Lost Is My Breath: An Interview with Ehsan Aslani

Please tell us about the projects you worked on before making ‘Lost Is My Breath’. How did you start, and how did you learn to make films? Tell us about ‘Lost Is My Breath’. How do you describe it?

"First of all, I want to express my heartfelt gratitude to the Tokyo International Film Festival for arranging this interview — it’s a true honor." I began my journey in architecture — in fact, I hold a master’s degree in the field. But I’ve never truly considered myself an architect. From my early university years, I found myself drawn more and more toward cinema. I started attending independent filmmaking workshops, and eventually, I pursued a PhD in architecture in France.

But while in France — without informing my parents and with a clear plan in mind — I secretly enrolled at the École IMAGES in Seine-Saint-Denis, Paris, to formally study cinema. Later, I returned to Iran and worked on several short film sets as a camera assistant.

Eventually, I immigrated to Canada, where I continued chasing my dream. I studied cinema at André Grasset College, and that’s when I seriously entered the world of cinematography. I worked as Director of Photography (DoP) on several short films and documentaries, both fiction and nonfiction.

After some time, I decided to return to something I had always loved doing in Iran — teaching. Becoming a cinema instructor in Canada was both a challenge and a joy. Many of my students later became collaborators, and we still work together on various projects.

This is actually the first film I’m directing independently. Before this, I worked as the DoP on a short film titled The French Course, which ended up being quite successful — winning awards at several international and national festivals.

But sadly, I was never informed about any of those achievements, perhaps because the director didn’t really believe in the spirit of collaboration. That experience taught me something valuable: the importance of recognizing and appreciating the people who work hard to bring your ideas to life.

As for the film Lost Is My Breath, I’d describe it not merely as a narrative, but as an existential unfolding. I’ve always believed that human beings only begin to truly move when an external force disrupts their inertia. Until then, we are — at best — passive agents within a system that favors stasis over choice.

The protagonist, Violette, is a woman in every deeply resonant sense of the word. I was raised by a woman and have spent my life observing how feminine identity has been repeatedly silenced and suppressed in patriarchal societies. Let me be clear — I do not claim to have created a masterpiece. Rather, this is the extent of my understanding of the feminine world so far.

Violette, before accidentally discovering her husband’s secret affair, is essentially an object — perhaps fulfilling traditional roles: obedience, silence, and emotional automation. But the moment the betrayal is revealed, she enters a state of collapse. This breakdown is not the end — it is the beginning of motion. She experiences, in an instant, the rawness of loss. She tries to digest it. But then, we learn something that deepens the complexity: she had prepared a dinner to surprise her husband with the news of her pregnancy.

Now, standing at the crossroads of betrayal and life, she takes a deeply radical step. She attempts to erase that unborn child — possibly as an act of vengeance, or perhaps to liberate herself from a commitment already tainted. This is the turning point. The inertia is shattered. Her motivation shifts into a state of all or nothing.

What matters here is that she becomes a subject — not an object hidden in the kitchen corner. As Deleuze would put it, her mental image begins to move. I won’t reveal the ending here, but what follows is a profound journey — not just from the self, but toward the supra-self. From objecthood to self-determination. From silence to transformation.

Please tell us about your favorite filmmakers.

Two filmmakers who have profoundly influenced my cinematic perspective are Rainer Werner Fassbinder and Abbas Kiarostami. Though they differ significantly in form, tone, and thematic structure, I find an unexpected kinship between them — particularly in how they explore the human condition through both the subject (le sujet) and the object (l’objet) of being.

Fassbinder's cinema is unflinchingly direct — at times brutal — yet it unveils complex emotional truths with surgical precision. Kiarostami, in contrast, works with silence, subtlety, and suggestion, inviting the viewer to contemplate rather than react.

Despite these stylistic differences, both filmmakers are deeply concerned with the idea of transformation: the movement of a human being from passivity toward agency, from mere existence toward meaning. They offer different paths, but they ask similar questions.

As for Kiarostami, I must confess that my admiration goes beyond cinema. My connection to him is rooted in something deeply personal — a resonance that lies outside the scope of this interview. It’s not just his films that move me, but something about his presence, his worldview, and what he represented — quietly, yet powerfully.

If you were given a good budget, what would be your ideal project?

This is a fascinating question — and I’d like to take this opportunity to say something to my fellow filmmakers:We don’t necessarily need large budgets to create meaningful cinema. What we truly need is a pain so deep that language fails to capture it — and images step in where words cannot.

With the utmost humility, I firmly believe that powerful films can be made with very modest means. If granted a substantial budget, I wouldn’t rush toward spectacle or technical excess. I have no desire for CGI-heavy stories or elaborate visual effects. What moves me is the rawness of the human condition and stories that reflect the emotional struggles of our time.

If given that chance, I would finally bring to life a short film project I’ve been quietly developing:"129 Years, 215 Days, and 3 Seconds" — a contemplative work about the inner worlds of young filmmakers navigating their place in a world that often forgets them. This project is intimate, poetic, and rooted in truth.

And yes, beyond that, I would fully devote myself to my first feature-length film — one that continues to explore the silent wounds and invisible battles of everyday life.

Describe how you would ensure that production is on schedule. What steps would you take?

A New Approach to Independent Filmmaking: What Y’est où mon souffle? Taught Me I’d like to share a few reflections from my experience directing Y’est où mon souffle? a short film that has, to my surprise, been receiving encouraging attention from international festivals. What has resonated with juries so far, I believe, is not the screenplay itself which I humbly consider one of my weaker scripts but rather the unwavering faith and love of every team member involved in realizing this concept.

Beyond the joy of working with competent, dedicated collaborators, what stood out most for me was the production methodology we adopted. While I remain humble about the script itself, I do believe it served the concept with clarity and restraint allowing the performances and visual language to fully breathe. The screenplay had been completed nearly a year earlier, followed by two months of focused pre-production.

Amazingly, the entire shoot was completed in under eight hours something we were only able to achieve thanks to two essential factors:

1. A Clear Production Flowchart

From the earliest stages, we designed and refined a detailed flowchart of responsibilities, informed by months of research. I do not for a moment claim that we created a masterpiece. Rather, I say with humility that establishing a clear, efficient structure was key to turning our professional goals into reality.

2. Project Management Using RACI

Under the guidance of Ghazaleh Ghasemifardour production designer, we implemented a tailored RACI matrix for the film’s production. This model clarified who was Responsible, Accountable, Consulted, and Informed at each stage of production. It was transformational.

One of my most important personal choices was the intentional selection of crew. Although I had not worked with Morteza Ghafouriore, I knew I was collaborating with a DOP who deeply understood visual language and team dynamics. To this day, I don’t recall him ever addressing an actor directly even during pre-production meetings. That wasn’t coldness; it was professional discipline respecting boundaries and roles to the letter.

Ghazaleh, as a production designer, created a warm yet structured environment where everyone clearly understood their role. She, too, never stepped outside the framework of her responsibilities. Hooman, our first camera assistant, executed his tactical duties with quiet precision a model of what professionalism should look like on set.

And of course, Héloise Koszegir lead actress. I have long admired her as a performer, and this project only deepened my respect. She understands time, space, and rhythm qualities that will no doubt lead her to greater and greater success.

Elham Atyabi the first assistant director, executed her responsibilities with precision and clarity. Despite some professional limitations in the sound department, our sound recordist Farhang Ghanebassiriaged to deliver exactly what we needed.

The Truth? It Wasn’t the Script.

What made this film work wasn’t the story, and it wasn’t even the direction. It was professionalism.

It was the understanding of hierarchy, a principle often overlooked by younger filmmakers in the independent scene.

My next short project, "129 Years and 215 Days and 68,327 Seconds" a more conceptual film will follow the same production approach. After that, I’ll begin work on my first feature film, again using this research-based production model as a foundation.

A Call to Makers of Methods

I want to close with an invitation not to those creating new stories, but to those creating new systems for how stories are made. If you're developing innovative approaches to film production whether artistic, technical, or organizational I’d love to hear from you. Let’s build something bigger together for the future of independent cinema.

What was the hardest part of making ‘Lost Is My Breath’.

To be honest, there was no part of the process that felt hard in the traditional sense — everything was a joy, a privilege, and a creative opportunity.

But if we’re speaking in terms of challenges, I would say that the greatest one was staying entirely in my role as a director, especially given my technical background in cinematography. It required conscious restraint — the kind that comes from trust.

I had to fully rely on our cinematographer, Morteza Ghafouri, who is nothing short of extraordinary. Morteza is a master of his craft — a true visual poet who has collaborated with some of the most renowned directors. Working with him was not only effortless, but deeply inspiring.

So, the simple answer is this: everything was love — from the first frame to the final shot.

If possible, tell us about your next work. What plans do you have for your future work?

My next project will be another short film, currently in pre-production, titled:“129 Years, 215 Days, and a Few Seconds.”

It’s a highly conceptual work — one that resists easy classification within traditional narrative cinema. While it does follow a certain storyline, the structure is deliberately fluid, open, and emotionally immersive.

Without revealing too much, I can say this:The central theme revolves around the idea that cinema itself can be a sanctuary — a place of emotional refuge, especially for those who carry invisible wounds.

It’s a personal project, fragile and daring at the same time, and I hope it will resonate with those who find solace in the silent spaces between images.