Introduction:

To put it simply, Salomon Ligthelm is really, really cool. He’s directed music videos for Justin Bieber, The Weeknd, and Prince, as well as commercials for Mercedes, Call of Duty, and the Olympics. Most recently, though, he directed Moeder, adding to his incredible narrative portfolio.

I reached out to Salomon on Instagram, a master of his craft with nearly 100k followers—a complete shot in the dark. After fanboying a little bit, I asked him, wondering maybe, just maybe, if he’d be willing to do an interview. He messaged me back soon after, “Hey Spencer! Thank you! Yeah I’d be so down!” So, here I am now, conducting my second interview for Film & Flowers with the beyond-talented Salomon Ligthelm.

Salomon is a self-taught filmmaker based in New York. His work is distinctive, visceral, and meditative. His textural and experimental style seeks new ways of exploring visual and narrative storytelling, always with a human story at its core.

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Who is Salomon Ligthelm?

First and foremost, I’m a dad and a husband. I grew up in South Africa. I was sort of moving around a lot when I was younger, both in South Africa and then when we moved to the Middle East. I lived in Dubai for 12 years, then moved to Sydney, and now I’ve been in New York for the last 10 years.

My parents were missionaries, and I spent a lot of time with family members or friends of the family while they moved around. Both my parents were teachers before becoming missionaries. Neither of them had artistic inclinations, but my dad always loved music. He would buy new albums and play them loud in the house. That got me into playing guitar at 12. My dad saw my ability and nurtured it. In high school, there was pressure to study applied mathematics because I was naturally good at it, but my dad recognized my obsession with music. At 16, he got me a Pro Tools rig, and I dove into music. After high school, I studied recording arts and transitioned to film through motion graphics. Since then, it’s been a journey getting into commercials and now more narrative work.

When is it the “right” time to make a project? When is the right time to shoot a music video for Giveon, a commercial for Mercedes, or make “Moeder”?

On the music video and commercial side, it’s often born out of demand. If I’m in demand for something, then I consider if I can do it: Do I have the time? Have I spent enough time with my family? Sometimes I need to keep space for commercial work to financially support other projects.

Personal projects like Moeder often come from emotional or spiritual necessity. For instance, my first music videos were driven by a need to create soulful work, a break from soulless commercial projects. I made those music videos out of an emotional and spiritual necessity to make work with feeling and soul. The same goes for personal or passion projects, whether it’s a music video or a short film. They’re born out of a necessity to express something important.

Yes, I’d be remiss to say that it’s not also born out of some career necessity, but I try not to be driven by the career aspect of it. Recently, I’ve realized in my journaling that I still have so much tension in my body from trying to build a career. I’m trying to unlearn the bad habits I’ve developed because I know I should do things for the soul, for the creativity. But I think my body still keeps the score of trying to build a career. There’s nothing wrong with that. But I think sometimes, if that’s the engine, it takes a real toll emotionally.

Who is Moeder made for?

Chiefly for me, meaning sometimes work is therapy. There was something in that story that I felt needed to be exercised. I’m really moved by misunderstood characters, which is Vitaly’s character. I can’t even peel back the layers of why, but I’m often drawn to those characters.

Secondly, it’s for the people of Ukraine who, even through proxy, through their family members or family members of family members who have lived through elements of that. For my cast and crew who have lived it: Marta, the lead actress who plays Yeva, her apartment was wrecked in Kyiv during the invasion. So, in some ways, it’s also for them. But when I make a film, I first think about what it means to me. I think I need to be better at making a film for a broader audience, but it’s not often my first thought.

In terms of how direct or clear you portray a film’s message, how much do you trust your audience?

I feel like I trust my audience. I don’t want to say I trust my audience too much. When we were in the edit, I spent a lot of time going back and forth trying to figure out how much information to give to the audience because the film has layers that are being unpeeled as you go along. I wanted the emotional effect of the film to ring true once you hear that final phone call and have the audience put the pieces together as they go along. But there was a big question about how much information is too little information. I think sometimes I tend to think the audience is as into film as I am and enjoys being engaged as an active participant as opposed to being fed. And I think that’s just different sensibilities.

Part of that is just me as a filmmaker learning the craft a little better and trying to figure out how to do that better, to write that very fine line a little bit better. I’ve recognized that it’s highly subjective. Some people like more active participation and try to figure it out, and other people like to be fed more.

Audio is a huge part of Moeder. How is sound used to shape viewer interpretation?

The sound was crucial for painting the tonal picture of the world outside the frame. Conceptually, one of our key references was “Son of Saul.” The idea that the audience is not going to see what’s outside the frame all that much. So much is going to be hidden, even within the frame.

Secondly, conceptually, I wanted the audience’s mind to activate and wonder what was going on. “Zone of Interest” did that, and our film was done by then and had already been in festivals. I saw they employed the same thing. It’s like they made two films: the visual film and the sonic film. To some extent, we embraced a similar methodology. I wanted to paint the tonal picture of the world outside the frame of the film. In “Zone of Interest,” they portray something quite specific—people dying just on the other side of the walls. For me, it was more about leading the audience down different trails of what happened.

I wanted to take the audience down different paths. Then as the film progressed, their wide range of possibilities narrowed down to a specific event. The plane crash is mentioned towards the end, and then all the pieces fall together. Sound was important to paint a picture for the audience so their interpretation and imagination could fill in and lead them astray, which was part of it too.

Do you believe filmmakers are responsible for challenging their audience intellectually or emotionally?

I don’t know if it’s a responsibility. That word carries a lot of weight. I think it’s subjective. Some people want to go to the cinema just to have fun and not be challenged, just to enjoy a ride like a rollercoaster. I want to challenge the audience, not with things that I have answers for, but with questions that I’m wrestling with. Those are the films I really enjoy. Tonal references for me are “Stalker” or “Andrei Rublev” by Tarkovsky or Kieślowski’s “Dekalog,” particularly episode one, or Andrey Zvyagintsev’s “Leviathan.” Those films are challenging for me through the intersection of themes like psychology, philosophy, politics, and spirituality.

I’m by no means skilled enough to put those ideas on the canvas to the extent they are, but those filmmakers inspire me. I have life-changing experiences watching some of these films. They’ve changed my perception of life and relationships. I can’t say it’s a responsibility of every filmmaker, but when I look at films that move me that way, I want to make cinema that does the same.

There are modern filmmakers like Villeneuve, Nolan, and even, to some extent Robert Eggers, who understand the power of sound and image. They understand the power of cinema. They know how to use images and sound to communicate without relying solely on dialogue. That’s something I admire. They tackle big ideas in an entertaining way, understanding the craft. It’s not just gratuitous fun, but giving the audience entertainment while embedding big, meaningful themes. It’s impossibly hard to do, which is why there are only a few at the top able to do it.

Can you give a few examples of sources of inspiration within podcasts, books, articles, and music that serve as big sources of inspiration for you?

Books are a big one. My wife sometimes gets annoyed by the amount of books I buy. Often, I’ll skim through a lot of them. I’ve been into the UFO phenomenon. I’m really fascinated by the intersection of science, science fiction, and spirituality.

There are compilations of short stories released every year that I explore for ideas. I also look for picture books and find images that evoke something.

I bought a book about Ukrainian artists and another book by the same curator about sacred Ukrainian art. The image that got me searching about the sacred art in Ukraine showed people taking down a statue of Christ, an image that went viral during the invasion. That statue had only been taken down during World War II for safekeeping. Seeing that photo led me to dig deeper into its story. So, inspiration comes from many sources, but literary and visual sources are the ones that move me the most.

What’s the strangest thing that has ever inspired one of your films or videos?

This happens often, but I had a whole idea come to me while on a run once. The whole thing downloaded, and I came back from the run, wrote it all down, made a treatment, and then shot it a month later. It’s not out yet, but it will come out soon.

Another time, I was chatting to a friend while our wives were talking. His wife mentioned growing up as a missionary kid in Russia, which caught my attention as it resonated with my experience. I was chatting to the husband, but my mind was on her story. The film idea formed right then and there. I excused myself, took five minutes to write down the log line and basic concept. The next week, I outlined the film and wrote 130 pages in eight days. That script has been with me for three years now. I’m not a trained screenwriter, so it’s still a learning experience, but that moment was the most lightning bolt experience, where a feature film idea came so quickly. It was amazing how it happened, in a moment of inspiration.

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Conclusion:

Watch Moeder on Vimeo and check out Salomon’s other work on his website.

Note: This Interview has been edited for length and clarity.