By Bailey Pennick
One of the most exciting things about the Sundance Film Festival is having a front-row seat for the bright future of independent filmmaking. While we can learn a lot about the filmmakers from the 2025 Sundance Film Festival through the art that these storytellers share with us, there’s always more we can learn about them as people. We decided to get to the bottom of those artistic wells with our ongoing series: Give Me the Backstory!
When asked about one thing that filmmakers should keep in mind in order to become better cinematic storytellers, Alireza Khatami offers advice that cuts right to the core: “A story worth telling is one that scares the hell out of you. Until then, you have nothing to say.”
With his latest film The Things You Kill, which premiered at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival within the World Cinema Dramatic Competition, Khatami lives by his words and unleashes an unnerving, raw, and complex story of family dynamics, misogyny, and identity struggles within Turkey. It’s a story that lingers with you, continuing to unfold as you pour over the events in Ali’s (Ekin Koç) life.
The World Cinema Dramatic jury agreed, bestowing Khatami with the Directing Award for that category. “We could not stop talking about this film. It made us curious and deeply invested in the characters and their rich journey,” begins the jury’s citation for the honor. “This effortless, streamlined film does not sacrifice its depth of subject even while dealing with toxic masculinity and the everyday darkness of the soul. This director was masterful in their precision, they were profound yet restrained, and their robust vision pushes us to want more, think more, and do more to be better humans.”
This push for progress — or a push against the current societal regression — is essential to Khatami and The Things You Kill. “In my view, we’re living in a historical moment where established discourses are unraveling, and there’s a troubling tendency to regress to the past,” says Khatami. “The darkest chapters of history are repeating themselves right before our eyes, driven by a deeply entrenched macho, patriarchal system. Now, more than ever, we need to look inward and ask ourselves: What have we done, and who have we become? What fuels this perpetual urge for violence, and who will break free from this cycle? We’ve examined these issues through an external political lens, but it’s time to turn that lens inward and confront the difficult questions within ourselves.”
Below, learn how the filmmaker turns that lens onto himself for inspiration and catharsis, pushing for truth with Koç’s performance, and who he wants this film to reach.
What was the biggest inspiration behind The Things You Kill?
My biggest inspiration for this film was a personal need to reconcile with my own history — the legacy of violence within my family. It’s an attempt to clear my account with myself, to confront the shadows that linger, and to understand how they’ve shaped me.
Films are lasting artistic legacies, what do you want yours to say?
The Things You Kill aims to bring a dual lens to our world, inviting a psychological reading of the political and a political reading of the psychological within the patriarchal structures that shape us. I hope this film speaks to the complexity and interwoven nature of personal and societal forces.
Describe who you want this film to reach?
I want this film to reach anyone who has ever felt the intensity of love or hate toward their parents — those who wrestle with the complicated emotions family can evoke.
Tell us an anecdote about casting or working with your actors.
There’s this one scene with Ekin Koç — a confession scene that honestly scared everyone. I wrote it after a personal psychedelic experience, and my producers were so shocked they gently asked me to cut it. When Ekin told me how terrified he was to perform it, I knew right then he was perfect for Ali. We were still figuring out how to shoot it right up until the day. Then I was reading Primo Levi, and something clicked about how he strips emotion from his darkest passages. When I suggested this to Ekin, he talked about needing privacy for the scene. So we used camera focus in this really delicate way: just me, Ekin, and the lens creating this private space. Everyone fought it at first. But sometimes the scariest choice ends up being the most beautiful one. This is the best shot I have ever filmed.
Your favorite part of making The Things You Kill? Memories from the process?
My favorite part was convincing Bartosz, my cinematographer, and the actors to embrace the vision. They’re all esteemed creatives and, initially, my ideas seemed strange or even outright wrong to them. We were working under immense pressure, but as trust grew, experimenting together became exhilarating. One of my favorite moments was shooting a pivotal close-up — a long monologue, mostly out of focus. It was risky, but it turned into the most beautiful shot I’ve ever directed.
What was a big challenge you faced while making The Things You Kill?
Grounding a psychological thriller with bold formal choices in the everyday reality of the characters — and making it believable — was the toughest challenge. Every element of the mise-en-scène had to be intentional, adding layers of meaning and tension to each scene. We were working with some of the biggest stars in Turkey, all on tight schedules, and if it weren’t for their sheer generosity and love for the story, this movie would not have been made at all. Balancing style with authenticity under these constraints demanded constant precision and focus.
Tell us why and how you got into filmmaking?
I was a young poet in a small town and had only been to the cinema four times by the age of 18. Then, by mistake, I borrowed two books, thinking they were poetry, as the town’s tiny library was running out of options for me. One turned out to be a collection of scripts, and the other was a small book on the cinema of Miklós Jancsó, a towering figure in Hungarian cinema. With no other books to read, I dove in, and what I found felt like poetry and philosophy woven together. I fell in love with the sublime beauty of it.
Why is filmmaking important to you? Why is it important to the world?
To me, storytelling is a way of forging meaning in a world that is inherently without i t— a vital act for us, mortal beings bound by language. Yet, storytelling also carries the danger of dominant narratives: a tyranny where the narrative industries impose a single perspective, pushing all contrary voices to the margins. In this sense, filmmaking becomes an act of survival, a means of listening closely to the whispers from the margins and resisting monolithic stories. It’s essential to foster dialogue by bringing forth diverse perspectives and challenging the narratives that seek to define us all.
If you weren’t a filmmaker, what would you be doing?
Cinema has saved me countless times, and I don’t even want to imagine where I’d be without it.
Who are your creative heroes?
My creative heroes are the Persian classic poets Hafez, Saadi, and Rumi. They are masters of storytelling in profoundly cinematic ways, crafting works that have endured for over a millennium and are cherished by anyone who can read Farsi. It’s no surprise that Goethe, the German poet and philosopher, was captivated by Hafez, a towering figure in world literature.
What three things do you always have in your refrigerator?
Sourdough bread, basil, and lemon.
What was the last thing you saw that you wish you made?
Secret Sunshine by Lee Chang-dong.
One thing people don’t know about me is _____
One thing people don’t realize is the extent to which I’m willing to risk everything to tell a story I believe in. They may know I take risks, but few understand just how far I’m prepared to go.
Which of your personal characteristics contributes most to your success as a storyteller?
My resilience and a certain naiveté. Anyone who’s ever reached the top of Mount Everest must, on some level, be naïve — overlooking how many have failed or even died trying, and still thinking, “I can do better.” That mix of determination and willingness to believe is what drives me as a storyteller.
What’s your favorite film that has come from the Sundance Institute or Festival?
Memento. I was captivated by the trust Nolan placed in the audience and their ability to follow a complex story. That level of respect for the viewer’s intelligence is something I deeply admire.
