When I started my first short film, it wasn’t because I planned to become a filmmaker, I was already a journalist but from circumstance, from life’s twist of fate… After taking my mobility out, life offered me my disability status in return, which, pushed me to create. Destiny, however, and my own disability, nudged me toward the camera. I since then, wanted to make films that improve visibility for people with disabilities in the entertainment world, and to deliver a positive, co-creative message about inclusion. And I wanted to do it in a playful, even funny way. It just felt natural, almost inevitable.

That’s how HANDIBROKEN FANTOMS was born. The title itself carries the story: HANDIBROKEN reflects those whose bodies have been “broken” by life’s accidents or illness but not destroyed. FANTOMS speaks to their invisibility in society, like ghosts drifting unnoticed. I drew deeply from my own life, from my journey as someone who became a wheelchair user after an accident. The film became a space to show that being broken does not mean being defeated, and that invisibility can be challenged with humor, creativity, and resilience, thanks to the cinema.

My disability pushed me toward filmmaking, as if the lens itself was inviting me to amplify voices too often unseen. My films became a way to flip the script: to make disability visible, not as tragedy, but with humor, resilience, and a message of joyful inclusion.

I grew up in a family of true movie lovers, especially my dad, who passed on his passion for cinema to me. He was the one who sparked that inner fire. As a kid, we would watch films from the 1930s, 50s, and beyond, and afterwards he’d spend hours praising the actors, analyzing the editing, and making me guess whether a scene was shot in a studio or on location. His eye for detail was razor-sharp. That’s how I fell in love with movies. The very first one I remember was Ben-Hur, such an epic adventure! Then later came The Godfather.

The last movie I watched with my dad on the big screen was Intouchables, at the legendary REX cinema in Paris, in 2011. I had to drag him out that night because it was freezing cold, during the winter, and he didn’t want to go. But when we came back home, he thanked me so much. Not only did he love the film, he said it was an amazing movie. That memory is precious. A year later, my dad passed away. Another year later, I had a brain stroke and ended up in a wheelchair. Irony of fate, synchronicity… or just a strange twist of destiny?

Clint Eastwood has always struck me as a filmmaker with the sensitivity of an open wound and the precision of a storyteller who knows exactly where to place the camera. His films prove he’s far more than the handsome talented actor of his youth, he became a master at sculpting stories that stay with you long after the credits roll. Clint Eastwood’s films, mostly masterpieces, prove he’s far more than the handsome actor of his youth he became a master at sculpting stories that stay with you long after the credits roll.

Back, in the 2010s, I was living and breathing cinema as a critic. I wandered from one festival to another, chasing the glow of the big screen, notebook in hand, like a pilgrim in search of cinematic truth. That path led me to unforgettable encounters, and lucky enough to interview great film makers : Abbas Kiarostami with his quiet poetry, Francis Ford Coppola with his epic vision, Claude Lelouch and Jacques Audiard with their raw French vision and intensity: these unique encounters were pure magic. I carried those conversations into a radio segment I created, Chronique coup de cœur, where I blended words with fragments of trailers and film scores, letting cinema speak through me. Every time, a little voice whispered: “One day, you’ll make your own films wild and unorthodox, in the spirit of Quentin Tarantino, as a love letter to cinema itself.” I’d like to be able to borrow from their genius while carving my own path, wild, offbeat, and as a tribute to cinema itself. And then came my first short film. Not born from ambition to switch careers, I was already a journalist but from circumstance, from life’s twist of fate. My disability pushed me toward filmmaking, as if the lens itself was inviting me to amplify voices too often unseen. My films became a way to flip the script: to make disability visible, not as tragedy, but with humor, resilience, and a strong message of joyful inclusion.

If I had to name one master whose shadow still guides me, it would be Alfred Hitchcock, the king of montage. Stylistically, I try, humbly, to borrow from his mastery of rhythm and suspense, weaving it into my own intuitive style. Because for me, every cut, every frame, is not just a technical choice, but a heartbeat of the story I want to tell.

It all started during a 48-hour film challenge. The rules were simple: you had from Friday to Sunday at 3pm to deliver a five-minute short. I showed up in my wheelchair, pitching my idea loud and clear: “I want to make a film about disability and inclusion but with a funky, playful twist, breaking the clichés and putting a character with a visible or invisible disability at the center of the story.”

At first, I found a DOP, a sound engineer, and a couple of actors ready to join. But one by one, they all drifted away to other projects, until only two motivated actresses remained. The organizer, embarrassed and almost in tears, apologized to me. But I told her: “If anyone should cry about injustice, it’s me, not you. And I don’t give up.”

By Saturday night, she called me through the WhatsApp group and said: “Come back tomorrow at 9 sharp. Everyone will be there for you.” Of course, Sunday was the last day, and everyone was busy finishing their own films. I arrived early with my script in hand, but quickly realized there was no way I could shoot my original story in just two hours.

So I improvised with intuitive directing. The DOP suggested: “Why don’t you do what you do best: interviews?” That’s when I flipped the script. “When I rewrote the script to shoot it in 2 hours instead of 48, I decided to interview the actors as if they were promoting a film that had already been made… in a parody style. And here’s the twist: the final scene hits like a punchline on screen, leaving the audience smiling at the absurdity.” I started interviewing the actors, during the shooting, as if they were promoting a movie that didn’t exist a parody junket for a film with the logline: “A young woman in a wheelchair audition to play the lead in an action thriller full of stunts.” We shot in two hours, edited in three, and delivered right on time. Later, after the Kino competition, I extended the short from four to eight minutes by weaving in my own footage as a journalist interview with Claude Lelouch, Javier Bardem, Mads Mikkelsen, Thierry Fremaux at Cannes, even a fashion show for amputees.

The result? A mockumentary that dances between reality and fiction, carried by parody. Just like in real life: at first, society tries to exclude us, people with disabilities, i.e I was given only crumbs. But instead of throwing them away, I turned them into a crumble cake and sometimes, that dessert is just as delicious as the finest cake!

From the very beginning, I made a promise: my mockumentary had to be inclusive. That meant audio description for blind and low-vision audiences, subtitling, and making sure it could be experienced by everyone disabled and non-disabled alike. And of course, screening only in venues that are wheelchair accessible, because as a filmmaker who is myself a wheelchair user, legitimacy comes with responsibility.

I can’t speak about the 17% of the world’s population living with disabilities 1.3 billion people, according to the UN without making sure they are not left out of the room. Especially when 80% of disabilities are invisible. I’ve spoken at the UN General Assembly in New York, alongside ministers, congressmen, and senators, to push for a mindset shift. With this film, my goal is the same: to expand the audience internationally and challenge perceptions through a different cinematic lens one of dignity, empathy, and inclusion.

If, in all modesty, HANDIBROKEN FANTOMS can help move the lines encouraging other filmmakers, producers, and distributors to include more disabled talent so often underrepresented then I’ll consider the reviews a success, no matter what the critics write.

Both ! One should stay humble when it comes to the classic cinema, because we have all been nurtured by the vintage and classical cinema, so the real challenge is to create an original piece, with something new, and innovate as we are overlapping new era amid the new technics, including the A.I! That’s my approach in order to make a real impact once the film meets it audience.

1. Festivals are absolutely essential. What would films be without them? They are the bridge between the filmmaker’s vision and the audience’s imagination. Cinema makes us dream, but the festival is where those dreams meet their dream-makers. TV broadcasts and digital platforms are great, but they remain technical extensions. The magic, the heartbeat, is in the festival itself where a story is not only projected on a screen but shared in a room full of human connection.
2. Their role goes far beyond celebration they respond to a very human need. We all felt it during the Covid lockdowns: watching endless films on Netflix, yet missing that irreplaceable exchange, the true cinematic encounters that festivals offer. Festivals are living agoras: you watch a film, meet the cast and crew, ask questions during Q&A sessions, join panels, workshops, cultural It’s often in these spaces that unexpected friendships spark, new projects are born, and young viewers discover their calling. Only festivals know how to bring together such diversity of cinema from around the world and, I believe, soon inclusion too, giving voice to those invisible majorities society tends to forget.
3. The best way to attend a festival is to be there in person whether as a journalist or a filmmaker standing by the work you invested your time, energy, money, and spirit in. To submit it to an audience that will judge it sincerely, unfiltered, on the big Sitting in the dark, watching their reactions live, then stepping onto the stage to answer their questions those are electrifying moments. And when the curtain rises to applause, it’s pure joy. Then comes the cocktail: you mingle, exchange, laugh, discover affinities, capture photos to immortalize memories. That’s the festival spirit super cool, deeply human, and always worth celebrating together.

Since my first mockumentary, I’ve been experimenting with short, humorous capsules on the theme of “job interviews thank you inclusion quotas!” I’m working to make them fully accessible, with audio description and SME, because inclusivity is non-negotiable in my storytelling. Right now, I’m also preparing my next short film on top of my already intense activity as a journalist, working as a correspondent for an American press agency in Paris. On my free time, I keep coming back to disability and inclusion, this time through the lens of disabled people with artistic talent. It’s a subject very close to my heart: showing not only the obstacles, but also the creativity and brilliance often overlooked.

And then, there’s another project already in the works: “I Covered the Cannes Film Festival on My Wheels and the Rain Got Me Wet.” I have rushes from May 2025, when I covered Cannes as a wheelchair journalist capturing the backstage chaos, the encounters, the obstacles, and the absurd little adventures only someone on wheels could notice. My hope is to have it ready by next year’s festival, to share that ride with audiences.

Because in the end, that’s the magic: once a film is made, it doesn’t belong to us anymore it belongs to the public. And the public is king.