FAQ

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1) Who is Matan Tal, and how would you describe your work in one paragraph?

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I’m Matan Tal — a filmmaker, writer, and film essayist.
In my own filmmaking practice, I’m not interested in simple answers or films that explain things away. I’m drawn to films that are puzzles: intellectual but not detached, serious but playful, rigorous but full of humor, adventure, and exploration. I see my work as a bridge — between the artist and the philosopher. What I try to do, again and again, is take ideas that are complex, abstract, or even intimidating, and make them understood and felt. Not in a deductive, academic way, but in a lived, experiential way — something that is abstract and concrete at the same time.  

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2) What kind of filmmaker are you — and what makes your approach different?

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If I have to use market language for a moment, what differentiates me as a filmmaker is my focus on the invisible. I’m less interested in the image as an object and more in rhythm, editing, sound — things that exist beyond the frame. In my view, the image is often secondary; it serves something deeper. Every director is known for something — Kubrick for imagery, Chris Marker for voiceover, Lubitsch for humor. What I’m after is the ability to make the invisible visible: to take abstract ideas and give them a physical, almost metaphysical presence.  

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3) What is a film essay, and how do you personally define the modern essay film?

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As I argue in both my films and writing, an essay film is a form of documentary that places subjectivity at its core. It’s generated from real life, but it refuses objectivity. Instead, it offers a personal, intimate perspective — an artist’s way of seeing truth rather than claiming it.
The modern essay film, as I see it, deals with the defining questions of the 21st century: technology, memory, psyche, and the way our lives now exist simultaneously in our heads and on screens. These films take an overwhelming abundance of images and condense them into a form that allows us to understand each other — and the world — more intimately.  

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4) How do your films relate to your writing on cinema?

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My films always come first. They are expressions of my obsessions and the way I experience the world. My writing is simply another tool — thinking with a pen instead of a camera. Most of my films are not about cinema, but my writing often is. They are different manifestations of the same internal logic: one visual, one textual.  

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5) What themes keep recurring across your films?

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One recurring theme in my work is the attempt to communicate with the dead. Sometimes that means the past — which is a form of death, since it no longer exists in the present. Sometimes it’s a person, an idea, or an artist who is no longer physically here. My films repeatedly try to bring ghosts back into the physical world — to give presence to things that exist only as memory, trace, or residue.  

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6) What role does voice, authorship, and personal presence play in your films?

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Voice is central. Whether it’s my voice, a character’s voice, or simply the voice created through editing and sound, it is always direct thought. My personal presence is unavoidable — even when I’m not on screen or speaking. Every cut, every sound placement, every framing choice is an act of authorship. This is the only way I’m interested in filmmaking: one artist speaking directly to the audience, like writing or painting.  

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7) How do you approach editing — especially in essay films and desktop documentaries?

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I think of editing as staging in time. Many of my films exist across decades, across physical and digital spaces, or between past and present. Editing and sound allow me to bring things that are no longer there back into physical experience. I used this approach in My Sister Shira, and in The Same Snowy Ground. Editing, for me, is how time becomes material.  

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8) What kinds of films do you make besides essay films?

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Besides essay films, I’ve made more traditional documentaries and also fiction films — some of them experimental, but still fiction. I don’t see strict boundaries between forms. What matters to me is whether a film is alive, authored, and honest.  

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9) Who are your main artistic influences — in cinema, literature, or philosophy?

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In cinema, filmmakers like Chris Marker, Claude Lanzmann, Carl Theodor Dreyer, Jean-Luc Godard (early work), and even the Lumière brothers have shaped my thinking. But literature has influenced me even more: writers like Hemingway, Knut Hamsun, Peter Altenberg, and others.
Philosophically, I’ve read widely — from Plato and Spinoza to Wittgenstein, Schopenhauer, Jung, and Freud — but I wouldn’t claim direct influence so much as long-term dialogue. One formative influence was Dr. Henry Unger, a professor in Israel who helped me understand the relationship between cinema and philosophy.  

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10) Do you teach or mentor filmmakers and writers, and what is your teaching philosophy?

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Yes. I mentor writers and filmmakers, particularly around freeing themselves from perfectionism and limiting beliefs. My role is not to impose a voice but to help people see what they can’t yet see. Through feedback, exercises, and shifts in perspective, I help students gain clarity, confidence, and ownership over their craft. Writing doesn’t need more angst — it needs momentum.  

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11) Who tends to connect most with your work?

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In my experience, my work resonates most with people who love cinema deeply — especially those familiar with essay films and hungry for the next phase of the form. People who are interested in cinema as both emotional and philosophical inquiry. Viewers who want films that think and feel at the same time, that engage with the spirit of the 21st century rather than repeating old forms.  

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12) How can people collaborate with you, invite your films to screenings, or get in touch?

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The best way to reach me is by email through this site. I’m open to screenings, panels, university talks, collaborations, and conversations. I’m always curious about what emerges when people reach out — so don’t hesitate.