Saint Rose is a Lebanese short film that tells the story of the titular character who is preparing for her daughter’s engagement ceremony. But with each passing moment, it becomes clear that her abusive husband isn’t content with the arrangements for reasons only known to him. Unable to deal with this situation, she seeks shelter in her bathroom where she smokes away her sorrows. The only person in the palatial house is the Kenyan housekeeper, Becky, who shares her bottle of vodka with her so that they can numb themselves to the pain they’ve to endure. I sat down for a virtual chat with director Zayn Alexandre about Saint Rose, what compelled him to tell this story, and why patriarchal norms are on the rise again.
What’s the story behind the title of the film, Saint Rose?
Anyone who quietly endures for the sake of their home and children is a saint. That kind of selfless sacrifice is the epitome of strength and resilience—putting aside personal desires and losing sight of one’s own needs in the pursuit of familial stability.
What was the process of coming up with the story and turning it into a short film?
The story comes from years of observation growing up in southern Lebanon. It’s deeply personal, shaped by my experiences growing up in a female-dominated household and seeing the women in my life navigate between societal expectations and their own desires. These kinds of dynamics; you live them, you see them play out, and over time, they stick with you until you’re ready to tell the story.
How did you arrive at the decision of using the preparation process of a party to talk about gender roles, men as a source of anxiety, and the burden women bear?
The idea was inspired by a vivid memory of my mother squeezing orange juice by hand for hundreds of guests during my sister’s engagement celebration. It never made sense to me—why not just buy freshly made juice? Meanwhile, my father, who had no involvement in the preparations, suddenly morphed into Martha Stewart, eager to impress family and friends as the perfect host. That stuck with me. It’s not even about the celebration anymore; it’s about appearances, meeting unreasonable expectations, and losing the joy in the process.
Why do you think that even in the 21st century, men across the globe still feel entitled to women’s service?
It’s all rooted in patriarchy and years of conditioning. In a lot of conservative societies, it’s been ingrained that women “owe” this role. And when financial dependence is added to the mix, the control shifts entirely. It’s a hard cycle to break, even now.
What was the reasoning behind showing the faces of the women in the house while obscuring the man’s face?
I wanted the source of dysfunction to remain unseen—present, felt, and heard, but never fully visible. An invisible toxic presence can be far more unsettling and intimidating. I drew some inspiration from Kitty Green’s The Assistant, where the antagonist’s presence is powerfully felt without ever appearing on screen. In contrast, the women in the film are bound by their shared fate, which is why their faces are shown—except for the bride.
How difficult is it to convey such raw emotions with so little dialogue and minimalist cinematography?
I wouldn’t call it minimalist cinematography. Karim Kassem, our DP, brought a nuanced touch to highlight the cracked, polished veneer of the story. I wanted to focus on subtle human behaviors, the unspoken moments that reveal emotional truths. Great actors made this possible.
What are your biggest influences when it comes to filmmaking and storytelling?
It’s a long list— Farhadi, Almodóvar, the Coen Brothers, Cassavetes. I recently saw Coralie Fargeat’s The Substance, and it’s still on my mind. Ultimately, it’s about whatever moves me and challenges how I see the world. It’s less about specific styles and more about what resonates with me at that moment.
How were Ghada Basma and Sharon Chepkwemoi Watoka cast? Any notable director’s notes?
Ghada Basma, who plays Rose, is my mother, and the film is deeply inspired by her story and the stories of other women I grew up around. I like working with family because I know them well and understand what I can get from them on camera. In my previous film, Manara, the main actress was my aunt. Sharon Chepkwemoi Watoka, who plays Becky, brought such empathy and emotional depth to the role, representing the many migrant workers whose struggles often parallel those of their employers. I gave very few notes—once I saw their intuitive choices during rehearsals, I decided to stop rehearsing.
How many oranges were squeezed for the scene? Were they all done by hand?
We went through bags and bags of oranges, all squeezed by hand. The act of squeezing the juice was important to the story, so it had to be authentic.
How did you arrive at that specific ending? Were other scenes left on the cutting room floor?
I always knew how I wanted to end it. It’s about accepting a pre-determined path while claiming control over what little you can—your mind and body. You lose control over your destiny, but you search for pockets of freedom in the small choices you can make. When life takes away your ability to decide your path, you focus on what’s left.
Given the opportunity, would you like to give Saint Rose the feature film treatment?
Absolutely! Saint Rose is a proof of concept for my feature film, Plus One, which is already in late development. I feel incredibly honored to have participated in the TIFF Filmmaker Lab, where I developed the feature, and to have won Best Pitch at the Reykjavik International Film Festival and been part of the Ontario Creates Financing Forum. The short introduces central themes and character dynamics that I hope to expand upon in the feature.
What kind of thoughts and opinions would you like audiences to walk away with after watching Saint Rose?
I want people to think about the quiet sacrifices the women in their life make and how much goes unnoticed. It’s not just about Rose—it’s about the systems we live in and the roles we accept without question, even when they’re inherently unjust.
