18/07/2025 - The Kurdish-Iraqi-Norwegian filmmaker shares behind-the-scenes details about his documentary, featuring citizens who act as guardians of cultural heritage in Mosul

(© Stian Servoss)

Born in Iraq but having lived in Norway for the last three decades, Zaradasht Ahmed returns to film in his homeland again after his successful documentary feature Nowhere to Hide [+see also:
trailer
film profile] (2016), which won the IDFA Award for Best Feature-length Documentary. His latest, The Lions by the River Tigris [+see also:
film review
interview: Zaradasht Ahmed
film profile], which premiered at CPH:DOX, features citizens of Mosul who care deeply about the lost cultural heritage of their city amid the ruins of war, especially a beautiful gate with lions – hence the movie’s title. On the occasion of its screening at the Golden Apricot International Film Festival in Yerevan, we sat down to talk about the loss of credibility of international law and the role of civil society in weathering times of crisis.

Cineuropa: Given that people face so much death during war, it almost feels inappropriate to concern oneself too much with cultural heritage. How did you dare to deal with this neglected, but actually very important, topic?
Zaradasht Ahmed: Nowhere to Hide dealt with the reality of war, and I didn’t want to repeat myself. We're constantly being bombarded with images of war – in Ukraine, Gaza and Syria – and our senses become numbed in the face of more and more destruction. I wanted to find another way to reach people emotionally. One needs to connect through something – an object, a person – that opens the door to feelings. The story of Mosul is brutal, but I didn’t want to show mass death again. I’ve grown tired of it. There are other ways to tell the same truth.

How did you approach your research for The Lions by the River Tigris?
At first, I was looking for this ancient artefact, the Baghdad Battery, and that journey somehow led me to Mosul. The destruction I saw there hit me hard, so I stayed to explore, and since 2020, I’ve kept going back. I never start with a fixed idea; I need to feel something first and let the film grow from that. That’s my way of researching – meeting people, filming and listening. The door with the lions featured in the film didn’t come until later. I just kept returning until it appeared.

Did you find your character Bashar because of the door?
Yes! I saw this beautiful door in the ruins, and through local contacts, I found the owner, Bashar, who told me the story of how ISIS took over his house. That’s when I realised that there was something deeper behind that door. And I was surprised to discover a rich cultural life in Mosul. I met artists, musicians and people rebuilding their city. I also met these two best friends, Fakhri, carrying an amplifier and Fadel with his violin – they were very well-dressed and chic, insisting on elegance amidst the ruins. I visited Fakhri’s home and found his private museum inside; it was a different world. His approach to collecting and caring, and his vision, were culturally orientated, not profit-orientated. “This is everything to me,” he would say, perhaps being dramatic, but he meant it. He has over 7,000 items now, all from Mosul. Originals, replicas – it doesn’t matter. Suddenly, the story opened up. It became about more than just destruction; it was about memory and resilience.

The film is a fully European production with no funding from Iraq. Why was that?
We never applied for funds from Iraq, as I didn’t know of any. No one came forward to help, apart from a local company, which is listed in the credits as a co-producer, but not financially. We had to buy some archival material from them, but the rest was done on a voluntary basis. When you mention state funds to the locals, they just laugh. The reputation is terrible – there’s corruption and dysfunction.

Have you shown the film in Iraq?
Yes, I went back recently to show it to those involved – Bashar and his family, Fakhri, the gramophone collector Zakaria and so on. I wanted their approval, to be sure nothing in the film felt wrong to them. I'm planning a screening in Mosul soon, maybe at the end of this year or early next.

What role do you see for your movie in an international context?
I want to use this platform to ask: “Why destroy history? Why erase memory? Who decides what's preserved and what's erased?” Today, laws mean very little. Human rights have lost their meaning – look at Gaza and Mosul. Who are we talking to any more? If what’s happening in Gaza is ignored, then who cares about Mosul or any other city? What I hope is that this film will raise awareness – of destruction, of those who have inflicted it, and how they still walk free. Many are professional killers, jumping sides when convenient.

I also think that the power to change things lies only with the people and civil society. Not institutions – they’ve lost credibility. The public has the power, but they’re misinformed and are being manipulated. We need to awaken the grassroots movements, not through ideologies, but through basic human needs: dignity, memory and empathy.