Interview with Abdul Rahman (8th Street)
In a region where cinema is measured in song sequences, choreographed fight scenes, and the explosive first-weekend box office of a Rajinikanth release, Abdul Rahman makes films in which very little happens, and that very little is everything.
A filmmaker, writer, and cultural organiser based in Tamil Nadu, Rahman occupies a position that is as rare as it is precarious: that of a contemplative filmmaker working entirely outside the logic — commercial, narrative, sensory (also known as “masala cinema”) — of Kollywood, the Chennai industry that dominates not only Tamil cinema but the cultural imagination of over 80 million people. Where Kollywood offers spectacle, Rahman offers stillness. Where it provides resolution, he leaves space. Where it speaks loudly and continuously, he chooses, with conviction, to fall silent.
A decade ago he founded Missed Movies, a project of what Tamil audiences have been systematically denied, or have systematically looked away from. More recently, alongside his brother-like Arun, he created Contemplation Cinema, arguably the first organised movement in Tamil Nadu dedicated to the diffusion and promotion of slow cinema — screening Tarkovsky, Angelopoulos, Ceylan, and Jarmusch to Tamil audiences twice a month, and following each film with a public conversation. On Instagram, he posts instructions for first-time viewers of contemplative cinema, gently coaching them in the art of patience.
His first feature film, 8th Street, arrives after four short films and represents a genuinely uncommon gesture: a contemplative Tamil film adapted, however obliquely, from a Hemingway short story, following lives at the edge of action — observed rather than narrated, felt rather than explained.
I spoke to him about the impossible conditions that surround the making of this kind of work, the Tamil cultural tradition that may — or may not — predispose audiences to a contemplative gaze, the specific texture of silence in Tamil, the question of who actually watches, and what it costs, personally and practically, to insist on making films for which the world has not yet prepared a place.
Interview via emails between June 26th and 27th 2026
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| Abdul RAHMAN |
UNSPOKEN CINEMA: Hi Abdul Rahman, thank you for taking the time for this interview. What spark inspired you to become a filmmaker?
ABDUL RAHMAN: Hi Benoit. It’s a pleasure talking to you. I am 32 years old now. My male cousin was studying Visual Communication. I think I was in the 8th grade at the time. He shot a short film for his college project in a room at his house, and I used to watch it secretly. I think that’s where the spark first ignited. A few years later, my friends and I actually remade that same short film.The idea that a movie which I used to watch on a massive screen in a theatre could be filmed in a room in my own home sparked my interest.
UC: How did you discover Contemplative Cinema? Was it a book by Bordwell or Deleuze? A film review? Or one film in particular?
A.R.: To be honest, I was only familiar with the concept of "slow cinema" and had watched many films of that kind. However, when I made the short film "I Reject the Invitation from God" in 2019, I didn't realise at the time that it actually belonged to that category. I don't think anyone sets out to make a film with the conscious intention of creating "slow cinema."
Subsequently, I read a few books. I first encountered the word "contemplative" in Byung-Chul Han’s book 'Vita Contemplativa'. After that, my brother-like Arun and I started a page called "Contemplation Cinema." Later, I stumbled upon your blog by chance; I would describe it as a treasure trove. Discovering your blog made us realise how much further we had to go, but it also gave us a great deal of confidence.
UC: Thank you for the kind words, I appreciate it when my blog reaches out to somebody. We’ll come back to “Contemplation Cinema” later, but first, among your touchstones — Tarkovsky, Ozu, Ceylan, Jarmusch… — is there one whose work felt like a personal revelation rather than an admiration? Did a film change something in you permanently?
A.R.: Yes, Jim Jarmusch’s film Paterson. Upon watching it, I felt I had discovered the kind of cinema that truly resonated with me and realised how one ought to approach the art of film. That movie also reshaped my perspective on life. There is a particular scene in Ceylan’s film 'Climates'. I don’t recall the exact details where Ceylan and his wife are seated at a dinner table, talking. It is a long take. As they converse, a sense of misunderstanding hangs between them. Silence will arise in the middle. Both of them will remain silent. Those silent intervals left a profound impact on me.
UC: I’m guessing these films didn’t get a commercial release in Tamil Nadu… because so few foreign films — much less niche art films — get a proper theatrical screening there. So how did you just find out about them, and how did you watch them?
A.R.: When I started watching world cinema here, I used to watch movies on CDs. Later, I watched some on YouTube, and I would download others via torrents. While I was out buying a CD, a young man introduced me to a few films, mentioning that they were Oscar winners. Following that, I took the initiative to search on Google and track down these movies one by one. I also discovered websites that offer movie recommendations. sites like IMDb, Taste of Cinema, and AGoodMovietoWatch were particularly helpful.
UC: This is so brave to go against the grain in a country dominated by mainstream genres influenced by Bollywood (or “Kollywood”, as is known the Chennai film industry in Tamil Nadu). What is the situation of cinema in the Tamil Nadu landscape? Are there arthouses and festivals friendly to art cinema?
A.R.: That question actually made me laugh. When it comes to making an art-house film here, the people who discourage you aren't the general public; it is fellow directors, filmmakers just like us. They insist that you should make a film that "runs" (succeeds commercially) first.
I have observed that directors who make art-house films fall into two distinct categories.The first group focuses on social realism; they prioritise progressive values and political correctness, depicting the harsh brutalities of real life. Their aim is realistic cinema.The second group creates slow, meditative cinema, or ventures into surreal and experimental films.
The first group rarely accepts the second. The prevailing view here is that an art film must be grounded in realism, address social issues, and adhere to political correctness. I am not criticising the depiction of social concerns in films; some of my favourite "slow cinema" directors, like Pedro Costa, do this intensely.
Directors who make art-house films here ought to function as a unified movement. Beyond that, everyone should openly express their opposition to "masala" cinema. Yet, that doesn't happen here.
UC: The Parallel Cinema movement was not promoted by the Tamil language (with Mani Kaul in Hindi, Satyajit Ray in Bengali…), do you have a guess why?
A.R.: Many commendable efforts have taken place here by directors like K. Balachander, Mani Ratnam, Selvaraghavan, Bala, Mysskin, and others. However, they confined themselves within the mainstream sphere.
Directors like Balu Mahendra and Mahendran did produce significant works of art in the 80s, yet that momentum was not sustained.
As far as I know, I don't know of any alternative film productions conducted here by a director.
UC: Could you tell us briefly about the books you wrote in Tamil on “Independent Cinema” (2018), transgressive art (“Bohemian”, 2020)? Do you consider Contemplative Cinema transgressive, and if yes, what does that mean to you?
A.R.: In 2018, I wrote a book titled 'Independent Cinema'. In it, I primarily wrote about Jim Jarmusch, John Cassavetes, and various low-budget films. My aim was to inspire those who read it.
My second book, 'Bohemian', was published in 2020. In it, I wrote entirely about the various dimensions of art. From the subversions found in Black music and Andy Warhol’s art to performance art, independent animation director Bill Plympton, and John Waters. All of these fall under the category of "transgressive" elements.
"Transgression" implies a form of subversion; it seeks to transcend established norms and put forward a different set of moral values.
Contemplative cinema can also be classified as transgressive. At the same time, it seems to attempt a reconstruction of certain fundamental, essential elements of cinema. However, I am not sure if it fits the general definition of "transgressive."
UC: You founded “Missed Movies” 10 years ago, what does this name say about your attitude toward Art Cinema in your country?
A.R.: That’s a good question. Many people are confused about this name.
I planned to make a short film in 2015 — a commercial thriller. It required a budget of 200,000 rupees, but we started shooting with only 50,000 in hand. After two days of filming, 40,000 was already gone, yet we hadn't managed to shoot a single usable scene. My team concluded that I didn't know how to make a film; they mocked me and walked away.
I didn't know what to do next. I view this as a pivotal moment in my life. I went to my paternal uncle and explained the situation. He put me on a call with someone-a lawyer whom I had never even met in person. He asked if I watched world cinema or read literature. Up until that point, I hadn't watched a single world cinema film.
He said one thing: "Nurture your talent, watch plenty of world cinema, read widely, and expand your knowledge. Eventually, a group of people will gather around you, and you will be able to make the film you envision without needing anyone's help."
Hearing that, I immediately went to a shop to buy CDs. I proceeded to watch a lot of world cinema. Then, using the remaining 10,000 rupees, I planned a short film titled Addiction. It was a ten-minute film featuring just one room and a single character.
I would classify it as a "transgressive film." After finishing it, I felt afraid-worried that the police might arrest me for it. The film could easily have been mistaken for pornography. Moreover, films of that nature-so explicit-weren't really being made in Tamil cinema at the time.
Once I finished making it, I realised that no one would see it; it was bound to go unnoticed. That’s why I decided to name the production house ‘Missed Movies’.
I also changed the YouTube channel’s name to the same one.
UC: So you didn’t take any formal film studies? You're self-taught... your only training is practice by imitation?
A.R.: Yes. I have not personally pursued any formal education related to cinema. I am learning by watching many films and consistently making short films.
UC: Film school is not required, many successful filmmakers say it.
You organised “Contemplation Cinema”, the first Tamil movement around the diffusion and promotion of art films and especially Contemplative Cinema. On Instagram you publish some instructions and information to educate the neophytes about what is and why you should watch Contemplative Cinema. So can you explain how it came about and what is your purpose?
A.R.: Generally, as far as I know, film schools — especially in Tamil Nadu — focus on teaching the craft and technical aspects of cinema, often following a Hollywood template. I am not aware of any film school here that emphasises the significance of "art cinema." While there may be institutions in places like Pune, Mumbai, or Kerala that discuss art cinema, the local focus remains largely on technical mechanics.
My objective is to find a way for us to shield ourselves from the frenetic pace, the hype, the exploitative nature of capitalism, and the resulting emotional fatigue and exhaustion of modern life. "Contemplative slow cinema" serves as a tool to dismantle these pressures. Beyond that, as an artistic experience, it offers something fundamentally different from the experience provided by deep, traditional cinema.
If contemplative slow cinema had come about 200 years ago, it would have been a form of artistic expression. However, in today’s context, it has become an absolute necessity.
After I finished making my film 8th Street, a thought occurred to me: "We have to create our own audience." Arun had been following Missed Movies for years and had become like a younger brother to me. He had worked as an assistant director on 8th Street and was an ardent fan of Bresson. He is an aspiring director, too. He has just finished making a one-hour-long film, which falls into the 'slow cinema'. I called him and mentioned the idea, and it turned out he had the exact same thought. We started right away.
UC: Is there something inherently paradoxical — or ironic — about using the most impatient medium in history to advocate for the most patient cinema?
A.R.: Yes. I also have this inner conflict. We talk about contemplative cinema from an industry (Instagram) that is the opposite of it.
I know some argue that Instagram itself isn't the problem, but rather the content found on it. I disagree with that view; the technology itself is the issue. It has the potential to reshape the very way we think. I completely agree with Marshall McLuhan. ‘Medium is the message’.
Yet, society lives on Instagram. I don't know the solution to this.
UC: Now you’ve recently added a blog: Contemplation Cinema, which embraces a slower pace, how does it complement your Instagram and the new YouTube channel: “Missed Movies New Wave”? Do you wish to introduce them to us?
A.R.: I actually really like blogging. Unlike Instagram, it doesn't cause any hassle; there is no pressure for immediate reactions. Beyond that, it allows me to write something at length and with clarity. something I simply couldn't do on Instagram. YouTube is helpful too, but the instant reception one gets on Instagram is both addictive and brutal.
When I launched 'Missed Movies' in 2016, I was highly critical of mainstream masala films. However, my sole objective was to introduce art-house cinema to the general public. I created video essays on various world films, though many were removed due to copyright issues. Subsequently, in 2021, I launched a new YouTube channel called 'Missed Movies New Wave,' where I publish content while avoiding copyright violations. On this channel, I discuss serious literature, philosophy, and cinema. While art-house cinema was essential back then, I now feel that taking things a step further — contemplative cinema — has become necessary.
UC: Who composes the audience of your Contemplation Cinema screenings? Are they film students, academics, the press, or regular everyday people from all walks of life? Where is this growing following coming from? word of mouth, friends and relations, YT followers? And where do the screenings take place? In Chennai essentially or outside the capital also?
A.R.: I am not sure what kind of audience attends the Contemplation film screenings.
I believe most attendees come from Instagram. I have a WhatsApp channel and a private group for the screenings with over a hundred members; a large number of attendees come from there.
The screening takes place at a venue called 'Arangam', located in the heart of Chennai (Ashok Pillar).
UC: So you screen a new film, twice a month, in a theatre with a subsequent discussion with the audience. That’s the opportunity for you as well to watch these films on the big screen! Which films have you screened so far and what is the next one? Has anyone ever walked out or fallen asleep? What is your spectator's response?
A.R.: We plan to hold screenings twice a month. So far, we have screened my film [8th Street] and Paterson. For the next screening, we are going to show The Wind Will Carry Us.
We also plan to screen films that exemplify early contemplative cinema, such as The Rider, Still Walking, and Old Joy.
I noticed that some people were getting weary during my film. I was outside during the screening of Paterson, while Arun was inside. He told me that the audience watched it with interest.
After watching the film Paterson, many were amazed at the richness found in everyday life. Beyond that, on a personal level, they remarked that such cinema slows them down and reflects life itself.
UC: Contemplative Cinema is a tough, unrewarding road: a tiny audience, an indifferent press, no commercial returns… Do you need a selfless vocation to produce such altruistic art?
A.R.: While there may be no element of selfishness in this, there is a sense of personal fulfillments. Beyond that, as an artist, there is a challenge in exploring this particular form of artistic expression. I have no interest in viewing cinema merely in terms of story, screenplay structure, the three-act structure, plot, conflict, and resolution; there is no challenge in that. I find that approach far too easy. However, slow, contemplative, or art films help me rediscover myself in some way. I take a question and embark on a journey with it. That journey carves out a path. A path we might describe as contemplative cinema.
UC: What is the single quality of Contemplative Cinema that you couldn’t find elsewhere — not in literature, not in painting, not in mainstream cinema?
A.R.: The way Slow Contemplative cinema sculpts time is crucial. Whether in painting or literature, we have the ability to alter the perception of time to suit ourselves.
Consider visiting an art exhibition: we might look at a painting for just a minute before moving on; we are the ones who decide the duration. Time functions differently in literature.
However, in slow contemplative cinema, time is not within our control. The film instills within us a duration that extends far beyond our own preferences, guiding us into a state of contemplation or meditation.
UC: You’re speaking from the point of view of a spectator there. What would be your point of view as a filmmaker? Sculpting time like Tarkovsky?
If you like novels and poetry, why choose a type of cinema that is largely wordless? Why does your cinema eschews tailored speeches and introspective soliloquy? And what is your personal relation to silence?
A.R.: Music, painting, literature, and cinema are all art forms. Each possesses specific characteristics — its own truths and limitations.
An artist chooses a particular form to engage in a dialogue with the world.
I am deeply drawn to ambiguity. I find myself unable to provide a definitive conclusion. Rather than arbitrarily imposing an ending on my story for the sake of convenience, I seek it in life itself. But it slips away without being found.
I have less and less faith in knowledge these days; I no longer believe in rational thinking. We have constantly witnessed what the intellect is capable of. One need only look at the ravages of history to understand. Language constructs this intellect, and I feel a need to break free from it. Beyond that, intuition strikes me as far more vital. I see that calmness and peace open many doors.
I view silence as a pathway to drawing closer to God. It is both cruel to remain silent and to confront those who are silent. Have you noticed? As people age, they tend to fall into silence; we have likely observed this within our own homes. I do not regard upward growth as true development; to me, what matters is the growth that spreads roots deep down into the very depths. I believe that as one grows downwards in this manner, silence is what ultimately remains.
UC: Before your first feature film (which we will talk about next) you’ve made 4 short films. What piece of filmmaking wisdom did you learn from them?
A.R.: At first, I didn't think of 8th Street as a full-length film. I don't think so, except that it affected the duration of the film.
What I've learned from the last five short films is that we need to go beyond what we want to make and make a film that we can finish.
Beyond that, we need to know at least a little bit about any technician who slips in the middle of the film so that we can fill that spot.
You must have immense faith in yourself, because you are likely to encounter many opinions that could shake that confidence.
UC: “I Rejected The Invitation From God” (2019, reviewed here on Unspoken Cinema), your 4th short film, shows rather than tells the lonesome life of an elderly widower. Did you shoot it right before Covid? How did that experience of restraint nurtured your following feature film: “8th Street” (2026, reviewed here on Unspoken Cinema)? Does the cough of the protagonist in the latter (“The Devil is laughing”) borrow a memory from the past pandemic? And what is the film playing on the glitched TV set?
A.R.: Yes, I made my fourth short film a year before COVID.
To be honest, I didn't write the scripts for either of these films with the specific intention of including minimal dialogue or profound silences.
It was only after you pointed it out that I realised there is no dialogue at all in the first six minutes of 8th Street.
I read a lot about philosophy and theory. Fortunately for me, however, I tend to forget what I’ve read quite quickly. When I’m writing a story, no philosophical theories come to mind; if they do, I immediately discard them.
I must have gone through 15 to 20 drafts of the 8th Street screenplay. My primary goal was to eliminate any dialogue or scenes that felt like overt, preachy philosophising.
I didn't borrow any elements from my fourth short film for 8th Street.
The scene shown on the television is a clip from a documentary-though I’ve forgotten its title.
UC: Adapting Hemingway (“A Clean, Well Lighted Place”; 1933) in 8th Street, for a Tamil Contemplative film is an unusual collision. How did you encounter this short story, and how did you see the film you could draw from it? Where does your film diverge from the source material?
A.R.: I initially read this story quite casually, with no intention of adapting it into a film. Later, my younger brother asked me for a story to make a short film.
I chose this Hemingway story primarily because it could be filmed entirely in a single location. As I have mentioned before, independent filmmakers need to choose projects that are actually feasible to complete; this Hemingway story was one such project.
Beyond that, it offered a fascinating premise.
Hemingway’s story concludes in just two pages, yet I felt that wasn't enough. Although the original story ended quickly, it inspired me to write extensively.
The story touched upon themes of longing, loneliness, and past regrets. The film sought to build upon these elements and venture into a metaphysical realm.
UC: How do you cast your films? Are they professional actors? How do you pay them?
A.R.: Casting and rehearsals caused mental stress for this film.Three actors agreed to the roles but dropped out of the project midway through rehearsals; consequently, the scheduled shoot had to be cancelled.
Subsequently, I found two individuals on social media. I signed an agreement with them stipulating that they would have to pay a penalty if they withdrew from the film before completion.
However, they placed their full trust in me. Beyond that, they developed a deep understanding of the film.The film's total budget was just ₹35,000 [rupees]. I did not pay them any salary; in fact, they even contributed a portion of the funds needed for post-production.
UC: That’s an admirable commitment on their part. The lawyer from your beginnings was right, you did surround yourself with helping people. Do they easily accept to underplay and take their time while doing nothing on camera? Are they familiar with Contemplative Cinema? Do you show them some Contemplative Films for minimalist acting to become more tangible and achievable?
A.R.: Of all the crafts involved in filmmaking, acting is the one I love the most. I observe performances in other films very closely, and acting is a crucial element in my own movies.
The two actors in my film had no prior acting experience.
Training them was both an interesting and challenging process.
Rehearsals went on for two months. Since many scenes involved long takes, we had to practice rigorously.
At the same time, I was careful not to over-rehearse. Burdening them with too much information about the character or the story would have been counterproductive; it would only have confused them.
My sole objective was to tap into their intuition.
I knew I could extract a great performance from them, but I wanted them to go beyond that and explore a different realm of acting.
Before the first day of rehearsals, I recommended a few films for them to watch: A Separation, There Will Be Blood, Winter Sleep, and Manchester by the Sea and they watched them.
I also asked them to watch my earlier films. This helped them understand the kind of cinema I aim to create.
This film demanded a level of performance that went beyond their previous experience.
UC: I see no woman in both your last films (or the first short film you mentioned earlier). Do you feel uncomfortable writing a female character? How do you explain this omission?
A.R.: The omission of female characters is intentional. There are difficulties involved in casting female actors and child artists here; they expect high remuneration, and I cannot afford to pay the amounts they demand.
UC: Do you have a day job on the side?
A.R.: I work as a designer for a government department on an outsourced basis. I also work as a freelance designer.
UC: How do you actually finance your films? What does this precarious situation force you to compromise on — during the filmmaking process or at the marketing level?
A.R.: I made the film 8th Street entirely for myself. Making it was my sole objective. I didn't even have the intention of releasing it on YouTube. No one here funds short films, and films like 8th Street certainly wouldn't attract any funding at all. I went ahead with it only because I believed I could complete the project using my own money.
UC: Personally I feel like the only aspect your film might be lacking is in terms of post-synch dialogues, the mixing of the foley work, and possibly a change of image quality toward the 3rd chapter… Yet they don’t affect the final tone of the film, which is so precise. Are they the result of financial constraint, practical impossibilities or creative choices? Other than that, your film shows remarkable maturity, considering the complicated conditions of shooting.
A.R.: Yes. As for the audio, we used sync sound. Professionals would charge 10,000 a day for this, but I recorded the entire film live using a 3,500rs [rupees] microphone - the same one I use for voice-overs for 'Missed Movies'. I am aware that there are some sound issues in the post-production, but I didn't have enough money to fix them.
UC: What is the most shocking feedback you received for the screening of 8th Street — from the audience, or the critics?
A.R.: The most common criticism was that the film was slow and boring. Beyond that, however, there was a lot of positive feedback. I often wonder if many people actually watched the entire film; I suspect quite a few might have stopped watching during the opening five minutes. specifically during those scenes with no dialogue. The first five minutes of this film decide who its audience is.
UC: Well put. What do you retort to critical minds who say you make Contemplative Cinema for the Western audience and not for Tamil people? Is there maybe a different kind of Tamil viewer, outside Tamil Nadu, in the Sri Lanka, Singapore, Malaysia or UK diaspora? Certainly there is a crowd of cinephiles in the world waiting for such a film at international film festivals…
A.R.: Most people in India believe that the prevailing issues are solely social inequalities, caste problems, religious divisions, and Patriarchy. As far as they are concerned, concepts like individual existential crises, alienation, loneliness, and psychological struggles are merely imports from Europe. At a screening of 8th Street, someone asked if I read a lot of Freud. I replied that I did. He then remarked that those were European issues and insisted we should focus on the problems that exist here. That is the situation here. I do not know if Tamils living in other countries share this same mindset.
UC: Is there a tradition of contemplation in Tamil culture that predates cinema (spirituality, poetry, music, architecture)? Would you rather say this contemplation is coming from Japanese Zen, or alternatively from European Modernity and Existentialism?
A.R.: Indian philosophy spans a vast and expansive realm. As you know, Zen Buddhism originates from Mahayana Buddhism, a sub-branch of the tradition and I believe it came to us from China. You have likely read Zen stories. In each story, a student asks his Zen master a question, but the Zen master answers it in a different way. There is a particularly interesting story among them.
A man comes to a Zen master and says, "I want to master your techniques." He asks how long it will take. The master replies, "Ten years."
He replied, "I will strive to learn it every day, I will work hard. Now tell me how long it will take to learn it."
The master answers, "Twenty years."
That is the story. Byung-Chul Han famously said: "What is said shines because of what is not said."
I view Zen philosophy as being closely aligned with the cinema of contemplation; Chinese philosophies share a similarly intimate connection with it.
UC: If Tamil Nadu is ready for Contemplative Cinema, then what is the cultural specificity you could bring to Tamil Contemplative Cinema, that Mani Kaul brought to Hindi and G. Aravindan to Malayalam?
A.R.: Out of these thirty questions, this is the only one I could not answer.
UC: Perhaps it’s for your audience to answer this difficult question… Thank you very much for your patience and for this enriching conversation.
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