By: Yomna Walid

In a downtown building in Cairo, characterized by a high ceiling and a faded sense of grandeur, it's just another Eid night. The city vibrates with noise as families gather and celebrations resonate through the streets. But, inside one aging apartment building, something far more unsettling is unfolding. A woman has invited a male guest over, and her neighbors are taking notice. What follows isn't mere curiosity, it's judgment. Paranoia begins to build, and control takes over. By morning, the building has transformed into a pressure cooker of fear, superstition and societal projection.

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A post shared by Ahmed El Zoghby (@zoghbyyy)

This is the world of "Qafla” (Blackout), a gripping short film by Egyptian director Ahmed El-Zoghby, recently selected for the 37th Annual Palm Springs International ShortFest, taking place from Tuesday, 24th of June to Monday, 30th of June. One of the world’s most prestigious showcases for short films. The film has also received recognition at Finland’s Oscar-qualifying Tampere Film Festival. Inspired by a true event, "Qafla" delves into the psychological and social foundations of collective control, particularly the kind that restricts women's autonomy.

In an exclusive Interview with Nile FM, El-Zoghby discusses his artistic journey, the emotional structure of "Qafla" and the quiet yet violent truths we inherit through culture, silence and fear.

Q: Let’s start with you—can you walk us through your journey as a film director? What are the key moments that shaped your creative voice and cinematic style?

My journey began as an assistant director on the film "Clash," directed by Mohamed Diab. Although I never studied film in a formal academic setting, I taught myself through reading, observation, and most importantly, doing.

At first, I gravitated more toward screenwriting. I wrote a script years ago titled "Barshama", which is currently being shot and directed by Khaled Diab.

I also wrote another film that was developed with director Yousry Nasrallah. Although it was never made, that experience was transformative. Working closely with a visionary like Yousry helped me discover my own voice as a director.

Over the years, I collaborated with several directors as a writer, but I always carried a personal visual imagination for the stories I wrote. At some point, I realized that certain stories needed to be told by me, not just written, but directed, because I was seeing details that extended far beyond the script. That’s when I understood directing wasn’t a choice, but a necessity.

Q: “Qafla” carries a powerful title. Can you share the story behind the film—what inspired it and what themes were you hoping to explore?

The film was inspired by a real incident I came across: a woman took her own life after her neighbors broke into her apartment, assaulting her and a male guest, accusing her of violating moral norms. That story shook me. It reflected a deeper pattern of dominance and control, especially over women who rent and live alone. I wanted to explore the sociological roots of this aggression, how people in a building come to believe they have the right to control someone else’s life, justified by their own fears and fantasies.

Q: The film is now officially selected at Palm Springs International ShortFest—one of the most prestigious short film festivals worldwide. How did you find out and what was your initial reaction?

I was in Jeddah at the Red Sea Series Lab, attending a workshop with Spike Lee, when I found out. I was having lunch with my producer Hind Metwalli and some of the other participants when we received the email. The moment we read it, we were overjoyed. We shared the news with a few friends around us and they celebrated with us. It was a beautiful moment of recognition and encouragement.

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A post shared by Ahmed El Zoghby (@zoghbyyy)

Q: The film takes place almost entirely inside a residential building. How did working within this limited space influence your storytelling and visual choices?

The location in the film almost functions as a character in itself. Metaphorically, the residents are trapped inside by choice, clinging to their familiar fears and beliefs. I searched for a space that felt alive—one that visually echoed the paranoia, nostalgia, and decay of its inhabitants. I found a building in downtown Cairo, with a wide ceiling and a faded grandeur that made you feel it once held a different kind of life, a different kind of people. Visually, I wanted to preserve that sense of lost time. To contrast it, I used sound design to portray the chaotic world outside—a world the residents are afraid of. You hear that world, but you never see it, which helps you understand why they fear leaving. It’s not just about space—it’s about perception.

Q: What inspired you to tell this particular story? Why set it during Eid night in such a confined and emotionally charged setting?

For me, the film sheds light on toxic masculinity, but through the lens of the relationship between mothers and their young sons, how this bond can serve as the foundation for deeply rooted patriarchal beliefs. At the same time, this family exists within a system of superstition, passed down like inherited myths. These beliefs allow fear and projection to flourish, particularly against women who live freely or people who don’t conform. That’s where the real emotional charge of the setting comes from.

Eid was also a practical choice in terms of the story’s logic. It’s a moment when the streets outside are unusually chaotic, noisy and crowded—and at the same time, many services become unavailable. The film opens with the grandfather falling ill and the men of the building leave at dawn to try and find a doctor during a time when that’s nearly impossible. This leaves the building in the hands of the women and their children—and from that fragile, charged setup, the events begin to spiral.

Q: The story unfolds through the lens of the women and children left behind, creating a powerful sense of psychological projection. What drew you to explore these emotional dynamics?

You’re right, it is a story seen through those who are left behind. And that absence, especially of male authority figures who are physically gone but psychologically present, creates a vacuum. The children and women navigate that space through memory, fear and projection. I was interested in how belief systems and emotional conditioning are passed down, not by preaching, but by behavior, tone and silence.

I’ve always been fascinated by how trauma and patriarchy aren’t just imposed, they’re inherited. In this film, I wanted to explore how children absorb the anxieties of the adults around them and how women are often caught between being victims of the system and agents within it. It’s not black and white, it’s more uncomfortable and human than that.

Q: Qafla received strong reactions at the Tampere Film Festival, another Oscar-qualifying event. What was the audience's reaction and what did the experience mean to you?

The response at Tampere really moved me. I was surprised by how deeply the audience connected to the story, even though it’s grounded in an Egyptian setting, they saw reflections of similar dynamics in their own societies. Many people spoke about the shared fears, superstitions and imagined justifications that fuel hatred and exclusion.

One of the audience members asked how many days we shot the film. When I said “three,” there was a round of applause; they hadn’t expected such a compressed shoot for something that felt so layered. That moment reminded me how much can be achieved with limited time when you have a clear vision and a team that believes in it.

Q: The ensemble cast features strong performances from Jehan El-Shamashrgy, Sedky Sakhr, Yara Gobrane and others. Can you tell us about the collaboration process with your cast and crew? What was the moment you experienced on set that stayed with you?

The cast really gave their all, especially under tough shooting conditions. The most challenging part was that we didn’t shoot scene by scene, instead, we had to shoot all the angles for the entire film grouped by location and lighting. That required enormous emotional flexibility from the actors, jumping between beats and moments with little linear progression. What stayed with me most was their trust. They committed fully to the psychological complexity of their characters, even when the production rhythm was intense. We were all navigating a tight schedule, but their patience, focus and deep understanding of the material carried us through.

Q: Looking back, is there a specific scene or moment in the film that you’re particularly proud of—something that felt like a breakthrough?

I’m proud that we managed to bring such a difficult script to life. It may be my first short film as a director, but even some of the most experienced crew members told me it was one of the hardest films they’ve worked on, execution-wise. Some scenes required precise coordination between actors, camera, sound and mood—all under serious time pressure. If there was a breakthrough, it was realizing that we didn’t need to simplify the story to make it shoot-able. We trusted the complexity, leaned into the discomfort and embraced the challenge. That, to me, is the spirit of the film itself.

Q: What role do you think festivals like Palm Springs play in elevating films from the MENA region or the Global South?

Festivals like Palm Springs are crucial platforms for the MENA region and the Global South films. They create visibility beyond borders, allowing our stories to be seen not just as “regional” but as human, urgent and artistically relevant. They help challenge stereotypes, open up space for nuanced representation and encourage co-productions and international collaboration. For filmmakers like us, who often work with limited resources and within complex social realities, such festivals offer validation—not just for the film, but for the voices and communities behind it.

Q: What’s next for you after Palm Springs—are there new projects you’re currently working on or dreaming of?

Right now, I’m preparing for my first feature film, which I’m both writing and directing. It’s produced by Mohamed Hefzy and Ahmed El Desouky. It’s a project very close to my heart and I truly hope it finds the right moment to come to life.

Q: Can you share some of the creative or production challenges you faced while making the film? Were there moments when you questioned if it would all come together?

One of the biggest challenges was finding the right building—a place with the unique character and presence we needed, but also residents willing to let us film such an intense story in their space. The film includes physically demanding scenes inside the elevator, such as spraying water from a hose, which understandably made the residents quite nervous. To make things more complicated, the building itself had unpredictable electricity cuts. The elevator is central to the story, with several characters trapped inside at various points. Coordinating those water-based scenes while dealing with real electrical instability created serious logistical tension. There were definitely moments when we weren’t sure it would all come together—but somehow, it did.

A special thanks goes to the film’s producer, Hind Metwalli, not only for her role as a producer but as a true cornerstone of the film’s success. Her deep belief in the project and her unwavering support carried us through every obstacle.

Q: Is there a particular scene or moment in the film that holds personal meaning for you, one that feels especially close to your heart?

The final scene is the one closest to my heart. It’s the moment where roles shift and the characters are forced to confront the consequences of their own beliefs and projections. For me, it distills the emotional and ideological tension the whole film builds toward.

Q: How would you describe Qafla / Blackout in one sentence?

A film about how fear and superstitions twist beliefs, turning difference into danger.

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