Cyril Aris’s A Sad and Beautiful World, which received the People’s Choice Award at this year’s Giornate degli Autori in Venice, unfolds as both a sweeping romance and a portrait of Lebanon’s turbulent history. Across three decades, the film follows Nino and Yasmina, whose magnetic bond is tested by the country’s recurring cycles of hope and despair. Torn between love and survival, they confront the question of whether to build a family and imagine a future amid uncertainty. Aris discusses the intimate and political layers of the story, the generational anxieties around parenthood, and the way humor and resilience become vital tools for navigating life in Lebanon.
AM: Your film unfolds across three decades, intertwining Lebanon’s cycles of prosperity and devastation with an intimate love story. How did you balance the sweep of history with the intimacy of Nino and Yasmina’s relationship?
Cyril Aris: Lebanon constantly swings between prosperity and devastation. That rhythm felt essential to the film because it reflects how I and many Lebanese had grown up and currently live: constantly oscillating between hope and despair, between optimism regarding our future in this country, which is often crushed by another crisis or another war. As a result, the heartbeat of Lebanon’s cycles seeps into daily life, into one’s work and family, and into whether one can imagine a future here. By focusing entirely on Nino and Yasmina and the ups and downs of their couple, their story becomes a mirror for the larger society that surrounds them. So while the film in itself is very much focused on Nino, Yasmina, and their entourage, what emanates from their dynamics is nothing but Lebanon’s heartbeat.
AM: You describe Nino as nostalgia for Lebanon’s past and Yasmina as reinvention and the possibility of a future elsewhere. How did you shape these characters to embody such contrasting visions of the country?
Cyril Aris: I believe that people from my generation are caught between nostalgia for a Lebanon we never knew, the so-called golden age from the 60s, and the impulse to leave and start anew elsewhere. Nino and Yasmina embody these two poles. Nino clings to the past, refusing to grieve the loss and let go, while Yasmina dreams of reinvention and a fresh start abroad, anywhere but Lebanon. They are both a mix of many people I know, so in a way I was writing about characters that felt very familiar to my daily life. At times I relate more to her, at times to him. The truth is we’re all constantly swinging between the two.
AM: The film engages with the universal question of whether to bring children into an uncertain world. How did your own experience of becoming a father during a time of crisis influence the way you approached this theme?
Cyril Aris: This question resonates deeply with millennials, not just in Lebanon but globally. We see declining birth rates across many countries, and it speaks to a collective generational anxiety: is it responsible to bring children into a world marked by such uncertainty, turmoil, and the looming threat of climate catastrophe? Sometimes it feels as if we don’t even know whether the planet we inhabit today will still be livable for our children in a few decades.
For me, this question became very personal, and something I was struggling to answer, which is one of the reasons I wrote this film, hoping to find an answer. Ironically, my child was born on the very day I shot the final scene of the film, and at a time when Lebanon was descending into yet another cycle of regional tension that eventually escalated into full-scale war in the late months of 2024. That coincidence of life beginning as the world seemed to be unraveling captured exactly the tone of the film we were making: a fragile balance between joy and despair, between the hope of new life and the sadness of yet another cycle of destruction hitting Lebanon. It almost felt as if the spirit of the film bled into life itself, as though cinema and reality collapsed into one same dimension.
AM: Humor appears as a shield against darkness in your film, a reflection of Lebanese resilience. Can you share how you integrated humor into such a dramatic and emotional narrative?
Cyril Aris: In Lebanon, humor is survival. Even in the darkest moments, we find ways to laugh, not to dismiss the pain, but to endure it. It would be impossible for me to depict Lebanese life without comedy. On top of adapting a comedic tone into the script, much of it came from the actors themselves, who are naturally funny and brought their own improvisations. Some of the funniest characters in the film are not professional actors, and I cast them mainly because they are naturally gifted and naturally funny. Most of the time, the dialogue they came up with was better than the one I had written. I think it’s important to show audiences that Lebanese life, like everywhere in the world, contains the whole spectrum, not only tragedy, but also joy, absurdity, and especially, laughter.
AM: Beyond being a love story, A Sad and Beautiful World also seems to be a meditation on legacy. What do you hope audiences will take away about the ways individuals and families continue to build amidst uncertainty?
Cyril Aris: What sustains us in Lebanon is community: family, friends who become family, and bonds that never let you collapse entirely. Especially in times of uncertainty and darkness, those ties endure and flourish. Even when the ground beneath us is unstable, we continue to build, to love, and to carry on, even if sometimes, like the film shows, one needs to resort to “a trip to the Island,” or a mental safe haven to go to when things get too overwhelming. After all, “the Island” is where Nino and Yasmina find eternal love, and their family is as intact as can be when they’re there.
AM: What does it mean for you personally, and for Lebanese cinema more broadly, to bring this story to Venice, especially at a time when Lebanon itself is once again enduring instability?
Cyril Aris: It’s an honor to bring this film to Venice. Lebanon has extraordinary talent, and this year two Lebanese films are here: ours and Lana Daher’s much-anticipated documentary Do You Love Me. Despite the economic collapse and the war that put the film industry on pause for the last couple of years, the fact that multiple films are emerging now is a sign of revival. We have so many stories to tell, and so many filmmakers capable of telling them. My hope is that the world continues to look toward Lebanon as a place of powerful cinema.