Interview by Mirco SgarziCCS
Backstage photo of Mabel Beltran (DIT).
Thanks to Akram Chalouah (colorist) for the frames
Let’s start from the beginning. How did you end up working in the Middle East?
I started in 2015, thanks to Emad Bdaiwi, a Jordanian-Palestinian friend I had studied with at the Accademia dell’Immagine in L’Aquila. He had started a production company in Jordan and wanted to expand into the UAE market. He told me: “Chiodo, I’ve got a project for you in Abu Dhabi. Let’s have some fun, are you in?” I didn’t think twice. I packed my bags and went to shoot a 30-episode series. At the time, there wasn’t enough local expertise, so I brought a team from Italy. Everything was new for them there. From that moment on, I never stopped working in the Middle East.
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Samarkand, 2015
How has the film market there changed since you started?
The biggest change I’ve seen is the rise of streaming platforms like Netflix and Amazon, alongside regional platforms like Starzplay and Shahid. Until then, everything revolved around traditional TV, especially during Ramadan. Series produced for Ramadan are a world of their own: 30 episodes, one per day, for an entire month, watched by hundreds of millions every evening. This makes Ramadan a crucial period for Arab television. With the advent of streaming platforms, shorter series (6-10 episodes) are being produced, aimed at younger audiences. The way people consume content throughout the year is evolving.
What have been the main technical and organizational challenges you’ve faced?
Preparation has definitely been one of the biggest challenges. In Europe, we plan everything months in advance, down to the smallest detail. In the Middle East, it’s different. Often, you start with the bare minimum of prep and improvise the rest. You can’t always rely on a rigid production schedule; you need to be ready to change locations or adjust scenes at the last minute. I learned to board a ship fully equipped but without knowing exactly where it’s heading. It forces you to be flexible and come up with solutions on the spot. There’s an upside to this, though: unexpected and magical situations can arise, like unique weather conditions.
Is time on set managed differently compared to Italy?
Absolutely. In the Middle East, the work pace is much more intense. In Italy or Europe, we have more regulated shifts, with unions and associations enforcing average workdays of about 9 hours. In the Middle East, working 14-hour days is common, sometimes for 10 days straight without breaks. Lunch breaks coincide with sunset no matter what time you started the day! Adapting to this rhythm was tough for me at first. You don’t always have the time you’d like to study the lighting or prepare as thoroughly, but it taught me to work faster and find solutions in less time.
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On set in Middle East
Despite these intense schedules, you’ve managed to create a strong visual identity in your productions. How did you achieve that?
I’ve always aimed to create a distinctive visual identity. For Al Waad – The Promise, directed by Mohamed Khiari and produced by Yaser Fahmy, set between modern-day Saudi Arabia and Tunisia, I wanted to highlight the contrast between the two settings. For Saudi Arabia, I chose warm, desert tones, using sunlight, oranges, and golds to evoke the heat of the desert. In Tunisia, I used cooler, bluish tones, creating an artificial winter. To achieve this, I used countless sheets to create shade on set. The goal was to give Tunisia a more European feel, far from the stereotypical hot and sunny North Africa. It was an experiment, but it worked. The audience had never seen Tunisia depicted this way, and they appreciated it.
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Al Waad – The Promise
So you’ve tried to break away from Middle Eastern visual clichés?
Exactly. Breaking visual clichés is always a priority for me. During a historical series, for example, we had to depict Bedouin tents, which are traditionally closed on three sides. Visually, this didn’t work, so with the art department and director, we decided to open them up, creating wider, deeper spaces. Historically inaccurate? Sure. But visually it was more effective and engaging. This decision went unnoticed because, in the Arab world, there isn’t the same wealth of historical visual references as in Europe. Arab visual culture has developed differently, often influenced by religious restrictions against depicting figures. For example, the Prophet Muhammad cannot be represented, which has deeply shaped their visual traditions. Instead, the spoken word, poetry, and oral storytelling hold much greater importance. This is reflected in their scripts, which are often richer, more elaborate, and full of rhetorical flourishes compared to the more concise and direct dialogues we’re used to in the West.
Did this lack of a strong iconographic tradition give you more creative freedom on set?
Yes. In European visual culture, every detail has a history and tradition. We know exactly how a crucifixion or a group of peasants praying should look because we’ve seen them depicted countless times. In the Middle East, without this iconographic baggage, there are fewer visual constraints. This gave me incredible freedom to create new imagery enriched by our visual culture and to challenge audience expectations. It’s both a challenge and a great opportunity for a cinematographer.
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Al Waad –The Promise
Speaking of creative freedom, how did you handle censorship, which is quite strict in the Middle East?
Censorship is a very delicate issue. In the Middle East, you can’t show intimate scenes like the ones we’re used to in the West. Kissing or partially nude bodies cannot be depicted. Scenes of intimacy are conveyed through highly intense dialogue. No nudity, no exposed shoulders, or bare skin. Everything is highly symbolic and relies heavily on the spoken word. This has a significant impact on visual and narrative choices. The first time I had to shoot a wedding night scene—where it’s implied that the couple is consummating their marriage—I was very excited and didn’t realize that everything had to be resolved without the two actors even touching each other. We started filming, and I was expecting at least a hug or a caress, but nothing happened. When the director finally called “Cut,” I found myself thinking, somewhat disappointed, “Is that it for sex?” The love scene had been conveyed entirely through dialogue. For us Westerners, it’s fascinating, as we’re accustomed to expressing such emotions in a more physical way. But there, everything must be implied, subtle, and veiled.
How has working with local crews been? You mentioned initially bringing people from Italy. Has that changed?
In the beginning, I had to bring many technicians from Italy. In 2015, they didn’t even know what a DIT (Digital Imaging Technician) was in the Middle East. I had to build a team from scratch, bringing 15 people from Italy—operators, assistants, even set designers and makeup artists. Over time, things have improved. In countries like Tunisia and Turkey, there’s a cinematic tradition. In Morocco, crew members even speak Italian! Now I can work with local technicians and only bring one or two key people, like a steadicam operator or DIT, as the local market still lacks these roles.
Having worked there for nearly a decade, do you see local cinematographers emerging?
Yes, several talented friends and colleagues are coming up, especially in Tunisia, Lebanon, and Egypt, where there are film schools and thriving markets. However, their career paths are often more accelerated than ours. For instance, someone might go from being an assistant to a camera operator in a year.This is due to the shortage of skilled workers in a rapidly growing market. My training was much stricter—I worked with Vittorio Storaro’s team for over 15 years, progressing through every stage of the trade before becoming a cinematographer. I started as cableman, loader, then a second assistant camera, followed by focus puller, moved on to camera operator, and eventually became a Second Unit DP.Working with Storaro was an incredible experience and a privilege. I still remember the day he invited me to his library, placed a hand on my shoulder, and said: “Now we’re colleagues.” It was a deeply emotional moment, but also bittersweet. He had brought me this far, but then told me it was time for me to move on alone. That happened in 2015, and from that moment, I began working as a cinematographer in the Middle East and in Italy, carving out my own path.
Have you ever had trouble integrating into such a different market from ours?
No, never. I’d say the opposite. They’ve always held me in high regard, perhaps because I was offering something new. They see the cinematographer as a key figure. They view my work as an added value, and this has always made me feel appreciated. They treat me like the star player on a football team, someone who brings a unique touch. It’s something that makes you feel a great responsibility but also pushes you to give your very best.
Over the years, have you experienced any curious situations or anecdotes that have particularly stayed with you?
Oh yes, there are plenty! One that stands out happened during a night shoot in a remote castle. The generator broke down, and we found ourselves without power and with no backup generator on hand. We had to film the entire scene with hundreds of torches and candles. It wasn’t what we had planned, but in the end, the scene turned out great—in fact, it was very evocative. This is a perfect example of how you need to be flexible and come up with solutions on the spot. In the Middle East, you quickly learn that plans can fall apart at any moment, and improvisation becomes one of your best allies.
What would you advise cinematographers who want to gain experience in the Middle East?
Be ready to work hard and give up some comforts. Don’t expect the same level of organization you’re used to in Europe, but if you can adapt and maintain professionalism and martial discipline, you’ll be appreciated. It’s an experience that will make you grow as both a professional and a person. You’ll discover a different way of working, one that’s more human yet full of challenges. My advice: pack your curiosity, adaptability, and patience, buy a ticket, and go. There’s no shortage of work! At the very least, you’ll come back with stories to tell.
