Lama Jamjoom
Lama Jamjoom is a Saudi documentary filmmaker and photographer focusing on untold narratives in her region through an observational and immersive approach. Her debut short documentary, Mother Eve (2023), won the Audience Choice Award at her university’s annual student film festival and was screened at international festivals such as Rabat International Film Festival. It was recently awarded Best Documentary at FICIMAD in Madrid. She was then selected for a documentary filmmaking training program in Seoul, South Korea. She is currently working on her first feature documentary, Remind Me to Forget, which explores intergenerational connections amongst women. In addition to filmmaking, she works in arthouse cinema programming at Art Jameel. Some of the programs she has worked on include an outdoor 35mm screening, mentoring aspiring filmmakers in an annual mobile short documentary competition and collaborating with international and cultural entities such as UNESCO, and Red Sea International Film Festival.
How did you meet Yasmine Ali?
I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had been searching for Yasmine for a long while. When I began researching for my documentary, I wanted to make a film about people who work as clowns in Saudi Arabia. I was very curious about their day-to-day lives and was fascinated by the idea that someone’s main source of income depends entirely on bringing joy to children’s lives. I wondered does this person have joy in their own life? If they have a bad day, do they still need to get up, put on a mask, and perform? As I expected, gaining access to people in this line of work was incredibly difficult. I was running out of time to complete the film within the workshop’s timeline, and things were starting to feel stuck. I started getting help from the local community, and someone connected me with a children’s entertainment business that might be helpful. I contacted the manager, and she connected me to someone who is my age and told me to try my luck. That person was Yasmine, I called her and we planned to sit by the sea and get to know each other. We immediately bonded. She told me she had been wanting to create a TikTok page to share her life story, but felt that a film would be much more powerful. She started introducing me to her family, and that’s when the journey of the film really began.
How was your relationship with the children, Bodour, Mohammed and Hamed? How did you get that intimacy with them?
My relationship with Bodour, Mohammed, and Hamed quickly evolved as I spent more and more time with them. Initially, when I introduced myself as a documentary filmmaker, they assumed I’d be making a National Geographic-type film about them. But the more they saw me coming to their home and dedicating all my time to this film, the more curious they became about the filmmaking process. I taught them about the camera and let them use it so they could see what I was seeing and feel what I was feeling. I think the main reason we bonded was our shared love for art. They really love to paint and work with clay, but they had limited resources —so I gifted them some tools and printed out references and inspiration for their art. It quickly grew into a bonding experience. Every time I came over, they would have finished three new paintings, ask for my critique, and gift them to me in hopes of us preparing an exhibition. It was the countless hours spent—whether filming or not—the adventures we went on, the bond of art, the meals and laughter we shared, that really gave us that intimacy. When making documentaries, the most important thing for me is the characters’ comfort in front of the camera, because I believe it really reflects on the film. So I always try to invest as much time as possible in building a relationship with them. And if at any moment I felt they were uncomfortable with my presence or the camera, I always made sure to check in and ask if they were still sure about making this film.
How was it recording in a space so reduced to so many people? What was your greatest difficulty?
It was honestly maybe one of the best parts of making this film – to me being confined in that space really connected us and helped me further understand the dynamics within those walls. It really helped me build a close and intimate relationship with the characters; as if I was living with them. Because the space was limiting, I also had very minimal crew – it was only me and a sound recordist. I believe this also played a crucial role in the characters comfort infront of the camera. The greatest difficulty was perhaps more on the technical aspect, having to navigate the lighting and sound situation but these challenges are all a natural part of the documentary filmmaking process.
How long were you filming the family? How was the cinematographic edition, did you have a lot of material?
Initially, I was filming for 5 months for the research and production stage. I had a lot of material and it quickly grew overwhelming. When I entered post production and began to shape the story, I noticed some missing gaps in the storyline and continued shooting for 2 more weeks. After releasing the film, I stayed in touch with Yasmine who still wanted to continue making the film. More than one year later, I began to film them again as their lives had went through major changes that both Yasmine and I felt were crucial to the story. I began filming again for about 3 months, unconsecutively, and I am now going back into post-production to work on a director’s cut.
The sequence that stands out in the movie is where Yasmine works as a clown. What was this sequence to record and what does it mean for you?
This sequence was the most important one for me in the film because I was first introduced to Yasmine as a clown. After hearing her story about being in her mothers shoes, I was fascinated by the juxtaposition of her making a living by bringing joy to others— especially children—while dealing with her own internal struggles. The idea of having to put on a mask and perform happiness while facing something very different inside really struck me. For me, the film wouldn’t have felt complete without that scene. Initially, my approach was to focus on her life as a clown, but it naturally evolved into a story about motherhood and the questions that come with it regarding nature and nurture as I allowed the characters to actively shape the narrative with me. Filming that sequence was really difficult—part of why it only appears once in the film. We were repeatedly denied access to accompany Yasmine and film her at parties by the hosts. That challenge, though frustrating, became my fuel to keep pushing until I got what I needed to portray her story as honestly as possible.
With what sensation do you want to leave the viewer with the final sequence in which the whole family paints the room of a very striking blue color?
The final sequence was intentionally meant to feel uncertain and incomplete. The fate of the characters lingers, raising more questions than answers, much like their real lives: uncertain, unpredictable, unresolved. That lingering feeling is exactly what I hoped to leave the viewer with; a sense that they haven’t had enough of this family’s story, that something is still hanging in the air. For me, it’s important to engage the audience both intellectually and emotionally rather than simply providing them with information. The films that have always lasted for me where the ones that spiked feelings and thoughts beyond the screen through conversations. In the final scene, the family paints their mother’s room in blue, representing a blue sky with a moon in the center as their own way of saying the goodbye they never had the chance to say. While they’re no longer on the same land as their mother, they’re still surrounded by the same sky — whether above it or under it. It’s also a farewell to their home, which they have to leave behind. It’s a quiet, soft & personal ritual that held both grief and beauty, and I wanted to leave the viewer in that in-between space.
How is to be a woman’s young film director in Saudi Arabia? How has it been the distribution of the movie?
Being a young female filmmaker in Saudi Arabia is actually a very enriching experience. The film industry here is still relatively new, which means there are plenty of growth opportunities—especially for women who want to share their stories and amplify their voices. The main challenge I’ve encountered is specifically in the documentary field, where there’s still some lack of understanding around the different forms documentaries can take. People will often assume all documentaries follow a reportage style, which can affect local audience demand and, as a result, influence funding and distribution opportunities. My film was distributed locally through independent platforms such as arthouse cinemas and private screenings with cultural institutes, which led to some really meaningful connections with the audience. However, it wasn’t selected for local film festivals. Interestingly, I found more demand and acceptance for the film regionally and internationally, where there was a deeper understanding of cinéma vérité and a recognition of the urgency in documentary storytelling—where production value isn’t necessarily the top priority. I’m actively trying to help shape the documentary landscape in Saudi Arabia by working in independent cinema programming and mentoring aspiring documentary filmmakers. I believe growth is always a collaborative effort.
What directors of Saudi Arabia contemporaneos would you recommend?
Some contemporary film directors in Saudi Arabia I would recommend are Anhar Salem, Sara Mesffer, Faiza Ambah, and Ali AlKalthami. While there are certainly many more incredible filmmakers in the country, these are the ones who truly stood out to me when I first began my filmmaking journey. Their work deeply resonated with me, particularly because I saw parallels in our approaches — a shared commitment to realism and authentic local representation, where the narrative itself is the most powerful element of the film. I consider them pioneers in many ways, as they started their creative journeys long before there was a fully established film industry in Saudi Arabia.
Do you like any Spanish film director or a Spanish artist from another discipline?
Despite not speaking the language, I’ve always been a huge admirer of Spanish poetry and am currently planning to learn the language. I’ve long been fascinated by its resemblance to Arabic — both languages feel incredibly romantic to me, especially when experienced through the works of Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer and the Spanish-speaking poet Pablo Neruda. Through my research in cinema programming, I also discovered Spanish cinema and was drawn to its distinct style — that slow, natural pacing where you feel fully immersed and lost in the lives of the characters. I’ve watched and been inspired by the work of directors like Isabel Coixet, Clara Roquet, and Pedro Almodóvar. Most unexpectedly, I also found a personal connection to Spanish art through architecture: the Spanish architect Julio La Fuente, who designed several iconic roundabout sculptures in my hometown, Jeddah, Saudi Arabia.
What are your future cinematographic projects?
I’ve worked on two short documentaries since Mother Eve. One is currently in post-production — it tells the story of an Indian house driver in Saudi Arabia who is hiding a major secret from his family back home. The other is still in production and is intended to become a mid length film. I’m also in the early stages of developing and researching my first feature documentary. Across all my projects, I strive to craft films with underlying messages that spark curiosity and inspire change.
