Rachel Leah Jones is a critically acclaimed documentary filmmaker and producer whose work focuses on Israel and Palestine. Her directing credits include “500 Dunam on the Moon,” “Ashkenaz,” and “Targeted Citizen.” Her film “Gypsy Davy,” commissioned by Israel Channel 8, screened at the 2012 Sundance Film Festival.
“Advocate” will premiere at the 2019 Sundance Film Festival on January 27. The film is co-directed by Philippe Bellaiche.
W&H: Describe the film for us in your own words.
RLJ: “Advocate” follows Jewish human rights lawyer Lea Tsemel, a living legend of sorts, through her daily caseload defending Palestinian political prisoners who have engaged in both violent and nonviolent resistance to the occupation.
At critical plot points, the film also revisits some of her landmark cases and examines the political significance and personal price of her life’s work.
W&H: What drew you to this story?
RLJ: I’ve known Lea for over 25 years. Come to think of it, when I first met her, she was the same age that I am now, 48. I had heard about her being a badass, but when I got to know her, I was blown away. Gutsy, sexy, funny, furious—nothing like Mother Teresa. If I’m honest, I kind of wanted to be her.
Over the years, we got close, she and her partner Michel and their children became like family to me, and life went on. When my partner Philippe Bellaiche came into the picture 15 years ago, one of the first things he said was, “I want to make a film about Lea Tsemel.”
In essence, this film, which portrays a very powerful female figure, is the brainchild of my male co-director. We all have ideas that incubate for years, and this one finally hatched.
W&H: What do you want people to think about when they are leaving the theater?
RLJ: I’d like viewers to take the pain and anger I hope they will feel and translate that into identification and motivation. I want people to embrace the complexities of a political reality that isn’t really all that complicated. There are victims and there are perpetrators, as well as victims who are perpetrators and perpetrators who are victims. At the end of the day, there are people and power relations and cycles of abuse.
At a young age, Lea saw this and chose a side: the hard side. Almost 50 years later, it’s still an uphill battle; she’s still moving against the current. But she’s always moving.
On one hand, she’s the little boy pointing a finger at the nude emperor, calling out the system’s most fundamental flaw: the occupier is judging the occupied. On the other hand, she’s the boy with his finger in the dam trying to keep the flood of injustice from drowning us all. Somehow she works with that contradiction—life is full of contradictions—without losing site of right and wrong.
W&H: What was the biggest challenge in making the film?
RLJ: Filming in court is complicated. Many rules and restrictions apply: no cameras in the courtroom, for one. But soon, we discovered that filming in the courthouse hallways had its own merits; they are a bit like maternity wards. [Just like] people linger and loiter waiting to know if it’s a boy or a girl and how much it weighs, [they wait to know if the verdict is] guilty or innocent, and since it’s almost always guilty—how bad is the punishment?
W&H: How did you get your film funded? Share some insights into how you got the film made.
RLJ: Mostly broadcasters, some film funds, one investor, one donor.
W&H: What inspired you to become a filmmaker?
RLJ: Jean-Luc Godard is credited with saying: “What is cinema? Nothing. What does cinema want? Everything. What can cinema do? Something.” I’m in it for that “something.”
W&H: What’s the best and worst advice you’ve received?
RLJ: When I was nearly finished with my first film, I arrived in the production offices of the guy who raised the money needed to complete the editing, with my clothes in one suitcase and my hard drives in another. “Sit down,” he said. “You aren’t preparing for a birth. You’re preparing for a funeral. The finished film is the tombstone of the rushes.” Boy, was he right.
When I am near the end of a project, I always feel as much grief as relief. All the ideas, all the woulda coulda shoulda—gone. All the films in my head have to become one film in reality and one film only; at best, the result of my best compromises.
Worst advice? Don’t ever change the opening of your film in the online because a producer tells you, “No one will get it.” Even if no one gets it at first, they’ll get it soon enough. Otherwise, you’ll be re-editing your film in your head and eating your heart out at every screening. The producer doesn’t know best. They know a thing or two or three or four. You know best, even if you’re “wrong,” because no one else will go out on a creative limb for you.
W&H: What advice do you have for other female directors?
RLJ: As a documentary filmmaker, I feel my subfield is dominated by women. Quantitatively this isn’t exactly true, but it’s a qualitative impression. So I can’t think of anything very “empowering” to say.
Probably the biggest issue we face—and this isn’t exactly advice, as I fail to heed it myself—is that we need to stop thinking of what we do as a “labor of love.” Love doesn’t pay the rent, let alone the down payment or the mortgage.
W&H: Name your favorite woman-directed film and why.
RLJ: I don’t think I have that one favorite film. But since I think of documentary filmmaking more as “gathering” than as “hunting,”Agnès Varda’s “The Gleaners and I” comes to mind as a film that combines reflexive biography, social essay, and road movie in a manner I very much identify with.
W&H: It’s been a little over a year since the reckoning in Hollywood and the global film industry began. What differences have you noticed since the #MeToo and #TimesUp movements launched?
RLJ: More than anything, I’ve seen a shift in men’s awareness of toxic masculinity. Perhaps we’re on the verge of a masculinity cognizance moment akin to whiteness cognizance — which, admittedly, has barely scratched the surface. Of course, as we’ve also seen in the last year, that comes with fierce backlash. Fingers crossed!
