Set in 1990s Iraq during the reign of Saddam Hussein, The President’s Cake centers on Lamia, a 9-year-old girl unexpectedly tasked with baking the dictator’s birthday cake. What begins as a seemingly whimsical errand turns into a perilous journey through a country ravaged by war, sanctions, and fear. Accompanied by her loyal friend Saeed, Lamia’s search for basic ingredients becomes a deeply moving exploration of resilience, childhood, and survival under dictatorship.
The idea for the film, Hadi explains, was born from personal experience: “Every year at school, our teacher would pull a name from a bowl. That student had to prepare the President’s birthday cake,” he recalls. “One year, I was chosen to bring the flowers. My family was relieved, I only had to find flowers. But even that was a challenge under sanctions and systemic corruption.”
This tension, between innocence and terror, between state spectacle and individual survival, infuses every scene of the film with quiet urgency. “I wasn’t interested in making a political film,” Hadi notes. “What mattered to me was capturing human emotions, personal struggles, and the force of friendship.” Filmed entirely in Iraq, a rare feat in itself, The President’s Cake weaves historical authenticity with dreamlike touches. Lamia’s quest unfolds through war-scarred neighborhoods, ephemeral marshlands, and surreal checkpoints. Hadi calls the experience of filming in Iraq “both exhilarating and contradictory.” On one hand, he faced a lack of infrastructure; on the other, “it’s one of the easiest countries in the world to shoot in. The people are curious, generous, and proud to help.”
This delicate balance between realism and wonder was deliberate: “I grew up in a village where the houses floated on water, where the night lit up like stars over the marshes,” Hadi explains. “It may sound like a Disney tale—but it’s all true.”
Working with non-professional actors, including the remarkable Baneen Ahmed Nayyef (Lamia) and Sajad Mohamad Qasem (Saeed), was an act of faith. “They had never been in front of a camera. They didn’t even know the full script. We shot chronologically to preserve spontaneity,” Hadi shares. “We didn’t rehearse in the usual sense. Instead, we played, danced, improvised. That allowed their true selves to emerge.” One of the film’s most moving sequences—a silent night scene by the fire—was born from such spontaneity. “They were exhausted. I let go of all the scripted dialogue and just filmed them sleeping. That scene is now one of my favorites. It touched me more than anything I wrote.”
Though Saddam Hussein never appears in person, his presence looms large. “It was like Orwell’s Big Brother—you felt him everywhere,” says Hadi. “Even as a child, you knew not to speak against him. You didn’t have to be told—it was in your blood.” The film’s final images, archive footage of Saddam, serve as a jarring reminder of the real monster behind the fairy tale. “He demanded gifts from his people—cakes, flowers—while they lived through war and starvation. I had to include him in the end, because without him, the story was incomplete.”