There was no performance to Hiam Abbass at Berlinale Talents — which, fittingly, is exactly what makes her compelling on screen. She speaks the way she acts: plainly, carefully, without embellishment. The session unfolded like a masterclass on how films actually get made when reality refuses to cooperate. Audiences may know her from Succession, or from decades of European and American cinema, but she kept returning not to visibility, rather to process — who is present, where you are standing, and whether the film can exist at all.
She began with her first major return to Palestine for a film and working with a revered Palestinian actor
“I was very afraid, really, because that was my first big part — my return to Palestine. I knew he was very active, cinema-wise and politically. But once I got there I discovered how kind he was. He drove me from Jericho to my village and back again. It was incredible to work with him — a great artist and a great man, very committed to his cause and to his art.”
What stayed with her was temperament rather than technique.
“He could suddenly become very angry and then suddenly forget why — because he was completely inside the work. I wouldn’t say method acting, but very close to it.
I remember we were repeating a scene in the street over and over. He got so frustrated he hit the wall and hurt himself — then said, ‘I’m so stupid… anyway, back to the scene.’
It was my first impression of a great actor. I thought: ah, this is how actors behave. Maybe I wouldn’t do the same — though sometimes I do.”
Her first awareness of acting came long before she imagined a profession.
“I was nine years old. I had to play a mother who loses her son. The boy was as big as me, sitting in my arms. I went so deep into the emotion I forgot what I was doing. When it finished I looked at the audience — everyone was crying. I thought: this is magical.”
But the decision to pursue it arrived indirectly.
“I knew I wasn’t made for a traditional life — office job, traditional expectations — but I didn’t know what exactly I would be. So I chose photography school… mostly because it saved me from becoming a doctor or a lawyer like my parents wanted.”
She then spoke about a recent production that repeatedly collapsed before it could begin — not for creative reasons, but logistical ones.
“It wasn’t easy. Everything was ready — it’s an epic film, the whole village of my character was built. And suddenly production had no direction, no idea where to go. All the foreign actors had to go home.”
The interruption was not brief.
“We thought maybe a weekend and it would be over. But it kept going further and further. The village was in the middle of the West Bank surrounded by settlements. Every time we tried again, another nearby village was attacked. Then you ask — is it too dangerous to bring actors from Europe?”
The solution became relocation.
“At one point they asked: is it important to make the film, or just to insist on shooting in Palestine? So parts were shot there later, but the whole city was rebuilt in Jordan.”
Even then it continued to shift.
“I was in Berlin going to the airport for my first shooting period. At the counter they told me: you cannot fly. Production said — wait, maybe through another country. But where? The whole region was unstable. We changed dates maybe a hundred times.”
When they finally filmed, the atmosphere changed completely.
“Once we were on set, it was a victory. Everyone just wanted to give their best. It became almost an act of resistance to simply do your job.”
For her the significance wasn’t symbolic but archival.
“Filmmakers make the films part of the Palestinian archive — something that resists erasure. Through cinema we exist on our own terms.”
The conversation moved to Paradise Now, directed by Hany Abu-Assad, a turning point both personally and for Palestinian cinema internationally.
“It was one of the first films shot in the occupied territories — in Nablus. Very tough. At that time we had almost no local crew — production roles were mostly foreigners — so we were also educating a generation while making the film.”
The set itself was unstable.
“We would shoot scenes and suddenly soldiers would arrive and arrest young Palestinians from houses nearby. One day the entire set was surrounded by military. The producers — German and Dutch — realised to finish the film we had to leave.”
The production moved again, finishing elsewhere. The conditions became part of the filmmaking language rather than an obstacle outside it. Another film forced a different kind of negotiation — internal rather than logistical. When she first read the script, she hesitated.
“For me it was simple: either I do it and practise the freedom of acting and being the woman I want, or I stop acting.”
The role challenged social expectations she thought she had already resolved.
“It brought back conflicts with family, society, traditions. I went with a lot of fear. I kept wanting to go in and out of the project. But once we started shooting, the decision was made.”
The result changed the trajectory of her career.
“It was my first film that brought me to Berlin. After that filmmakers started to know me and I got more work. First experiences stay with you.”
What mattered most was not sympathy but neutrality.
“The important thing is not to judge the character. Let her exist. At some point she belongs to herself, not to you anymore.”
She also reflected on appearing in a documentary directed by her daughter — and the discomfort of being filmed as herself rather than performing.
“At the beginning it was strange. I always wanted to honour my grandmother and my mother and their Palestine. But I never had the courage or the knowledge.”
Her hesitation was practical.
“I thought — is this about my career? I’m not interested in that.”
Understanding the intention changed it.
“I realised it was about the woman, part of a history of women. Then it became a duty. Put your ego aside. Serve the film so it exists for the people who gave you life.”
Across the session she resisted romantic language about acting. No mythology of transformation. Instead: circumstance, responsibility and attention. Films, in her telling, are not controlled environments but negotiated spaces — between weather, borders, budgets, memory and people. The actor’s job is simply to remain present enough that, when the film finally manages to exist, something truthful has also been preserved.
Berlinale Talents is part of Berlinale Pro, which unites the European Film Market, the Berlinale Co-Production Market, Berlinale Talents and the World Cinema Fund. Berlinale Pro is the festival’s full-circle industry infrastructure that serves the global film industry as incubator, enhancer and supporter in all stages of film development, production, sales and distribution.
