Venice Film Festival: On the Verge of No Return in Hilal Baydarov’s SERMON TO THE VOID

In Sermon to the Void, which premiered at the Venice Film Festival, Azerbaijani director Hilal Baydarov imagines a world on the brink of collapse. As the end approaches, Shah Ismail sets out in search of the mythical “Water of Life,” a journey that unfolds not as a historical tale but as a metaphysical meditation on existence, mortality, and the fragile essence of what makes us human. Set against the vast, anonymous desert, the film strips its characters of names and definitions, turning the frame itself into the focus.

For Baydarov, cinema is less about narrative than about pure witnessing, an invitation for the audience to confront their own inner landscapes. The director reflects on choosing life over death for the first time in his work, the desert as a space of revelation, and the urgency of making films at a time when, as he puts it, “something immense is coming.”

AM: Your films often emerge from what you describe as an “inner urgency” rather than external inspiration. What was the inner call that led you to create Sermon to the Void?
Hilal Baydarov: Somehow, I felt, and still feel, a strong intuition that we are approaching a very big moment in the history of humanity. I don’t know if it is the end of the world, or the end of humanity, but I am certain we are standing on a verge from which there will be no return. And yet I see that very few people reflect on what makes us truly human, on what makes life a life. That is why I wanted to make a film about the “Water of Life,” about resurrection, about Life. My inner world is very dark, and I always feel close to dark themes. But for the first time, I chose Life over Death. We are very close to the end. Something immense is coming.

AM: The film unfolds in a desert landscape, where characters remain unnamed and undefined. What draws you to explore anonymity and the vastness of the desert as cinematic language?
Hilal Baydarov: The desert inspires me immensely. Under the sun, with no one around, I feel closest to myself. In the endlessness of the desert, everything becomes clear. Everything is permanent; only the mirage is infinite.

AM: You mentioned not knowing who the characters are, or why they enter and leave the film. How does this openness to the unknown shape your filmmaking process?
Hilal Baydarov: I have often said there is no secret in my filmmaking. I make a film when I want to make one, and I don't make a film when I don't want to make a film. I film a scene when I feel it, and I don't film a scene when I don't feel it. I name the character when I feel it has to have a name, and I don't name the character when I feel it shouldn't have a name. In this film, only the central figure, Shah Ismail, needed a name. The others remained unnamed. But the focus is not only on him. The focus is everywhere. I don’t believe the focus is a single point; it is the frame itself.

AM: The central figure of Shah Ismail is rooted in history, yet your approach seems more metaphysical than historical. How do you see the balance between legend, history, and existential reflection in your film?
Hilal Baydarov: Honestly, there is no legend like this. Shah Ismail was a completely different figure. I admire him deeply as a magnificent poet, but this was not his “real” life. What inspired me was actually from Iskandarnameh by Nizami Ganjavi, where Iskandar searches for the “Water of Life” at the end of his days. Again, for me, I always choose the moments I feel—whether in life, cinema, or art. I don’t need to be historically correct; I am not working in the archives of a library. I make films.

AM: You speak of cinema as an act of “pure witnessing.” What does witnessing mean to you as a filmmaker, and how do you hope audiences will experience this state when watching Sermon to the Void?
Hilal Baydarov: It is that moment when you no longer watch a film but enter a journey within your own world. At some point, the film must disappear. If it cannot, if it always needs to stay with you, then it is weak; it means it cannot exist on its own. But films are living beings also. They have their own life and their own world. A good film doesn’t need an audience to exist. We need Art. Art doesn’t need us.

AM: What does Venice represent to you at this point of your career?
Hilal Baydarov: Venice, and Italy in general, is very dear to me. This is my second time here, and I remain fascinated by its architecture, its museums, and its art. Italy is always inspiring because of its history of art. I saw many Tintoretto paintings that I will never forget. As for the festival itself, I cannot say much. I simply continue making films, and I continue to make films, and I don't live in an easy place to make a film.