Arriving in Cannes with his debut feature, Yesterday the Eye Didn’t Sleep, filmmaker Rakan Mayasi is feeling vulnerable but defiant. Premiering in the Un Certain Regard strand, his deeply personal drama is set in Lebanon’s Bekaa Valley, and follows the fate of two sisters, played by Rim and Jawaher Al Mawla, caught amid a bloody feud between Bedouin tribes. After their cousin causes the accidental death of a rival, they are proposed as bridal offerings to atone for his actions.
The lyrical tale, one that has all the hallmarks of the observational style of the great Iranian filmmaker Abbas Kiarostami, is inspired by Mayasi’s own Lebanese grandmother, whom he was very close to.
“She was married at 14,” he says, sitting with The National on the rooftop terrace of Cannes’ Palais des Festivals. “Whenever she talked to me about her story, she was always very moved and got emotional, so it stayed with me and I felt the urge to make it.
“She passed away, unfortunately, three months before we began filming, which was also very emotional for me. But it empowered me to go ahead.”
He notes, “underage marriage was common practice” in the 1940s and 1950s in the region, but it leaves him feeling conflicted. “My grandfather was not a bad person,” he says. “I know that these traditions are, of course, wrong, yes, but I also don’t want to demonise anyone or victimise anyone.”
While his grandmother was not Bedouin, the topic of arranged marriage clearly grips him. His 2021 short Trumpets In The Sky covers similar terrain, while also setting in motion Mayasi's working practice. “Trumpets was made without a script and with non-professional actors,” he says, an improvised style he repeated on Yesterday The Eye Didn't Sleep.
With the main cast all from the same family, the director spent time observing them and rewriting dialogue to fit the characters. “Everyone who appears in the film has never appeared on camera before,” he says.
With a skeletal crew of just 12, he deliberately kept things simple to elicit natural performances from his inexperienced cast. Rather than use a boom operator, who traditionally dangles a pole over actors to capture sound, microphones were rigged to their necks.
Filming close to the Syrian border in March 2025 also marked a perilous time, with Israel “aggressing” Lebanon, Mayasi recalls.
“Israel was still bombing Syria and many locations in Lebanon. They were not bombing around us, but we would hear explosions. I remember twice we had to retake because of the sound of an explosion.”
Naturally, that was tough on the cast and crew. “It’s emotionally draining and psychologically disturbing to live under such conditions, where you go to a film shoot but never know whether you will continue filming, whether they might see a crew here and bomb us. The risk was there.”
But, he continues, it had to be done. “I exist by making films. How can I call myself a filmmaker if I don’t make a film? So I had to take the risk, and the team felt the same way.”
Mayasi, 40, was born in Germany to Palestinian parents, and grew up in Jordan. “I’ve never been to Palestine because I’m not allowed to live there,” he says.
After finishing high school in Jordan, he moved to Lebanon to be close to his grandmother. He now lives between Brussels and Lebanon, but has a clear attachment to his roots. The day before we meet at the film's premiere, Mayasi told the audience how grateful he was to bring it to Cannes, especially coming from a war-torn region.
It’s “important” to remind European audiences of such horrors, he says. “I have a responsibility as a filmmaker and an artist to reflect on that,” he says. “There’s also been Israeli genocide in Gaza for the past two and a half years. Civilians being killed every day.
“So it’s not just important, it’s my identity, it’s my ethical compass. I cannot see something wrong in the world and not say something. Even if I weren't Palestinian, I would still take the same stance.”
Mayasi is now preparing his second feature, The Passport, a dark comedy about a man who lives in Gaza and runs a biscuit factory.
He says, quite simply, that it’s essential he keeps telling stories, “for my own sanity. I don’t want the love of life to be taken away from me because of this genocide. So resistance is to exist and make films.
“I don’t want to live as a victim.”
