The Devil is in the Details: Exploring Diversity Through Film

We were behind schedule, losing sunlight, shooting a scene in a language I didn’t speak and one of my actors refused to look the other actor in the eye for a simple reason that threw off the entire film I was directing.

It was our twelfth day of production on “Exodus 1991,” a feature film that explores the political, social and racial issues raised by Operation Solomon, the airlift of 15,000 Ethiopian Jews to Israel in the midst of a brutal Ethiopian civil war. The movie is being produced in partnership with two non-profits, the Ethiopian National Project and OpenDor Media, both committed to the vision that Ethiopian Jews can maintain their distinctive culture while integrating into Israeli life.

And true to our mission, “Exodus 1991” features a wonderfully diverse cast, with lead roles played by Americans, Israelis, Ethiopians, Sephardim and Ashkenazim, and a story about the ensuing power dynamics when all those communities and cultures intersect.

In that particular scene, the actors and I experienced that clash of cultures firsthand. The scene involved the Israeli ambassador to Ethiopia coming to meet with Kes Zimru (a “kes” is like a rabbi), an influential spiritual leader of the Ethiopian community. The ambassador is asking the kes to encourage Ethiopian Jews to leave their villages and come to the capital where they can, eventually, be brought to Israel, but the kes is not enthusiastic. Ethiopia’s unique form of Judaism has flourished in isolation for perhaps thousands of years. The kes fully understands the cultural dangers lurking in the ambassador’s proposition and worries about how their ancient rituals and customs will survive in this new land.

After a few takes, I realized the actor playing the kes was looking down rather than making eye contact with the actor opposite him. It looked like the actor was reading off of a script just out of the frame. The scene lost the intensity of these two men facing off against each other as they sought to save the Ethiopian Jewish community from existential threats: one physical, the other cultural.

I told the actor that I needed him to look up at the ambassador, and there was a stunned silence. The actor explained that in traditional Ethiopian culture, it would be considered disrespectful for even someone as important as the kes to look directly into the ambassador’s eyes. It was not a detail that most Ethiopians would pick up on today, but it would be accurate for someone of his age and stature in 1991.

I was faced with a fundamental dilemma. I was asking the actor to abandon a historical element of his culture in order to make a movie about the cultural price of Western assimilation understandable to Westerners. The challenge the kes posed to the ambassador was exactly my dilemma as a non-Ethiopian filmmaker trying to bridge a huge cultural divide. So, I took a moment, summoned my courage and chose cultural accuracy. I told the actor to stick with what was accurate, look where he saw fit, and we rolled another take.

To my Western eye, the scene was not working. The scene’s goal was to show the incredible strength and fortitude of the Ethiopian Jews, but the lack of eye contact resulted in the kes coming across as weak, intimidated and scared. The cultural preconceptions we engaged, even something as fundamental as eye contact, were just too powerful. I told the actor he needed to look up more — maybe splitting the difference.

The next takes were beautiful. Even without understanding a word, tears formed in the eyes of those sitting around me at the monitors.

It was a moment of success, but it was also one of failure. As we moved on to the next shots, I quietly asked the entire Ethiopian community for forgiveness. Forgiveness is a necessary ingredient for the kind of multicultural filmmaking that I’ve been doing for over a decade now. Whether it has been my productions with Muslims, Christians or Jews, I’ve always started off by saying that in order for two cultures to collaborate, we must enter the project with a foundation of forgiveness. Despite the best intentions, cultural mines will be stepped on, wires will be tripped and the final product will inevitably fall short of reality. As a filmmaker, even in my documentary work, my job is not to present reality but rather to reveal a truth hidden within it.

A movie is a form of translation; it translates ideas into sounds and pictures to reach as broad an audience as possible. Every translation, whether from one language to another or one culture to another, inevitably distorts. Yet, without translating, without sharing, how can we ever learn about each other, empathize and come to understand that which is foreign to us? As the journalist and author Italo Calvino said, “The translator is my most important ally. He introduces me to the world.”

A movie is a form of translation; it translates ideas into sounds and pictures to reach as broad an audience as possible.

To play the role of the translator is an honor, a responsibility and a risk. Another quote that stands out to me is from Spanish translator Miguel Sáenz, “If the translator does his job as he should, he is a benefactor of humanity; otherwise he is a veritable public enemy.” The tension between these two extremes will be my home for the next six months as I edit the film, translating and retranslating shot by shot, moment by moment. It could be that I made the right choice in that scene, or I may use the takes of him looking down — or perhaps I’ll use a bit of both.

Whatever my final decision, my hope is that the film will inspire audiences to learn more as well as invite other artists to continue where I leave off and correct my mistakes. My hope is that people will continue to learn not only about a little-known chapter in Israeli history, but also about a Jewish community that is regrettably under-represented and, too often, undervalued. And my hope is that whether looking up or looking down, the ultimate aims of this project will still find success: bringing authentic minority voices to the screen and generating critical dialogue within and between communities. For many, “Exodus 1991” will be their first conversation with this community and hopefully not their last. 

Micah Smith is an award-winning filmmaker, the director of “Exodus 1991,” and Senior Vice President of Film and Television at OpenDor Media, a Jewish media nonprofit that is dedicated to bringing Jewish ideas, values and stories to life.