If Nadav Lapid’s fifth film Yes! didn’t exist, it would be almost impossible to think of anything like it. A provocative, intensely sensory and dryly witty study of modern-day life in Tel Aviv, it is likely the first film by an Israeli to confront the elephant in the room: the ongoing war in Gaza. At the center of the story is a jazz musician called Y, a bohemian, artsy type who is fed up with his hand-to-mouth existence and so agrees to a lucrative commission, writing an upbeat song to inspire national pride in the wake of the Hamas terror attacks that took place on October 7, 2023. But what begins as a simple matter of selling out soon becomes much darker, and Y finds himself under pressure to write a war song.
Lapid has lived in Paris for the last three and a half years, and, as an outsider now, his film manages the extraordinary feat of being able to see both sides of the situation. But he doesn’t do this calmly or even rationally; Yes! is an existential crisis of a film, and at times it almost seems to be unravelling before our very eyes. Fortunately, Lapid’s film has so far escaped any kind of kneejerk anti-Israel fervor, and even enjoyed a peaceful premiere in Cannes, where it screened in Directors’ Fortnight (his last film, Ahed’s Knee, was in Competition there in 2021, so draw your own conclusions). Before presenting Yes! in Karlovy Vary, Lapid sat down to discuss the film’s origins and its complex themes.
DEADLINE: Is it true that Yes! started out as a different movie and changed to incorporate the events of October 7? What was the starting point?
NADAV LAPID: The starting point of Yes! was always Yes!, but [the original draft] was a movie about an artist saying yes to power, to authority. It was a movie about art and sensitivity defeated by vulgarity, brutality, power, money; what we see all around the globe. And it was about an artist tired of repeatedly saying no, tired of any form of resistance; who wants, like all of us, to love and to be loved; wants to live normally; wants to be a part of humanity. So, saying yes, and then again yes, and then again yes, and then finding himself in the bottom. But then came October 7 and the war. The bottom — the abyss — became deeper and deeper.
DEADLINE: Is it in any way personal in terms of the artist’s dilemma?
LAPID: Of course it’s personal. I think, first of all, from my first day in cinema, I’ve lived with the precarity of this… I mean, from time to time I feel that we are like this, how do you call it, like clockmakers who fix clocks, or something like this. I mean, I can see that you have a watch, but most people don’t. They look at their phone, and suddenly this profession became [almost obsolete]…
Given the precarity and the weakness of art, of cinema, I always feel like as if the days of glory are behind us now, and in general by this feeling of being swallowed by the brutality, by the chaos, by things that I don’t understand, even though I always try to understand them. At the same time, I feel also that I live in the position of being an artist from a small country.
Being an Israeli filmmaker is like being, maybe, I guess, a Bosnian filmmaker. It’s very different from being a French filmmaker or an American filmmaker, because we are the ones who are knocking on the gates, the gates where there is money and glory and recognition. I get invited to all sorts of events, like, there is a one held by the Cannes Festival in Paris. Everyone has good intentions, but you find yourself at a table with the rich sponsors of the festival, and you’re a little bit the performing monkey. It’s OK, but I think that what I’m trying to say [in Yes!] is that everyone — including myself — licks the boots of someone else.
DEADLINE: So, to clarify, you had this idea and then October 7 presented itself. Is that what happened?
LAPID: Yeah.
DEADLINE: And did you ever think, “Perhaps I shouldn’t touch that subject,” or were you warned away from it because it’s still echoing on today?
LAPID: Well, I was, of course, shocked when it happened, but it didn’t [immediately] give me any reason to make this film or any other film. But a few days after it happened, I opened my computer and I looked at the script, and the first line spoken in the film is when Yasmin says, “Let the generals win,” or something like that. And this is so connected to what took place in Israel. OK, so, in the film, it’s a battle about a song, and the real war is in the background, but, in a way, it’s all connected, because on October 7 the generals lost. And I told myself that we were soon going to see their vengeance, the revenge that they would take. So, then I went to Israel to try to figure out — to understand — what was happening.
And for me, there were several things that I realized: first of all, I met more or less all my friends there. A lot of them are artists and all of them were working in the service of the state suddenly. I mean, they all had good intentions. It was like Israel was bleeding, in shock after October 7, the atrocities, et cetera, et cetera. And so, they felt that they needed to contribute to the national efforts. The filmmakers were doing short films, explaining what happened to Israel, what took place, the atrocity. And the editors were editing, and the cameramen were shooting. And the singers were singing to the soldiers who were preparing themselves to invade Gaza.
Again, everyone had good intentions, but it was evident for me that all of this would end in, or would bring about, a terrible, apocalyptic, biblical — with no precedent in our history — massacre. So, you could see that the worst was being prepared. And when you see that the worst is being prepared, you don’t really have options.
DEADLINE: It struck me as being kind of an angry film. Your films are very kinetic, very vibrant, but this one is almost out of control at times. Would you agree that it’s an angry movie?
LAPID: I think it’s a true movie. I mean, I think the movie is going in all directions at the same time. I mean, in terms of genre, it’s romantic, it’s a musical, and it’s a film about love, it’s about couple, it’s about family. And, of course, it’s a political film, and it’s a war film, and sometimes it’s almost a horror film. Sometimes it’s an existential film. So, I think the movie is going everywhere at the same time. But it’s a movie that was shot in the middle of a war, while the war is still happening, while bombs and missiles are falling. Every day there’s a new tragedy, and every day it’s the worst day.
I mean, can you make any other sort of movie? Yes, you can. I mean, maybe I could have made a very severe, austere, serious political kind of film. I find these films pretty boring, didactic, and, in a way, not loyal to truth, because the truth, as I see it at the end of the movie is not only a topic, it’s about life at this point. In life, everything is connected. Ultimately, Tel Aviv and Gaza are connected. Tel Aviv is connected to the war in Gaza, and the parties in Tel Aviv are connected to the bombs in Gaza. You cannot talk about one without talking about the other, especially if you want to talk about humans, as you see them in a certain moment.
DEADLINE: Was it easy to get people to work with you on this movie?
LAPID: No, it was almost impossible. For the first time it was almost impossible. Like, dozens of technicians refused to work on the film. It never happened to me before. It never happened. I think it was a reflection of what was happening in Israel. Dozens of technicians refused to work on the film, one after the other. It became almost a joke at a certain point, and not a funny one. Each day a new technician was leaving. We couldn’t find a makeup artist. We had to find a Serbian makeup artist. Aa lot of actors refused to. Some actors passed their auditions, got the roles, and they were super happy. Then, two weeks later, their agents called to say that they would not participate in the movie.
And also, it was very hard to find the financing, especially after October 7. I think there was a phenomenon of fear englobing the movie. I mean, financiers in Europe, in France, were saying, “No, we are not on either side… “A bit like the Michael Jordan quote, “Republicans but trainers too.” So, they were like, “We are not on the Palestinian side, neither on the Israeli side.” All sorts of rubbish like this, as if it’s a question of side, you know? People who see themselves as supporters of cinema were saying that, at this moment, it would be too complicated for them to finance such a film — as if it’s not exactly the reason why they should finance it.
I think there is an increasing misunderstanding, and I feel it throughout this film. And, in a strange way, I think that this misunderstanding concerns the cinema industry much more than it concerns the audiences. The screenings of this film have been unbelievable. It began in Cannes. Of course, there are people who love it and people who don’t love it, but it’s OK. I mean, it’s great. And the audience is extremely young. And I feel that the film talks to everyone, but also to young people because it describes to them, I think, the world as they feel it, even going beyond the Israeli question. And I think the people in a way are relieved, because they feel that there’s something in the film that speaks the truth about this chaotic reality, which is something that they don’t find in many other films.
But on the other hand, I think that, in the industry of cinema, there is less and less comprehension of the role of films. I mean, values like arousing debate, providing a polemic, creating even harsh debates. Why not? It’s great that people can discuss these things. And, for years, I think that was one of the reasons why we sanctified and loved the arts. I think that we all discovered cinema through these stormy filmmakers who did movies that were anything but safe and anything but consensual. Somehow, that became a handicap, and there is a kind of ideal of “safe” films. When a lot of people in this industry talk about political films, they talk about films about political topics that you can already study in history class. I mean, it’s not very courageous to make a film about a political topic that was relevant 50 years ago.
DEADLINE: It’s very fashionable to boycott Israel and Israeli products. Have you had experience of that?
LAPID: If anything, it was the opposite experience. For me, my main problem and concerns came from the financing stage. I don’t think it’s a [partisan] view. It’s the sincere view of an Israeli filmmaker about his own state. I felt the opposite. Maybe someone is tweeting about me on Twitter…
DEADLINE: You’re based in Paris. Do you think the world is becoming more authoritarian, or more right-wing and more reactionary?
LAPID: I have my opinions, but in a way, I feel that my films are not left-wing films. I’m not a militant filmmaker. I’m not doing cinema engagé. I love cinema too much. At the end, the aim is the film. I feel that, as a filmmaker, my films are, first of all, a celebration of the truth of cinema, hoping that the truth of cinema is conforming to the truth of the universe. But I think that the main thing is that I feel that people like me — maybe you as well — don’t understand the world anymore.
I mean, you can describe it in many words. Fascist. Vulgar, surely. But, on a higher level, I have a son, and I don’t feel that I can give any advice to my son about what he should do with his life, because I feel that we still believe in a set of values that are not relevant anymore. But at the same time, I’m not a nostalgic filmmaker. I don’t like nostalgia. I mean, I’m not like, “Oh, the past was so glorious.” Ultimately, the only thing that exists is the present. And I can be critical of the present, but at the same time, in a way, I worship the present because this is the only truth. And trying to understand the world is a great, great, great starting point for a filmmaker.
DEADLINE: What about the future? What’s next for you?
LAPID: Maybe another film that begins as a dance and ends as a scream.
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