Nadine Labaki, arguably Lebanon’s most renowned filmmaker, is currently working on writing and directing a new feature length film. Emblematic for Lebanon, it is her first since the 2018 release of Capernaum, which, according to its IMDB page, won 37 awards and received 55 nominations, including an Oscar nomination. For Labaki, the “against all odds” characterization of the film industry mirrors the tired praise of Lebanese resilience in the face of chronic crises. “I think we try so much to adapt to every situation that we are in and to live day by day, that we’ve never made any long-term plans … We don’t know how to do that. We don’t know how to see into the future, so we don’t know how to plan.” Labaki does sense that Lebanon’s post-war environment and new government might indicate positive changes and a rush of new energy for the film industry. But she is wary of trusting any promises of lasting stability. “We know the drill. We know it’s only a phase, a transition…We’re always on standby mode in this country.” The day after Labaki shared these thoughts, Israel bombed Beirut for the first time since the November 2024 ceasefire.

Doris Saba, the Executive Director of the non-profit Beirut Film Society (BFS), says that the organization was founded in 2006 as a student film competition at Notre Dame University. “We did the first cultural event directly after the war, so it was kind of our way to say, we are still here, we are resilient.” Then, like now, the message is the same: “We really don’t want war, we want to live…We want Lebanon to be on the map of cultural events and international events.” Saba joined BFS in 2017, the year it was officially registered as a non-profit. This year, Beirut Shorts International Film Festival, one of the events organized by BFS, became an Oscars qualifying film festival in three categories, meaning that if a film wins in one of these categories, it goes directly to be nominated in the Oscars. BFS is currently preparing another major event, Beirut International Women Festival, which will commence on April 27^th and screen around 100 films.

The underdog persistence of Lebanon’s film industry is nothing new. Despite systemic challenges including funding scarcity and inconsistent infrastructure, filmmakers are steadily producing work that is both technically ambitious and culturally grounded. Rather than relying on grand narratives of resilience, many are focusing on sharper, more intimate portrayals of life in Lebanon, often with limited resources but a clear sense of purpose. Operating in a tentatively post-war and crisis-hit local environment, while broader culture wars continue to suppress or sideline certain stories internationally, the work of these filmmakers is here to offer more than just entertainment. The result is a scene that, while fragmented, is marked by experimentation, collaboration, and a growing presence on the international film circuit.

Craft and conviction

Over the years, Labaki has honed a signature method of filming which involves long periods of research and gaining intimate knowledge of the subject matter, and then an abundance of patience in the filming process that allows untrained actors to develop enough trust to bring their own stories to life in the script. Whereas in most films the cameras and actors conform to the scene and screenplay, Labaki describes her method as more of “a dance, a choreography around the actors. We [the crew, cameras, etc.] adapt to them, not the other way around.” In typical filmmaking, life stops around the set which becomes the locus of action. “In this case,” says Labaki, “it’s the complete opposite. We try to be as invisible as possible.”

Without the backing of a robust film industry, Lebanese film makers need a tenacious team and an incredibly strong sense of purpose to propel them forward. Labaki notes how these two factors are inherently intertwined in her work. “When I am with my actors or my crew, it’s really about the honesty of whatever story we are telling. Why are we telling this story? Why is it important that this story is out there, or that people need to know about this specific story? The why is so important.”

Andrew Dawaf, an emerging yet prolific filmmaker with a resolute ambition to “make good films,” has seen Labaki’s film Capernaum “at least 15 times” and looks to her as a role model. He shares a similar sentiment and notes a difference between the films created in this region versus much of the work coming from film-saturated environments like Hollywood, for example, which he sees as overly polished. “I don’t feel hit by a truck when I watch a film that’s not Arab. I don’t feel that my heart is breaking.” While acknowledging that films of all genres have their place, as a viewer he often finds himself wondering “Are you interested in digging deep in the human heart to make people feel something? To change something? Do you have something to say or is it really becoming just popcorn?”

Currently, Dawaf has something to say and is working on writing and directing a short film that he has titled Mazmour Miyeh Wahde w Khamsin, or Psalm 151. There are only 150 psalms in the Bible. Reluctant to specify exactly what the film will be about, Dawaf says that while the message might be controversial for some, he believes that the goal is not to make people comfortable.

When asked about what work has been like over the past year, Dawaf says that his friends abroad can easily misjudge life in Lebanon, believing that people are either under constant bombs or else “living in lala land.” The reality, he says, is that “we live in a rollercoaster.” While there is an inundation of films and series screened from abroad, the reverse has never been true—most Arab films and series are enjoyed only by an Arab audience—and there is a paucity of knowledge on what life in Lebanon (and the region) is actually like. This gap in knowledge from abroad has long worked to the advantage of governments who wish to stir up public support for their agendas in the region. Since October 7^th, 2023, the brutal wars in Palestine and Lebanon have escalated in parallel to a frenzy of culture wars and aggressive political narratives.

High stakes for truth tellers

Carol Mansour, Palestinian Lebanese founder of Film Forward, a production house that focuses on documentaries with a social justice bent, finds that the culture wars—especially around the topic of Palestine—have spurred a high-stakes atmosphere for Palestinian filmmakers who simply wish to share their reality.

As one example of culture wars in the current context, artists who express any sort of solidarity with Palestinians or criticism of Israel’s actions face punishing consequences in many European countries such as having their art removed from exhibitions, losing funding, and even being prohibited from entry to certain countries. On March 24^th, Hamdan Ballal, an Oscar-winning director of No Other Land—a film that documents settler and IDF violence in the West Bank, all filmed before October 7^th, 2023—was assaulted by a group of Israeli settlers and IDF soldiers outside his home in the Masafer Yatta area of the West Bank, and then detained overnight. Despite its accolades, the film is not being streamed in the United States. At the same time, prominent American universities such as Colombia, Harvard, Princeton, and University of Pennsylvania, are being handed ultimatums by the Trump administration to either crack down on student protests, install greater oversight of Middle Eastern studies departments, and shut down student bodies advocating for the protection of human rights in Palestine, among other demands, or face the loss of up to billions in federal funding.

Mansour’s latest film, State of Passion, documents the genocide in Gaza through the eyes of the surgeon, Dr. Ghassan Abu Sitta. While the past year was a dud for most filmmakers in Lebanon whose projects were stalled by the war, Mansour and her producing partner Muna Khalidi seized the opportunity to tell Abu Sitta’s story. They first travelled to meet him in Amman after he fled Gaza in November 2023, and later worked with him in Beirut. “We didn’t even think about the money,” she says. “We travelled, Muna and myself, … we just booked our flights, paid our tickets and started to film.” It was only afterwards that they began collecting the money to cover the film’s budget through crowd-sourcing efforts, which, Mansour says, came quickly because many people were eager to donate towards such a cause. Despite a bipolar environment for such films—many of which are applauded and suppressed in equal measure depending on the audience—Mansour says that State of Passion has been the most well-received film that she and Khalidi have made. It has since been shown in film festivals in the region and in Europe, with almost all screenings fully booked.

A revival of film tourism with a dose of education?

Saba of Beirut Film Society notes that the videos shared by content creators on social media became main sources of news during the war in Lebanon and Gaza. The viral sharing of videos served as a reverse education—instead of Western media and films flooding the region, there was more of a two-way flow. One tenet of BFS’ mission is to promote responsible filmmaking. Saba explains that this means “trying to make a certain impact, using our platforms and festivals to promote a positive language between people.”

It also includes economic impact and building a “film friendly Lebanon” that supports film-induced tourism. Saba cited the popular 2025 Lebanese Ramadan series Bil Dam, which brought in tourists to Batroun where much of it was filmed, as an example of what successful film tourism can look like if given a chance to thrive in coordination with municipalities. She says that compared to other countries, Lebanon is already a friendlier film environment in some ways. As one example, the processes for acquiring filming permits are far less bureaucratic. “Abroad you need around three to six months while here you can solve it in a phone call. So those negative factors are sometimes positive.”

Although Lebanese directors and producers often find themselves muscling through obstacles to pull their budgets together and crossing their fingers that war or protracted crises won’t sabotage their work, the filmmaking industry has enormous economic potential for the country. Beyond its cultural value, the industry has the capacity to generate jobs, attract regional investment, and position the country as a creative hub in the Middle East. Gulf countries are scrambling to capitalize on this potential in their own countries. A 2024 Arab News article by journalist Ziad Belbagi claims that the 2018 lifting of a 35-year cinema ban in Saudi Arabia and investment in the country’s film industry has generated nearly $1 billion in revenue with a 25 percent annual growth rate. According to a 2014 paper by academic Alia Younes published in Cinej Cinema Journal, the United Arab Emirates have also identified the film industry as a tool for both nation building and economic growth. 

But Lebanon’s creative and cultural offerings are very distinct from those of the Gulf.  For one, Lebanon has a longer history of cinema—and one that has never been flooded with government funding. Although censorship on religious and political grounds does occasionally limit which movies are allowed in theaters, the state has never co-opted the film industry as a means of promoting a national image. It is the filmmakers themselves who take on that role, whether intentionally or not. Lebanon’s history, socio-political diversity, varied geography, and the high interaction between its local and worldwide expat population all make it a viable hub for filmmaking, series production, and film tourism. Its potential is soaring—seemingly as high as the obstacles against it.

With or without better days

Individual filmmakers rely on the private sector and international sponsorship for funding. Labaki, Mansour, Dawaf, and Saba all said that funding for each project is different, but that private donors play a large role. In many cases, there is a leap of faith that must be made — films often begin production before all the necessary funding is guaranteed. The act of staying in Lebanon as a filmmaker is, as Labaki says, “a mission. Because nothing goes the way it should. And if you decide to be here, it’s because you have a purpose alongside an anger or frustration that you want to transform to something good.”

Saba says that BFS’ Beirut Shorts Film Festival took place during the height of the past year’s war when Beirut was under intense attack before the ceasefire. “We were in the cinemas, and we did it. Despite everything, we did it.” Saba says that although ensuring security for participants is critical, there is no sense in waiting for stability in the country. “Our core mission is to continue doing what we do despite everything,” she says, adding that turning crises into opportunities has become a central tenet of the organization.

The power of filmmaking is not only the power of storytelling, but the collaborative power of the industry to reach for something more. The final result is that the audience is also pulled in and the stories on the screen become a collective experience. Some might even call them a tool of nation-building – one that is unfettered by crises, political quagmire, or external aggression.