When filmmaker Amrou Al-Kadhi premiered Layla at the Sundance Film Festival, they finally had the opportunity to see it with an audience and one thing that stood out to them was the love and laughter the film received.
As Al-Kadhi’s feature directorial debut, Layla stars Bilal Hasna in a breakout performance as the titular Layla, a struggling Arab drag queen, that falls in love for the first time with Max (Louis Greatorex), someone who, at first, seems like the polar opposite for Layla.
The queer love story takes a step back and explores queerness from all angles and all kinds, but more specifically it follows Layla’s own journey with their identity, accepting themselves and mending their relationship with their family no matter how hesitant they are.
We had the chance to interview Al-Kadhi during Sundance and they talked about the layers of queerness in Layla but also how the film has universal themes that will align with everyone.
How has the journey for Layla been for you from the moment you put the idea to paper to the moment you premiered at Sundance?
It’s been a long time….it’s been six years. The idea first came when I was 27 and I’m 33 now. The project has changed a lot and evolved and the world’s changed a lot. I think what’s quite interesting is Layla is a character that I was when I was younger. That’s when I was decided to writethe project. I’m very different now. You know, I’ve learned my lesson and have grown up. It’s quite interesting to see people respond to it like a new piece of work, but for me, I sort of put it to bed.
Would you consider it a love letter to yourself?
Maybe my younger self, definitely. It is quite a younger naivety to it.
In the movie, Layla navigates through discovering and reconciling their identity — whether it be their queerness, their culture and being Muslim. It’s definitely shown when Layla de-drags and goes home for a wedding. When you were writing it, what did you hold back and what did you graciously give when it came to your own personal narrative as a queer person of color?
With POC stories, there is an expectation for the characters to explain themselves a bit more, or for the trauma to be a bit more overt or a bit more tangible for an audience. I think most people watching the film would expect that Muslim wedding to be more traumatic, but it’s actually quite a lovely party. I think we were really interested in the femininity of Islamic culture as well. In that scene with the party, there’s so much femininity that Layla sees and relates to.
I didn’t want to make a film where it felt like each of these identities were overly explained or overly didactic. Layla was able to inhabit all of them quite well. But also, what I wanted to do was have Layla in loads of different outfits, loads of different costumes, in loads of different locations, each with their own shooting style, each with their own visuals, so that we could really feel how one person like Layla, like many queer people of color can embody all these different things. I think the film changes tone. At one point its a madcap comedy and then it’s quite silent — and that’s what the queer experience is like. It kind of changes over time.
Was it difficult to not judge Layla considering they’re life is loosely based on your experiences?
No. It wasn’t hard because I really saw Layla as someone different to me. I didn’t want to judge either Layla or Max. Actually, I loved them both. I wanted to be on both sides. I don’t think Matt is a bad guy. He is quite wonderful and Layla is also not a victim or a villain.
I think Layla makes a lot of mistakes in this film: lying about their heritage to Max, lying to their family and being awful to their sister. I just wanted the both of them to be real. It’s not a comment of like, “Who’s the good one or who’s the bad one?” We’ve seen that film before where where a person falls in love with someone who is toxic. I don’t think Max is toxic.
How did you navigate how Layla handled their relationship with their family — specifically their sister?
Layla is avoiding their family so we couldn’t get a lot of time, but their sister is very present throughout the film. We were trying to reverse the narrative. Usually in queer cinema, you would have the Muslim family reject their queer child. In this film, we wanted to see the queer child reject their family.
I think the film was quite ambiguous. I almost think the mum knows Layla is queer, because they just say “Why are you doing this again?” The relationship with the family is different from my family. Layla is quite lonely as a character. There is a lot of love available to them with their family, but they’re closed off to it because of their past.
What do you hope people take away from Layla?
I wanted to make a film that will be watched by everyone. I hope it’s really specific and that queer people will love it but I think it’s got quite a lot of universal themes about being true to yourself and negotiating different sides of your identity.
In terms of younger queers, the film is not trauma porn at all. There is drama in it, but it’s very joyous and quite uplifting. I don’t think we’ve seen that much of that in queer cinema. When I grew up, it was Brokeback Mountain and Angels in America and those are all great films, but you know, its always decorated with homophobia or masculinity. We’ve seen some change, but not enough of just queer femmes having great sex, having fun, and living their best life. Maybe it’s a bit of a fairy tale — I mean, [Layla] can’t really afford what they’re wearing or where they’re living — that’s the thing about the film. It’s like a dream.
It’s like a Sex and the City fantasy.
Yes — it is that. It’s a love letter to queerness.