– BERLINALE 2026: We spoke to the Lebanese-French filmmaker about anger, resistance, casting and why intimacy today feels radical
(© Philippe Quaisse)
Danielle Arbid presents her new film Only Rebels Win [+see also:
film review
interview: Danielle Arbid
film profile] in the Panorama section of the Berlinale, placing a cross-generational love story at the centre of a fractured Beirut. We spoke to the Lebanese-French filmmaker about anger, resistance, casting and why intimacy today feels radical.
Cineuropa: The film tells a love story, yet politics emerge in every detail. What was your initial motivation when you started writing it?
Danielle Arbid: I was very angry – angry about racism, about how refugees are treated, about how women are expected to disappear as they age. I feel that all of my films are a form of revolt. This time, I wanted to tell the story of someone living inside this unfair world. It is not only about Lebanon; the West is becoming openly intolerant and reactionary as well. We are living in ugly times. So, the film is about being attacked for who you are – black, Palestinian, old, young, poor, in love… This is happening everywhere.
The love story is built around a 40-year age gap, which feels radical. Why was that important to you?
It was not a form of provocation; it came from this sense of injustice on every level. Women are told that after a certain age, they should disappear. I wanted to defend the idea that a 70-year-old woman can fall in love with a 30-year-old man. Nothing prevents that. Love itself becomes a form of defiance. Suzanne and Osmane are two wounded people fighting against society. Together, they are stronger than they would be alone.
Your cast itself is a political gesture.
Hiam Abbass was in my mind from the beginning. We met in 1998, when she acted in my first short film. We have known each other for 26 years and always said we would make a feature together. When I began writing this story, I immediately thought of Hiam. She has dignity and courage, and she inspired me while I was rewriting the script. We trust each other deeply.
Amine Benrachid is a Sudanese-Chadian man who arrived in France as a refugee a few years ago, after crossing Libya and coming by boat. He rebuilt his life under difficult circumstances. There is a maturity in him that comes from lived experience. The connection between him and Hiam felt natural from the start.
The cast also includes Alexandre Paulikevitch, who plays Layal. He/they are a political activist and dancer who has openly challenged both Christian and Muslim religious leaders. Only a few months ago, he/they received death threats after performing extravagantly while presenting as a woman. For me, it was important that the film would include people who live this struggle in real life. The community shown in the movie is not symbolic; it exists.
Rear projection became central to the film’s look. How did you come to this idea?
We were supposed to shoot in Beirut. Then Israel started bombing Lebanon exactly at that moment. No insurance company would cover us. It was suggested I move the film to France, but I refused, as I wanted to keep Beirut in it. So, we filmed every location empty, with a Lebanese crew, while I directed remotely from Paris via Zoom. Later, we projected those images in a studio in France and filmed the actors in front of them, working closely with cinematographer Céline Bozon to make this unusual process feel organic, rather than technical. It was a way to make the country exist despite it being impossible to film. Rear projection became part of the meaning. The film itself had to resist in order to exist.
You openly reference Douglas Sirk and Fassbinder. Did you approach the film as a melodrama in that vein?
Yes. I believe in melodrama as a way of confronting injustice. Those films search for fairness and empathy. Today, we need that more than ever. Love can be naive, but it can also give power. It can make people stand up.
The community you portray could exist in many Western cities. How much of that reflects Lebanon today?
Lebanon is very diverse. It is a laboratory of contradictions. There is hostility, but there are also strong communities built on solidarity. What you see in the film exists. At the same time, it is not only about Lebanon; these tensions are visible in many Western societies as well. I did not want to make a film that settles scores. In a way, it was also about calming my anger and about finding a form of consolation.
