It premiered at the Rome Film Festival, following a screening at Cannes, Last Night I Didn’t Sleep, the feature debut of Palestinian director Rakan Mayasi, who sought to tell the harrowing story of two young women, Jawaher and Rim, in the Beqaa Valley in northeastern Lebanon: after an accident caused by their brother, they are handed over as compensation to the offended clan, with their own will counting for nothing. They are thus confronted with the imperative to protect the family from retaliation, effectively sacrificing themselves. We spoke with Mayasi about the film, which will be in our cinemas as part of Trent Film in February 2027.
Director Rakan Mayasi on Last Night I Didn’t Sleep, a Story to Celebrate Dignity
After honing his craft with short films, Rakan Mayasi made his feature debut with Last Night I Didn’t Sleep, shot with non-professional actors on location and allowing for improvisation. The result did not in the least compromise the clarity and tightness of the message, thanks also to the attention given to the audiovisual aspects. Here is what he shared with us.
– Did you encounter resistance in making this film, due to its contents?
Not at all. Contrary to what one might think, most people in the Bedouin community do not approve of this system. This isn’t an outsider’s perspective. This film is a collective work; we were all on the same wavelength. My first contact was with the Bedouin mediator, who had worked for television. We met with the head of all the tribes, I explained the project and he gave me his blessing. And we started. Then I showed him parts of the film, and he liked them.
– I’m curious about the story: why does the terrible “handover” of the women seem to take place in secret? Everyone accepts it, yet everyone knows it’s illegal? Is that why they don’t want to be seen?
Such a story doesn’t happen often, not every day. But it can occur. I don’t know exactly why it happens at night; perhaps they don’t want to be seen, yes. But it’s part of the tradition. The idea is precisely that the women must awaken the Sheikh to ask for help and be saved, so then he, waking up, fulfills the obligation to understand them and provides protection, ensuring that everything will be alright. Still, the fact that it unfolds at night makes the drama more intense and works better for the film.
– I’d like to know more about your stylistic choices; I really appreciated the nearly square format and some of the landscapes.
I’ve been making short films for fifteen years and I’ve experimented a lot with the medium, trying to understand how to tell a story, or how to stage a metaphor. For this film I drew on all the experience I’ve accumulated. For example, I chose a nearly square 4:3 format, because when you face the horizon in a wide space, you tend to use anamorphic to capture everything. But for me cinema is both what you reveal and what you don’t reveal. I wanted the audience to imagine what lay beyond the frame. Then the square format has a psychological effect on the audience: the characters seem imprisoned, enclosed, everything feels more vertical. I was seeking this prison metaphor in some scenes, and it was very important. Since the visual approach is vertical, I wanted landscapes to convey the sense of the setting, which matters a lot in this film; I wanted life to continue unfolding: for instance, when you see a character from far away, I wanted to frame something else happening in the frame, even if I hadn’t planned it. Sometimes we did a handheld shot, sticking to a character to follow them. Other times it’s all static, but not just for aesthetics; also to give a sense of space, to feel how big the mountain is and how small the character is.
– The places matter more than the dialogues.
Yes, the space is magical in that place, really. Every time I go there I feel there is something divine; I wanted the film to capture that. And the only way was to treat space not merely as a backdrop, but almost as another character.
– There are several long takes in the film. Why?
Mostly as a stylistic choice, yes. But there are practical reasons too: if you want non-professional actors to truly inhabit their roles, you shouldn’t interrupt them often. Moreover, time in the film was very important, I wanted the life that passes to be visible. I wanted to feel the weight of time, because life isn’t as fast as in the city. We’re in a rural area and time moves slowly.
– Did you have problems with the non-professional cast? How was the experience?
Let’s say no; it went very well. Over time we started understanding each other better. Naturally they don’t know the discipline of a film set; there were small issues, but we were always ready to adapt. The crew was small: twelve people, of whom only five were on set. There was no makeup artist or costume designer. Makeup, for example, was handled by the actresses themselves. We didn’t have costumes; we pulled from the wardrobes of these people. We’d open the wardrobe and say, “For the scene we’ll use this.” There were challenges. I adored one of the actors who had to play the sheikh of the other tribe; I wanted him in the film, but I had met him two years before filming, and when we were ready, a few months beforehand, the Syrian regime had fallen. This man was Syrian and was in Lebanon not entirely legally. He went back to Syria and I lost him. I was ready to work with him, but he wasn’t there anymore. I really wanted him, not someone else. We searched until we found him again. And he came to shoot: he was incredibly excited, calling me constantly, shouting, “When are we filming? When are we filming?” And I said, “Stay with us for a while; when we need you, we’ll call you!” The car crash scene, for example, wasn’t working. We had shot it seven times, and on the last take I said to myself, “If we don’t get it now, I’m screwed.” And it worked! Because with non-professional actors, if you repeat a scene too many times, you lose something with each take. You can gain something too, but you always lose something. And yet in the final scene I was very fortunate: it’s an eight-minute take and it went well on the first try. I have no other take of that sequence. Just one. There’s even a bird that lifts off the tree, wonderful. I said, “We’ve got it.” And everyone asked, “But how? We won’t reshoot?” We had it, because we wouldn’t re-do it.
– What’s the story behind the dedication to your grandmother?
My grandmother was married off at 14. That was normal then; now it isn’t. I was very close to my grandmother, and as I grew up this story was told to me many times, even when she was already very old. She would get emotional every time she told it, because she felt powerless. And I felt deeply… guilty for something I hadn’t done. Yet I felt I wanted to give her a gift. And the best gift, as a filmmaker, was to make a film that would pay tribute to her. I lost my grandmother three months before the shoot, and I truly felt her presence on set. Here’s an example: in a scene we didn’t end up using in the film, I wanted wind; I needed the two sisters to play with the wind, with their dresses and the veil, a somewhat childish moment. And there was no wind. We were prepared; we had large fans, but outdoors they didn’t suffice. Suddenly, just as we began to shoot, a windstorm arose, and as soon as I stopped the shot, it stopped. You may think I’m making this up, but it really happened.
– What hopes do you place in this film?
Honestly, I feel very fortunate to have had a Cannes debut, a fantastic preview. And continuing this journey here in Rome, at this major Festival, is very important for its Italian outreach. My hope is to keep taking the film to the most important festivals. Perhaps it will make it easier to realize my next project. All I want to do in life is make films.
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