🇫🇷 Version française disponible ici ! 🇫🇷
This Wednesday marks a true cultural event as Elephants in the fog, the Nepalese film awarded the Jury Prize in the Un Certain Regard section at Cannes, finally arrives in France!
This release carries particular significance here in Bordeaux, as the film benefited from funding by the Nouvelle-Aquitaine region. A beautiful success that demonstrates the tangible impact of such support on the international cinematic landscape.
But there’s even more exciting news: the director, Abinash Bikram Shah, has kindly agreed to come answer a few questions exclusively on my blog!
I am deeply honored to welcome him!
Get ready for an exceptional interview.
You use elephants and electrified fences to illustrate the coexistence between humans and animals. How does this image of “borders” specifically apply to the kinnar community and their relationship with Nepalese society?
Boundaries are human inventions born out of fear, our need to categorize, control, and mark what is « safe » and what is « wild. »
The Kinnar community lives across these exact same lines, trapped behind an invisible border. When everyone stays in their assigned lane, society feels calm and normal. But that « normal » is just an illusion built on silent compliance. The moment someone steps past that line, whether an elephant breaking through a treeline or a Kinnar woman asserting her desire, the status quo shatters.
The invisible border suddenly becomes violently visible, exposing society’s underlying fear. Just as an elephant moves past a fence simply because it exists, the Kinnar community carries a presence that is massive, real, and undeniable, no matter how hard society tries to contain them.
Why did you choose the title Elephants in the Fog? Does the “fog” represent the opacity of social prejudices, spirituality, or the uncertainty of the characters’ futures?
The title came from three simple roots.
First, a mother in the Kinnar community shared the fable of the blind men and the elephant, where each person touches only a part of the creature and assumes they know the whole truth. That is exactly how society perceives them: as an abstract, mythical concept rather than a full human being.
Second, elephants live in matriarchal herds, mirroring the maternal structure of Kinnar families.
And third, the elephant holds sacred reverence in Nepal through Ganesha.
The « fog » represents society turning a blind eye to marginalized lives. It is the cloud of prejudice, fear, and quiet erasure that keeps us from seeing them whole. Yet, even inside that thick mist, the elephant remains an immense reality. Their dignity and existence are fully there; it is society’s gaze that is clouded.
The film blends a police procedural (a girl’s disappearance) with highly poetic visuals. How did you balance these two tones to ensure the film didn’t tip into being overly dark or overly light?
The search for Apsara gives the film its narrative progression, but the poetic visuals and domestic silences give it its heart. We grounded the mystery in patient, everyday observations of life inside their home. The tension of her disappearance keeps the story moving forward, while those quiet, intimate moments keep it from turning into a cold genre exercise.
Thanks to your movie we understand that kinnars are revered for their power to bless or curse, which gives them a unique but controlled place in society. Is this duality between traditional respect and marginalization at the heart of your approach?
Yes, that contradiction is central.
Kinnars are sought out to bestow blessings at weddings or births, yet shut out the moment the ritual ends. Society wants their sacred presence when convenient, but denies them basic civil space in daily life.
Showing that contrast exposes how « tolerance » is used to control people rather than accept them. It is just like our relationship with elephants: we worship them on sacred altars, but the moment they cross the boundaries, that reverence turns to fear.
Nepal is one of the few countries to have enshrined LGBT+ rights in its constitution, yet tolerance is often conditional. How did this paradox influence your writing of the screenplay?
Nepal’s constitution offers progressive legal protections, but those rights exist largely on paper.
Everyday reality is still governed by patriarchal conditioning and deep-rooted prejudice. That gap between the law and lived experience became the core foundation of the screenplay.
Pirati and her community don’t live inside constitutional promises; they live inside the daily gaze, judgment, and quiet erasure of their neighbors. I hope this film helps bridge that gap between the law and the human heart.
Did you work closely with members of the kinnar community for the casting or the screenplay to ensure a respectful and accurate representation?
How did you convince the kinnar members community to play in your movie ?
Working directly with the community was the only honest choice I could make. I am not a trans woman, nor am I from the community. Without their guidance, I would have been just another blind man touching an elephant, incapable of seeing the whole truth.
South Asian cinema has historically treated Kinnar people with hostility, reducing them to caricatures, comic relief, or figures meant to frighten audiences.
Understandably, they were wary of me at first. Building trust took time, sitting together, sharing meals, listening to their personal histories, and understanding the daily mechanics of their survival.
I had to unlearn my own privileges and assumptions to understand their specific vocabulary, humor, and fears. In the end, it wasn’t my cleverness that convinced them; it was time, presence, and genuine trust.
The film won the Jury Prize at Un Certain Regard. What did you feel seeing this Nepalese story, often underrepresented, acclaimed by the international press ?
It was a quiet, deeply humbling moment, mostly because the acclaim from the international press and jury brought the Kinnar community, who had been pushed into the shadows for centuries, into a global light where they belong.
The recognition at Cannes felt deeply symbolic.
For the jury and international critics to honor our sound design suggested that while Kinnar voices have been ignored for centuries, suddenly their presence is undeniable.
Audiences didn’t just watch them, they sat with their heavy silences, their whispers, and their sighs, and truly heard them. Winning the Jury Prize felt like a declaration: this community, long hidden in the shadows, is now standing in the light, and no one can look away.
This is your first feature film. You have already received recognition for your short films. What are your next cinematic ambitions, and do you plan to continue exploring gender and societal issues in Nepal?
I want to keep making films rooted in the quiet, overlooked spaces of Nepal, stories that look closely at human dignity, intimacy, and the invisible borders we build around each other.
Whether exploring gender, space, or memory, my focus remains on cinema that holds space for truths society prefers to ignore.
A huge thank you to Abinash Bikram Shah for his great kindness, his exceptional availability, and the precision of his answers!
Thank you also to Charles Audinet from the production company Les Valseurs Bordeaux for his invaluable help!
Source :
Top picture : Charles Audinet
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