Apr 30, 2026
In the dusk of darkened halls, as a beam of light slips from the heart of the projector to strike the white screen, worlds of shifting echoes are born. Destinies are forged that the viewer never anticipated. We see these stories sometimes transcending imagination and at other times mirroring reality, intersecting with various life issues. Every scene adds a new painting to the recipient’s mind, preserved in their cognitive perception. Often, we find cinema connecting the fragments of the human soul with the diverse issues of its society.
In our time, films are no longer merely an entertainment industry or a way to pass time on weekends. Instead, they have evolved into an exceptional intellectual planet, serving as an educational tool capable of penetrating minds and hearts simultaneously. Modern films have emerged from the light of the first cinema, manifesting the spirit of the Seventh Art with touches capable of transforming dry phenomena and silent data into a tangible pulse and deep emotion. This makes them the most powerful tool in the hands of civil society to reshape collective consciousness.
The human mind, by its nature inclined toward simulation and empathy, responds to images and drama in a way it does not respond to direct moral preaching. The secret lies in identification. Often, we see in these films versions of ourselves or versions of who we wish to be. Cinema grants us the opportunity to cry when we are unable to speak and a chance for heroism when we are shackled by fear. A film does not speak to you about poverty rates as cold statistical figures. Instead, it makes you live the moans of hunger, the heartbreak of a father unable to earn a single penny at the end of his day to feed his children, or the struggle of a mother whose soft features have been worn away by a day of grueling labor. Here, the viewer is transformed from an ordinary recipient into an emotional participant, and the image etches an eternal mark within the folds of their awareness.
Consequently, the power of cinematic simulation surpasses that of other arts and expressive tools, especially in realistic films that resemble our daily stories. When we watch a reality like our own, or see the suffering of a marginalized group, the film breaks the wall of the Other. It creates a state of identification that makes the cause personal, pulling us from the role of the neutral spectator and placing us at the heart of the event. This emotional involvement is what transforms cinema from a tool for entertainment into a mirror that confronts us with our responsibilities toward public issues. True awareness begins in the heart and then moves to the mind through the viewing experience and the subsequent visual effects and acting performances. These tools break down the psychological barriers that people may place against new or controversial ideas, allowing them to view the scene through a clearer lens.
Furthermore, films have contributed to enlightening civil society organizations, acting as an open book that guides both the illiterate and the educated, the young and the old. Films have been employed as a tool to melt various issues into dramatic molds, producing a culture that flows through the veins of society. They teach people how to breathe freedom and protect their rights. Even taboo issues, which remain imprisoned by social stigmas and secrecy, are brought to the light by cinema. It breaks the silence around them and places them on the table for discussion, pointing specifically to issues like domestic violence, women’s rights, child marriage, and administrative corruption. In these cases, the film does not provide ready-made solutions so much as it raises painful questions that force society to review its various harmful traditions.
In addition to the above, heritage and the forgotten eras of the past have been revived by historical films. These works offer a re-reading of humanity through its different stages of war and crisis. Such films serve as an essential tool for young people to learn about the struggles of their ancestors. Their national memory is injected with doses of pride in their identity, protecting them from the erosion of awareness in an era of overwhelming globalization.
In parallel, a single image of melting ice in the Arctic or an animal struggling with death due to plastic pollution is equal in its impact to hundreds of scientific volumes on global warming. Thus, films of all types, whether documentary or scientific, transform science from closed laboratories into a public culture. They become a turning point in a person’s cognitive arsenal, guiding them and forming the basis of their decisions. This is done not out of fear of the law, but out of a belief in the sanctity of life as seen through the director’s lens, far from stereotyping.
Despite this immense power, the awareness-building film faces significant challenges that limit the reach of its message. Purposeful films often lack the commercial support enjoyed by commercial films and superficial entertainment, which hinders their impact. Frequently, the vision for awareness hits the walls of political or social censorship that fears the awakening of feeling. For instance, the film 12 Years a Slave, based on a true story centered on the loss of dignity and racism, won three Academy Awards. However, it faced many obstacles related to social and political censorship due to the extreme realism in depicting scenes of torture and flogging. Director Steve McQueen refused to soften these scenes, considering doing so a betrayal of history.
With the revolution of social media and digital viewing platforms, the film is no longer confined to cinema halls. A mobile phone camera paired with a brilliant idea can deliver a message of awareness to millions in seconds. This democratic shift in image production has made every citizen on the planet a potential cinematic content creator.
Thus, films are not just characters swaying on a screen. They are a visual symphony playing on the strings of the soul, where a narrow frame expands into a vast horizon to quench the thirst of the imagination. If science is the mind of the nation and politics is its movement, then cinema is undoubtedly its living conscience and its unerring compass. Therefore, civil society is called upon today more than ever to support films of all kinds. This support should come not only through funding but by creating film clubs, opening critical dialogues about what is shown, and transforming the act of viewing from consumption into an act of contemplation.
Apr 23, 2026
When the Libyan people rose up in anger across social media because of a scene from a low-quality Ramadan drama, I wondered for the millionth time: if bad acting can cause such a national stir, why haven’t our civil society institutions used this medium to tackle the real issues destroying our society?
If we are a people who claim to fear cinema because it might “offend public modesty,” yet we constantly preach virtue until it loses its meaning, then cinema is actually our most powerful tool for change. Through the lens of shock theory, film can be far more effective than traditional methods. If a single word can cause an uproar and a single scene can turn social media into a battlefield for analysts, why does using film for social progress seem so difficult?
Consider the case of South Korea. Did you know that a law was enacted there because of a movie? It was even named after the film itself. The 2011 film Silenced, also known as Dogani, was based on true events at a school for deaf children in Gwangju where students had been sexually abused in secret for years. The case was already known to the public through traditional media, but the film sparked a massive national outcry. It offered an honest, emotional portrayal of suffering and highlighted the justice system’s failure to punish the perpetrators.
The school’s case was not a secret revealed by the film; the media had already covered it. However, the film’s treatment of the subject made people feel as if they were hearing about it for the very first time. Within a month of its release, the Korean Parliament passed the “Dogani Law,” which removed the statute of limitations for sexual crimes against minors and people with disabilities, significantly increasing the penalties for offenders. One movie and two hours of viewing time pushed a nation to change its laws and protect its citizens.
The Neurological Impact of Film
The impact of films on societies cannot be understood without referring to the neurological and psychological foundations of this impact, for the emotional interaction shown by the audience toward a dramatic scene is not just a superficial impulse, but rather the result of activating advanced neural mechanisms within the human brain.
When we say a viewer was moved by a scene, we are referring to Neural Simulation, where mirror neurons activate, making the brain process the scene as if it were a direct personal experience. This explains why viewers respond to scenes of violence, social injustice, or human suffering with a genuine sense of pain or anger, even though they know they are watching a performance. This is the true power of cinema as an instrument for change.
The Role of Institutions in Transforming Reality
Civil society organizations, with their independence and flexibility, have the power to invest in visual media and films to shape public awareness and direct it toward positive change. As stated previously, the true power of cinema lies in its ability to penetrate emotions and the conscience, making the individual feel, interact, and reconsider their attitudes and behaviors. When these institutions realize that the power of cinema lies not just in its ability to show, but in its ability to move emotions, stimulate thought, and reshape attitudes, they will use it to turn individual empathy into a collective consciousness, and subsequently into tangible actions that contribute to social development.
Personally, I do not see a more important role for these organizations than creating this kind of impact. Their core mission should be to create a healthy environment by controlling the narrative, specifically by reframing social issues in a way that makes the audience interact with them deeply, live the experience, and become a part of the change. When used intelligently, films are not just a way to entertain; they are a tool for building a more just and sustainable future.
Because an experience is only complete when it reaches its audience, institutions should not limit themselves to traditional cinema models. They should redefine screening spaces to include small halls, cultural centers, universities, or even smartphone screens. While we know that everything seems difficult in this country, even with genuine attempts, we cannot wait for a perfect image of the future. A start, even if flawed or incomplete, is better than nothing.
The role of these organizations is not to force cinema upon the public through state decrees, but to create an environment where cinema becomes a necessity. When a broad societal awareness is formed regarding the importance of film, and when visual content becomes a central part of public debate, it becomes impossible to ignore. This is how change happens: from the bottom up, moving from society to the official institutions, not the other way around.
Conclusion: A Crisis of Tools, Not Issues
We do not have a crisis of issues; we have a crisis of tools. Our social problems are well known, but our methods of addressing them remain traditional, direct, and limited in their impact. Words are spoken, posts are written, and lectures are given, yet nothing changes.
People do not change because of what they are told, but because of what they feel. This is exactly where cinema shines. A film does not just explain a problem; it makes you live it. It allows you to see with eyes that are not yours and feel with a heart that is not yours. It places you inside the experience rather than in front of it. This distance between seeing and living is what makes all the difference. When our social institutions grasp this difference and turn it into a tool for public guidance, we will finally see the society we have always dreamed of.
Apr 16, 2026
The emergence of movie theaters in Libya was far more than a luxury. It was a major social transformation that shaped the consciousness of successive generations. Cinema served as a window to the world and a space where people of all classes and interests met. This experience was not individual, but a daily communal ritual shared by the city’s residents, where the initial wonder of the moving image blended with the joy of discovery.
During this journey, these theaters were not just commercial buildings. They were platforms for engaging with the aesthetics of Arab and international cinema and an inseparable part of the city’s social fabric. They became cultural compasses that attracted a diverse spectrum of Libyan society, helping to form their visual and emotional tastes.
This brings us to Cinema Al-Nasr in Benghazi, located in the Al-Funduq Al-Baladi area. A cultural landmark that opened in 1967 and was demolished in January 2022, it was a destination for a large number of the city’s residents. Major films like The Godfather and Doctor Zhivago were screened there, making it one of the spaces that created a shared cinematic memory across generations.
Today, passing by the site of Cinema Al-Nasr, one is met only with a heavy silence. Its walls have been torn down and leveled to the ground, yet the remnants of the site seem to hold secrets that are no longer told. Between a time when the lights never went out and a reality where only a void remains, memory alone can rebuild what has disappeared. If you listen closely, you might hear the echo of hundreds of footsteps stopping at the ticket window and moving toward the grand hall, where the screen once promised joy and endless laughter.
Cinema as a Part of Daily Life
In a warm recollection of the site, novelist Salem Al-Hindawi returns to his childhood years in Benghazi, where cinema was a living part of daily life. Through his testimony, Al-Hindawi captures the features of a vibrant city and recalls the theaters that shaped the awareness of an entire generation, revealing how personal stories intertwined with the city’s cultural history.
Al-Hindawi recalls that Cinema Al-Nasr, and before it Cinema Haiti and Cinema Istiqlal, were vital landmarks during his youth. He was born in the Sidi Khrebish neighborhood, and the Al-Funduq Al-Baladi area behind his street was constantly bustling with activity. It was filled with restaurants, cafes, popular hotels, and taxi stations. The area was a fertile commercial hub frequented by traders from across the country, serving as the loud heart of the city filled with the calls of vendors and the honking of buses.
In the early 1960s, at the age of nine, Al-Hindawi sold snacks in front of Cinema Istiqlal. He notes that Cinema Al-Nasr was newer than Haiti and Istiqlal, which were built in the 1930s or early 1940s, as evidenced by their Italian architecture. Cinema Al-Nasr was built in 1967 on the former site of a donkey cart station. It was owned by the late Al-Sha’ali Al-Kharraz, who was well known for managing several cinemas and bookstores in Benghazi, most notably the Al-Kharraz Bookstore on Omar Ibn Al-Aas Street.
Al-Hindawi adds that Cinema Al-Nasr was distinguished by screening the latest Arab, American, and Indian films. Competition with its neighbors was minimal because most of these theaters dealt with the Al-Jaouni Company, one of the largest film distributors in the Middle East with major offices in Cairo and Beirut.
A Unique Story in Every Memory
Researcher Abd al-Salam al-Zughaibi provides a living testimony of cinema history through his memories in Benghazi and Al-Bayda. His narrative combines documentation with nostalgia, highlighting the importance of cinemas before the spread of television.
Al-Zughaibi explains that cinema was once the primary and only destination for entering a world of magic and entertainment, especially before television entered homes in 1968. In Benghazi, theaters were concentrated in the city center. Residents and visitors from nearby suburbs frequented them constantly, especially on Fridays, summer holidays, and during Eid. These cinemas were clean and organized, even the popular ones, with orderly seating and designated areas for families.
Among these venues, the Berenice Cinema (Benghazi Cinema House) on Omar Al-Mukhtar Street stood out for its luxury. It began as a national theater in 1928 before being converted into a cinema. Other notable spots included Cinema Rex on Independence Street, known for foreign films, Cinema Al-Nahda, Cinema Al-Huriya, and Cinema Al-Nasr. These theaters screened films ranging from Hercules and Westerns to Egyptian classics.
Cinema Al-Nasr continued to operate until most of the city’s theaters closed in the 1990s. Its demolition in 2022 left deep sadness among residents. It was famous for cowboy films, Bollywood movies, and Egyptian dramas. An elderly man known as Si Ali used to stand outside, selling chocolate, biscuits, and peanuts to moviegoers.
One of the most striking features was the movie posters displayed at the ticket window. They didn’t just show the titles and stars. They included humorous catchphrases to attract crowds, such as “A movie of fighting and smashing,” “A terrifying horror film,” or “A film of thrill and suspense.” These quirky popular phrases were very effective at drawing people in.
The Foundational Phase
Cinema entered Libya at the start of the 20th century, specifically in 1908 in Tripoli, before expanding to Benghazi. The early days were linked to summer theaters or halls belonging to the Italian army, such as Cinema Trieste, where European and local cultures met. In Benghazi, Cinema Eden became a favorite destination for families due to its diverse programming.
In the 1950s and 1960s, Libya experienced an explosion in the number and variety of cinemas. This era saw cinema become part of everyday life. Egyptian and international films became a way to connect with other cultures and a source of knowledge, turning cinema into an informal educational institution.
During the 1970s and 1980s, theaters underwent nationalization and political shifts, as ownership transferred to the state. This changed the nature of imported films and management styles. During this period, cinema faced new challenges, first from the spread of television and later from the emergence of video players, which gradually led to a decline in attendance.
From the 1990s onward, cinema in Libya entered a period of sharp stagnation. Most historic theaters were closed due to neglect, converted into commercial businesses, or damaged by conflict. Cinema Al-Nasr was more than just a building. It was the beating heart of the Al-Funduq Al-Baladi area and a place that summarized the rise and fall of the cinematic dream in Benghazi.
“My Father is Up the Tree”
In 1967, Salem Al-Hindawi’s relationship with cinema evolved from being a viewer to being part of its daily world. At twelve years old, he had the opportunity to work with the cinema’s revenue collector. Later, he sold snacks and gum in front of the theater. His father also obtained permission to set up a bicycle parking station attached to the cinema wall, which Al-Hindawi managed with his brother until the final midnight show.
He shares a humorous anecdote from an Eid holiday when three theaters showed different blockbusters simultaneously, causing massive crowds and road closures. Cinema Haiti showed the Indian film For the Sake of My Children, which was packed with the Indian and Pakistani communities. Cinema Istiqlal showed the Italian film The Ten Gladiators, drawing crowds of young men eager to see the adventures of the heroes Rocha, the Dwarf, and the Mute.
Meanwhile, Cinema Al-Nasr screened the Egyptian film My Father is Up the Tree. The theater was packed with teenagers and older men who spent the entire ten-day run of the film debating the exact number of kisses between stars Abdel Halim Hafez and Nadia Lutfi, arguing whether the count was 100 or 101. Al-Hindawi recalls that the large, bold poster of the two stars was so daring that families would avoid walking in front of the theater during the day, while it served as a visual feast for young men who would watch the movie multiple times.
Tarzan, Hercules, and Samson
Because Abd al-Salam al-Zughaibi worked at the Arab Unity Bookstore during summer holidays, he and his colleagues were allowed to enter Al-Nasr and other theaters owned by Al-Sha’ali Al-Kharraz for free. Kharraz was a self-made man who combined cultural work with business, owning several cinemas in Benghazi including Cinema Al-Hamra and Cinema Al-Firdaws. His activity continued until the nationalization of commercial businesses, when bookstores moved to the press department and cinemas moved to the film department.
Cinema was not limited to Benghazi. It spread to cities like Tripoli, Misrata, Derna, Tobruk, and Ajdabiya. In the city of Al-Bayda, three theaters existed until the early 1970s. The oldest was Cinema Boughandoura in the old market. Another was Cinema Bourbeida behind the main post office.
During his stay in Al-Bayda in the late 1970s, al-Zughaibi and his classmates from the communications institute frequented Cinema Abu Haliema. They watched American war films, Italian Westerns, and movies featuring Tarzan, Hercules, and Samson. They also enjoyed Egyptian films starring Farid Shawqi and Mahmoud El-Meliguy, alongside the works of Farid al-Atrash and Abdel Halim Hafez. Tickets were affordable for everyone, with discounts for students. Sometimes, latecomers or large groups were even allowed in for free due to close social ties. Viewers could stay until the cinema closed, moving between floors or even napping in their seats, and bringing in food and drink was permitted.
The Echo of Stories
Cinema in Libya was never just about entertainment. It was a vital part of social and cultural memory and a mirror reflecting the transformations and aspirations of society. Although production has declined significantly, the testimonies of those who lived through that era still burn brightly. They reveal what Libyan cinema could have been if it had received the support and attention it deserved.
Discussing historic cinemas today is not just about reviving an art form. It is about reclaiming a piece of cultural history and offering future generations a window into their identity. Between the silence of the theaters that closed and the noise of the stories still being told, the question remains open: can Libyan cinemas ever find their light again?
Apr 9, 2026
At its current juncture, Libyan cinema faces a central question: which path is better suited to express reality, documentary or fiction?
This question is not merely technical. It is deeply tied to the nature of the Libyan experience itself and the challenge of translating a complex reality into an impactful visual medium.
At first glance, the documentary seems the natural choice in an environment undergoing rapid transformations. It allows for recording the moment exactly as it unfolds, offering the filmmaker a chance to approach reality directly without numerous intermediaries. For this reason, recent years have seen a notable surge in Libyan documentaries, particularly those produced by young filmmakers with limited resources.
However, a documentary is not just a direct recording. A good film requires vision and the ability to transform reality into a cinematic experience. The greatest challenge lies in avoiding dry reportage or a direct discourse that strips the image of its power. Cinema, even in its documentary form, demands an aesthetic sensibility that allows the viewer to see reality from a fresh perspective.
On the other hand, fiction films offer a broader space for the imagination. They are not bound by literal truth but rather reshape it through characters and narratives capable of evoking deeper empathy. Cinematic storytelling allows for the exploration of complex questions without falling into the trap of direct documentation, enabling the audience to live the experience rather than merely observing it from the outside.
Yet, the path of fiction filmmaking in Libya is fraught with difficulties. Narrative production requires infrastructure, larger budgets, and specialized technical expertise. Because these elements remain scarce, many directors turn to the documentary format as the more realistic option.
Ultimately, cinema does not require a strict choice between the two. Documentary and fiction are not opposing paths but rather complementary ones. Documentaries preserve memory, while fiction gives it human depth. The former captures the event, and the latter opens the door to interpretation.
In this context, cinema cannot be viewed merely as an artistic tool or a vessel for nostalgia. It is a means of exercising the right to culture, as enshrined in Article 27 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which affirms everyone’s right to participate in cultural life. Producing films that reflect Libyan reality, whether documentary or fiction, empowers the society to see its identity and visual heritage presented with dignity on screen, and to actively participate in shaping its own narrative.
Libyan cinema today stands at a testing phase. Current cinematic endeavors, despite their differences, point to a genuine desire to forge a unique visual language. Perhaps the future lies in blending the two forms, creating films that stem from reality but employ narrative storytelling tools to convey deeper meaning.
Hence, the importance of transitioning from mere nostalgia to sustainable continuity becomes clear. New filmmakers are required not only to recover the past but to document the present as the raw material for tomorrow’s memory. What we see on the screen today can become the heritage of the future if captured with awareness and a deep human sensibility. In this sense, cinema transforms into a living bridge connecting memory to the future, making the act of viewing a collective experience that reunites people around their shared stories rather than leaving it as an isolated, individual act.
The priority is not choosing a specific format, but rather developing a cinematic vision capable of remaining true to reality without losing its aesthetic dimension. When Libyan cinema succeeds in striking this balance, it will be able to construct its own distinct visual discourse. This discourse will transcend the boundaries of categorization, expressing a society caught between memory and transformation.
In this context, filmmaking is not a luxury but an essential cultural act. It creates spaces where people can gather around their shared stories, protects the collective memory from erosion and oblivion, and grants society the ability to see itself not as it is described by others, but exactly as it chooses to narrate itself.
Writer:
Muhammad Ben Saoud
Apr 2, 2026
Madghis Madi, a Libyan researcher specializing in the history of Libyan cinema, is a leading voice in excavating the country’s cinematic archives. He consistently raises fundamental questions about this archive and its role as a vital piece of Libya’s cultural memory.
In this interview, we open the file on Libyan cinema with him, exploring a past that was never adequately documented, a present struggling to take shape, and a future that relies entirely on the ability of its creators to transform individual passion into a sustainable cultural project.
Madi holds a vast collection of movie posters. Some, like the poster for Omar Mukhtar (Lion of the Desert), stretch up to five meters long. His collection also features rare posters for local films such as The Road, The Emigrants, The Splinter, and Tagreft, alongside posters for American and Italian films shot in Libya.
Over the years, Madi has translated numerous old texts and studies related to the history of cinema in Libya. Originally published in languages like Italian and French, some of these materials date back to the very dawn of photography and filmmaking in the country. They include press articles, reports, and documents detailing cinema halls and cinematic activity during and after the Italian colonial period.
These sources remain largely inaccessible to the Arab or Libyan reader. Madi hopes a cultural institution will eventually step forward to publish these translations in a book, officially documenting the early beginnings of cinema in Libya. To him, cinema is not merely a medium for entertainment; much like football, it is a tool for communication and a way to introduce oneself, one’s culture, and one’s society to the world.
Where did your passion for researching the history of Libyan cinema begin?
The interest essentially stems from my deep fascination with everything Libyan. Anything related to Libyan culture draws me in and sparks my curiosity, and cinema is an authentic part of this cultural heritage. From this starting point, my passion for researching the history of Libyan cinema began, as I tried to trace its various paths and phases.
I also have practical experience in documentary production. I worked professionally in this field in Morocco and other countries, producing a range of audio and visual documentaries available online. These covered various aspects of Libyan culture, such as traditional foods like couscous and tea, traditional dress, folktales, and profiles of historical figures. I have also directed several audio plays.
During my studies in France, where I lived for many years, I worked in theater handling lighting and sound effects. That experience gave me a great deal of technical and artistic knowledge in the audiovisual field. As you know, I left Libya at a young age and did not return until after the February 2011 revolution, but my connection to Libya and its culture has always been present in everything I do.
Are there Libyan films that began production but stopped suddenly due to censorship or financial issues? What are these films, and what are their stories?
Yes, there are several Libyan film projects that began but never saw the light of day for various reasons, ranging from censorship to financial hurdles. Among them is The Whale Hunter, directed by Mohamed Al-Ferjani. The project dates back to 1967, but unfortunately, it was never completed.
One of the earliest films to face censorship was Revolution in the Hearts in 1970. It featured a prominent cast of Libyan actors, including Khadouja Sabri, Omran Al-Jazwi, Fatima Al-Jazwi, and Aziza Al-Azzabi. In fact, this was the final theatrical and cinematic appearance for Aziza Al-Azzabi. Omar Al-Shweirif also participated, and the film was produced by Ali Al-Haloudi.
The truth is that there are many Libyan films completely unknown to the new generation. Because of this, I try as much as possible to collect and preserve whatever is left of them, whether on film reels or video tapes. I have digitized some of these materials to save them from being lost forever, and work is ongoing to digitize more whenever the opportunity arises.
One work I desperately hope to find any trace of is considered the very first film ever produced by a Libyan. It was created by the late artist and writer Fouad Kabazi and documented the activities of the Zawiya of Al-Asmari. This film participated in film festivals and was shot by Enrico Pavello, an Italian born in the Libyan city of Zuwara. The film won several awards in Italy and was covered by the Italian press at the time.
I have also found references to films produced in the Libyan oil fields featuring artists like the late Abdul Moneim Al-Naji and the artist Cafo, who later emigrated to the Netherlands. I actually have copies of some of these tapes dating back to the late 1960s.
How did directors navigate between their desire for artistic creativity, funding pressures, and the official political direction of the country?
In Libya, unfortunately, supporting creators was rarely a priority for officials, even though creativity requires a nurturing environment to thrive. Most creators worked with highly limited resources, trying to strike a balance between their artistic ambitions and the constraints imposed on them, whether financial or ideological.
There is another equally important issue, which is the preservation of Libyan cinematic and cultural heritage. These works do not belong to specific individuals; they are part of the Libyan society’s memory and the rights of future generations. Therefore, preserving and documenting them scientifically and systematically is absolutely essential.
You keep a large number of Libyan movie posters and tickets. What makes them so special?
As part of my interest in archiving Libyan heritage, I keep a large number of cinematic posters, mostly for films screened in Libya during different historical periods. To my knowledge, I might possess one of the largest private collections of posters, photos, and publications related to Libyan cinema.
The collection ranges from massive posters, some reaching five meters in length like the one for Omar Mukhtar, to rare posters for local films such as The Road, The Emigrants, The Splinter, and Tagreft. The collection also includes posters for American and Italian films shot in or about Libya, along with a vast array of photos and tickets from cinemas across different eras.
I showcased a portion of these materials in a documentary about the history of cinema in Libya. I also have another unpublished documentary that delves into the history of Libyan film production and the key directors who contributed to the field.
When researching this history, do you feel like you are discovering a forgotten past, or are you actively rewriting a lost visual memory?
Honestly, it feels like a combination of both. Often, I discover materials and works that feel like completely forgotten pages of our cultural history. At other times, I feel like I am trying to reconstruct a visual memory that has been lost.
For example, the film On the Road starring Youssef Al-Ghariani is a movie well worth watching within its historical context. I have the poster for it, but unfortunately, the only copy of the film belongs to a friend. I have tried repeatedly to purchase it to add to the Tawalt Foundation archive, but all my attempts have failed. The film was directed by Youssef Shaaban with a story by Ahmed Al-Dernawi.
Over the past few years, I have also translated a large number of old texts and studies about the history of cinema in Libya. Published in languages like Italian and French, some date back to the very earliest days of photography and film in the country. They include newspaper articles, reports on film shoots in Libya, and documents about cinema halls during the Italian colonial period and beyond.
I translated these materials driven by a desire to preserve this crucial part of Libyan cultural memory, as many of these sources are simply unavailable to Arab or Libyan readers. These translations remain unpublished, and I hope to find a cultural entity or academic institution willing to publish them in a booklet or a small book. In my view, these materials form a vital building block for understanding our visual history and the evolution of film production in the country.
What was the most exciting moment or document you encountered during your research that left a special impact on you?
One of the most thrilling moments for me was finding a collection of rare posters in a shop in Los Angeles. The shop owner didn’t care much about them. Among the collection were posters, photos, and brochures for the famous Italian film Shin Tebbi – What do you want, which was released in 1928.
I bought all these materials for a very low price, but for us as Libyans, they hold immense historical value because they are part of our visual history. The film itself serves as a document of Italian fascist propaganda from that era, but it was shot in Libyan locations like Tajoura, Ghadames, and the Sahara. It featured Libyan clothing and included Italian actors alongside Libyan extras.
Which Libyan film do you believe was critically wronged or did not receive the attention it deserved?
Without a doubt, The Splinter and Tagreft are among the Libyan films that did not receive the critical and media attention they deserved, despite their significant artistic and historical value.
Is the main problem with the Libyan film industry a lack of production, a lack of vision, or a lack of infrastructure?
It seems to be a combination of several factors. There is a lack of funding and infrastructure, but there is also a severe lack of good scripts. The brilliant director Osama Rizk has pointed this out; he is constantly searching for scripts and screenplays to read and potentially produce.
This is where the core problem lies: producing literary material and screenplays that stem from the Libyan reality and express the Libyan heritage with honesty and awareness.
In your opinion, what is the first step to building a real film industry in Libya?
The first step is encouraging the youth and establishing specialized cinema clubs and schools. These should not just be theoretical; they need to actively produce and direct films. Technical capabilities today are much simpler and more accessible than in the past.
It is unfortunate that state institutions sometimes spend millions on things that may not be a priority, while a fraction of those resources could easily be directed to support film production. Cinema is not just for entertainment; like football, it is a tool for communication and a way to introduce our identity, culture, and society to the world.
If asked to choose one film that represents a genuine moment in the history of Libyan cinema, which would you choose and why?
Today, there are short films produced by promising young Libyans being shown at festivals outside of Libya, and sadly, Libyans themselves have never heard of them. Therefore, I hope local festivals are established to showcase these works and encourage their creators.
I prefer not to single out one specific name because there are so many of these experiences. The issue is that many of these filmmakers do not know how to promote their work, and this is exactly where specialized cultural institutions need to step in.
Today, can artificial intelligence tools be used to revive the Libyan cinematic archive?
Artificial intelligence will undoubtedly revolutionize film production. During Ramadan this year, I directed several short episodes about scholars from North Africa without shooting a single real frame; they were produced entirely using AI technologies.
Publishing an Amazigh comic book in Libya titled “Our History” seems like a bold adventure. Was it?
Yes, I have a comic series titled Our History consisting of fourteen parts. It won first prize at the FIBDA festival in Algeria, in the presence of a large number of comic creators from around the world.
I also have cinematic experience in animation. In Morocco, I produced an animated film for Moroccan radio and television titled Tamoktit N Oumali, which means Memory of the Shadow. It is an hour-and-eighteen-minute animated feature detailing the life of King Jugurtha and his resistance against Roman colonization. It was highly praised at the time and won awards.
I have also produced several episodes for other projects that have not yet been aired, including a series called Juha’s Adventures. This was created using claymation, for which we built an entire miniature city to shoot the work.
Mar 26, 2026
Cities in cinema do not merely appear as silent backgrounds. They often transform into main characters that participate in the creation of meaning. Streets, facades, sounds, and even the light itself all contribute to shaping the visual and psychological experience of the viewer. The camera does not just capture a location as it is. It rediscovers the space, forging a new relationship between human beings and their environment.
In global cinema, cities have played a pivotal role in defining national and cultural identity. Paris in French cinema is never just a filming location, and New York in American cinema is more than just a crowded metropolis. They have evolved into visual symbols carrying profound human and social connotations.
In the Libyan context, however, the city has largely been absent from this role despite its visual richness and its architectural and social diversity. The Libyan city rarely appears on screen as a living space. When it does, it is usually tied to stereotypical imagery: quick shots of the desert, scenes of tension, or generic public spaces that serve a broader context without focusing on the place itself.
This absence is not solely due to a lack of film production. It also stems from the absence of a cinematic vision that views the city as compelling narrative material. When a city is missing from cinema, it loses a part of its presence in the collective memory. The cinematic image is capable of granting a place an extended life, turning its everyday details into a part of the shared imagination. A viewer who sees a city on screen does not just recognize it, but rediscovers it through a new lens.
In this context, documenting the city cinematically can be viewed as part of the right to culture, as stated in Article 27 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which affirms everyone’s right to participate in cultural life. Filming Libyan cities with all their daily nuances does not only add aesthetic value to a movie. It allows citizens to see themselves, their history, and their environment represented on screen, serving as a powerful form of cultural empowerment.
In Libya, there is an urgent need for films that rediscover cities from the inside. This should be done not through grandiose or showy scenes, but through the daily lives of people: the markets, the cafes, the old alleyways, and the subtle relationships that dictate the rhythm of life. It is these ordinary details that forge the identity of a place and endow a film with its human authenticity.
Global cinema has provided clear blueprints in this direction. A prime example is the work of Vittorio De Sica, who documented daily life in postwar Italian cities. In films like Bicycle Thieves, the streets of Rome transformed into a living space reflecting the struggles and intricate details of people’s lives. This approach demonstrates how art can protect visual heritage and make society an active partner in producing its cultural meaning.
The camera possesses the power to redefine our relationship with the city. A place we walk past every day without a second thought can transform on film into a space charged with meaning. Cinema does not alter geography, but it fundamentally changes our perspective of it. Therefore, filming the Libyan city is not just an aesthetic choice. It is a cultural act that restores the value of place as an integral part of our identity.
Today, with the emergence of new youth-led cinematic experiments, the signs of this shift are gradually appearing. Several short films are attempting to approach Libyan cities from a much more human angle, capturing minor details rather than sweeping, grand scenes. These attempts, though still limited, indicate a growing awareness of the power of place in cinematic storytelling.
The true future of Libyan cinema may well begin here: from rediscovering our cities through the camera. The goal is not to polish them or present a utopian image, but to tell the truth in all its complexity and beauty. Cinema is not merely a tool for artistic expression. It is a vital medium for preserving visual heritage and enhancing community participation in culture.
When the city finally becomes the hero on the screen, a new story begins, not just for the film industry, but for our everyday relationship with the spaces we inhabit.
Writer:
Muhammad Ben Saoud
