Tunis, Sousse, and Sfax, which is reflected in the fact there are lots of female directors and politicians.
Another interesting choice was Palestinian star Hiam Abbass for the role of the mother. How did you choose her?
Hiam had previously acted in Tunisian films with director Raja Amari, but she wasn’t initially part of my plan. I had met plenty of talented Tunisian actresses, but I felt something was missing from the role. Then I met Hiam at a festival two months before filming was meant to start. I offered her the role without thinking about it for long, which was unlike my usual approach of taking my time in casting. Perhaps what attracted me was how she handles silence, how she can express emotions through her eyes and movements. Hiam grasped the character incredibly quickly. She immediately understood that the mother is a modern woman who isn’t homophobic, and that she’s dealing bitterly with her daughter’s reality because she sees it as her own personal failure as a mother, unable to protect her daughter from what she might face. Choosing Hiam was like love at first sight, and she did a fantastic job in the role.
This perspective is crucial, because it applies to many families whose struggle with gender identity stems not from rejection, but from fear for their children’s future and what they might face. Is this true?
They’re not prejudiced against homosexuality, but they certainly wish that it won’t come up in their families, as they feel it’s a heavy burden, which is, of course, a real concern. At the same time, I deliberately avoided a violent reaction from the family or any attempt to force the protagonist, Lilia, into anything, which might differ from what a Western audience would expect from a story from the Arab world.
I see the ending as both sad and hopeful, telling us that change is inevitable with time. Are you truly optimistic about real life?
I don’t know. Perhaps I’m not optimistic, given everything that’s happening in the world, but I wanted to offer an optimistic ending—not a happy ending like in old movies, but one where Lilia and her child can be part of the family. We never definitively decide whether the grandmother knows or not, and I held a vote among the audience, who were divided on whether she knew her granddaughter’s identity. The ending might seem like science fiction, as the mother says in one scene, but for sure I didn’t want to give the film a sad or violent ending.
Do you think the film will find a way to be shown at Arab festivals and in Arab cinemas?
I hope so. The plan is to release the film in Tunisian cinemas in April. All the actresses support the screening, including Selma Baccar, with her social and political weight and her constant defense of personal freedoms. I can’t be certain, but I will try to show it everywhere, and I think Arab audiences are ready to watch the film, discuss it, and engage with it, especially since it’s a film made primarily for Arab audiences, not to please the West.
Politics may not be its direct subject, but In a Whisper is at its core a political film. What do you make of the controversy around it at the Berlinale?
I believe that cinema is always political, even if we decide to film flowers. Belonging to our region makes you political, above all else. I think all my films are political, even if their subject matter isn’t directly related to politics. In a Whisper deals with a subject that is always present, even if it’s in the realm of the unspoken. The ability to express our feelings is itself fundamentally political.
February 2026