Tunisian filmmaker Amel Guellaty is having a breakout year. Her debut feature Where the Wind Comes From has made waves on the festival circuit, earning the Golden Bee Award for Best Feature at the Malta Mediterranean Film Festival, the Generation Jury Award at the Galway Film Fleadh, and a nomination for the Golden Gate Award for New Director in San Francisco. At the El Gouna Film Festival, it added one of its biggest honors yet — Best Arab Narrative Film in the Feature Narrative Competition — alongside other acclaimed titles including Poet by Misa Soto (Golden El Gouna Star), The Lucky One by Choi Lloyd Lee (Silver), and The Colony by Mohamed Rashad (Bronze).
Speaking to MILLE live from El Gouna, Guellaty’s excitement was contagious. “I wanted to talk about a relationship between a woman and a man that doesn’t involve sexual tension,” she said. “I grew up surrounded by male friends, and those friendships were crucial to me — pure, deep, and formative. That’s where the film started.”
Set across Tunisia’s vast, sunlit roads, Where the Wind Comes From follows Alyssa (Eya Bellagha), a fiery 19-year-old artist, and Mehdi (Slim Baccar), her introspective best friend, on a road trip to Djerba that turns into something far more than a physical journey. It’s a meditation on freedom, youth, and the fragile dream of belonging.
Ultimately, it’s a story about two people trying to breathe in a world that feels too small for them. “All my movies talk about escape,” Guellaty laughed. “It’s not even voluntary — it’s something that attracts me. When you grow up and don’t fit in, you just want to go somewhere else.” That urge to flee — from expectation, from stagnation, from silence — becomes the film’s quiet heartbeat.
But even as it portrays restlessness, Where the Wind Comes From finds hope in connection. “I really wanted to talk about youth in the Arab world, especially in Tunisia,” Guellaty explained. “That feeling of wanting to breathe, to find space in a place that can feel tight. Maybe it’s resistance, maybe it’s survival. I prefer that each audience finds what they need in it.”
Visually, the film carries the same lightness she speaks of sun-washed horizons, sea air, and faces caught between childhood and adulthood. It’s a story about movement, but also about what we take with us when we leave, such as friendship, memory, and a stubborn belief in possibility.
Casting her two leads, Guellaty said, was effortless. “I had a lot of criticism for other things, but never for the actors. They’re magic together. I met Eya in my first short film, when she was just a stunt performer — her gaze stayed with me. Slim I didn’t know before, but once they stood in front of the camera, I knew they were perfect.”
A graduate of ESRA Paris, Guellaty began her career as a photographer before turning to short films like Black Mamba (2017) and Girls Feels: Skin Deep (2022), both praised for their bold intimacy and sun-drenched warmth. That same sensibility infuses her feature debut — blending realism with reverie, capturing Tunisia not as an idea, but as a lived, breathing landscape. “Photography taught me to see light emotionally,” she said. “Whatever your background, everybody has imagination.”
As one of the few North African directors in this year’s festival, Guellaty carried that pride with her. “I’m super proud to be here,” she said. “GFF supported me from the beginning, and I can’t wait for Arab audiences to see the film. They’ll get the humour, the rhythm, the language. They’ll recognize themselves.”
For her, the film’s journey mirrors something bigger happening in Arab cinema today. “We don’t make films to please anyone anymore,” she said. “Someone once told me, ‘Your films don’t look Arab.’ And I thought, what does that even mean? Do you need a mosque or a belly dancer to call it Arab? We’re beyond that now.”
Produced by Asma Chiboub (Atlas Vision) and Karim Aïtouna (Haut Les Mains, Waq Waq Studio), Where the Wind Comes From confirms Guellaty as one of the boldest new voices in Arab cinema and as a filmmaker unafraid to chase tenderness where others find despair. “When I was in Sundance, people didn’t even know Tunisia,” she said. “I was proud to stand there and show them who we are through friendship, art, and film.”