Karim Shaaban has 16 years of experience as a filmmaker and producer. He has worked on short films, feature movies, television talk shows and commercials. His biggest clients include DMC, a leading television. channel of Egypt. His latest short film I Don’t Care If the World Collapses premiered earlier this year in the Cleveland International Film Festival. Paul Risker argues that his film is “a dig at the disingenuous happiness commercials try to sell consumers” (you can find out more by clicking on. the film title and acceding to the film review).

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Paul Risker – Why filmmaking as a means of creative expression? Was there an inspirational or defining moment for you personally?

Karim Shaaban – Filmmaking is such a powerful medium because it allows you to take something very specific and immerse the viewer in an audiovisual experience that communicates not just what you think but what you feel. It connects on a sensory level, beyond just the intellectual. At a certain point in my career, I began to observe what was happening around me and reflect on the conditions and circumstances we live in. As filmmakers, we often feel in control during production, wanting to shape the emotions and ideas we convey. But I’ve learned to embrace randomness and uncertainty in the process. Every time I allow those elements to guide the production, they lead to unexpected outcomes that not only surprise me but also inspire my creative journey. Those moments are what keep me going.

PR – The inspiration for I Don’t Care if the World Collapses stems from a specific experience. Could you share with readers the circumstances of the film’s origins and what ultimately compelled you to tell this story?

KS – There were two key incidents that led to I Don’t Care if the World Collapses. The first happened during a candy commercial shoot where we had cast an elderly man, acting on camera for the first time. He was so excited, sharing stories with me about his acting days in college. Then, during the shoot, he received a call informing him of the passing of his best friend and his sister’s husband, and the atmosphere shifted. The image of the DP removing the Easyrig sticks with me, as we both sensed that the day was about to take a turn. The producers took him aside, and for about 15 minutes, I had no idea what was happening. When they returned, we continued shooting. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept asking myself, “What am I doing? Why didn’t I, as the director, stop the shoot and let him grieve?”. I realised I hadn’t signed up for this type of emotional detachment.

Those questions stayed with me, even as I kept moving forward in my career. A year later, the roles reversed. I was directing a major commercial for a big client in Egypt, with a tight schedule because it was meant to air for Ramadan. I received a call that my aunt had passed away, and they were about to complete the funeral arrangements. It was one of the hardest moments of my life. I wanted to scream and run to see her one last time, but my sense of responsibility kept me from even sharing the news with anyone on set. We were in the middle of shooting a happy, upbeat lifestyle commercial, and I felt I had to keep the energy alive.

It was after that day that I knew I had to make this film. Part of me thinks I made it for my aunt, to somehow come to terms with why I wasn’t there for her funeral.

PR – In your director’s statement, you write: “… this experience made me reflect on the capitalistic world that we live in and how detached from reality we became.” Making I Don’t Care if the World Collapses, did it create an engaging conversation between the cast and crew? Was there any significant back and firth between you and the actors that evolved the original script?

KS – I believe every single person in the cast and crew was meant to be part of this project. I remember sharing the script with our DoP, Beshoy Rosefelt, one of the best in the Middle East. Just an hour after reading it, he called me and said, “I’m in.” Everyone who read the script shared personal stories or moments that resonated with the film’s themes.

We didn’t change much from the original script, largely because Wael Hamdy is such a remarkable storyteller. His writing has a precise, almost novel-like quality, which made it hard to tweak or adjust. The actors felt the same—they fully embraced his words, and together we focused on decoding the characters and their inner logic.

PR – How did you come to choose the title, I Don’t Care if the World Collapses? It might conjure expectations of a burnt-out character surrendering to whatever pressures culminate in such a sentiment.

KS – During the pre-production process, I had a conversation with one of the co-producers, Ramy Allam, about the title. At that point, we didn’t have anything solid. Then one day, while Ramy was driving to work, he sent me a voice note suggesting that the title should revolve around the phrase “I don’t care if the world collapses”, which is a well-known expression in Arabic that people use when they feel pushed beyond their limits. I instantly replied, telling him, “That’s the title.”

What I love about this title is how it invites multiple interpretations. It connects with people in different ways, just as it did with me and the characters in the story. The same words that stirred something in you as a viewer also stirred something in the characters and resonated deeply with me when Ramy first mentioned it.

PR – You choose not to lean into sympathising with Farouk’s personal tragedy, instead you make the stakes for each side relatable. Was this a deliberate intent to provoke an intentional moral conflict in the audience, to ask ourselves what would we do in this situation?

KS – In the real story, the stakes were high for everyone. It was a medium-budget commercial with an up-and-coming agency and production house. Everyone on set was excited, eager to do their best, and no one expected to be caught in such a tough dilemma between ambition, passion, and this deeply emotional experience.

At the end of the shoot, I went to the actor and apologised for being part of such a difficult moment. He told me I didn’t need to apologise – he wanted to stay as much as everyone else. And if you think about it, he was right. The entire crew was driven by ambition and passion for their craft, and even the actor was living his long-awaited dream of performing in front of a camera. He didn’t want to leave, and I believe the producers didn’t have to struggle much to convince him to stay.

The question then becomes: what is the source of our passion, and why didn’t it stand up to that moment and refuse to take part? Why did we, at that point, all become like employees working for a big corporation – disconnected from our feelings and what we were going through – just to achieve results and deliver what was expected? It makes you wonder where the line is between passion and being consumed by the demands of an industry that often doesn’t care about anything but the end product.

The question is not only for the audience but also for me personally. What will I do the next time I face such a moment? Maybe the audience can help me with this dilemma.

PR – It occurs to me that you refrain from judging the characters, instead you’re interested in how their actions are a result of an inflexible and unforgiving system. At the same time, you’re still exploring the broader issues of culpability but in a realistic and pragmatic way of how systems control and oppress. Your thoughts?

KS – I don’t believe we have the right to judge anyone, and just because we have control over time in the storytelling process – from beginning to end – it doesn’t mean we should label or judge people. I always aim to understand why a character makes certain decisions or follows a specific path.

I believe that our actions are shaped by what we perceive as right and wrong, but the system feeds us highly competitive beliefs and ideas. Sometimes, we lose sight of who we are or what we’ve become as a result of living within that system. The question that arises for me is: Why has our sense of responsibility become more important than our feelings and our personal experiences? Is this who we’ve become as a product of the system?

PR – What was your thought process behind the cinematography and how you presented both the behind-the-scenes of the shoot and the onscreen detachment from reality that commercials try to sell?

KS – I was fortunate to have a crew that I’ve worked with several times on commercials, so there was a strong sense of trust and belief in each other’s vision. I shared my feelings and intentions with the key crew members, and everyone contributed something personal to the process.

The decision-making started early, during a discussion with Mark Wagih, our production designer. We were debating whether to shoot the film on a real location or build a set inside a sound studio. Mark leaned toward building a set, and I agreed. Shooting inside a constructed set allowed us to emphasize the “discounted universe” that commercials often exist in. If you’ve ever experienced a long shoot inside a sound studio, you lose all sense of time—it was the perfect environment for this story.

Beshoy worked closely with Mark to make sure the space was visually engaging, capturing that sense of detachment from reality. This detachment is, in a way, the reality of the commercial world. Look at the commercials you see today and the world around you – these visual communications are constantly feeding us fake, manufactured emotions and desires, things we don’t necessarily need or even look for. Yet, because the executives behind these commercials believe in them, we’re drawn into this illusion.

PR – How do view the thematic relationship between this film and Nightshift, both of which you’ve collaborated with writer, Wael Hamdy on?

KS – It’s a bit unsettling for me because both stories, I believe, explore the same theme—witnessing a moment where the system crushes a character or places them in a difficult situation. Nightshift [Shaaban’s previous film, from 2020] was Wael’s idea and story; he pitched it to me, and I fell in love with it from the first read. On the other hand, I Don’t Care if the World Collapses is a personal story that I shared with Wael, and he brought it to life through his writing.

I think Wael and I share the same fundamental questions about how the system affects individuals, and perhaps I’m naturally drawn to these kinds of stories. There’s something compelling about characters facing immense pressure from forces beyond their control.

PR – Do you perceive I Don’t Care if the World Collapses as being political, and more broadly speaking, would you agree that all art is political?

KS – I’m not sure if the film carries a political message – it’s really up to the audience to decide. Personally, I’m not interested in making political statements. My focus is on decoding the human experience, exploring how certain emotions evolve, and understanding our potential as human beings.

Politics is often about taking sides and making stands, which can lead to arguments and conflicts. Sometimes, this prevents us from truly reflecting and thinking deeply about what we’re all going through as humans. One of my favorite quotes is from Alejandro Iñárritu, who said that “cinema is the mirror of our species”. I believe this mirror often reveals how caught up we are in our differences, making it hard to see the clear truth right in front of us.

PR – Is it important that cinema, even as its in decline of being the dominant art form, continues to understand that it can be a powerful means to engage the audience’s critical mind and create incremental change?

KS – That’s a big question for me as well. When we look around, the consumption rate of moving images is staggering. Films often become just another form of entertainment, designed to meet the enormous demand. I think this is where cinema has started to lose one of its most valuable elements.

I believe films should invite you to question something, feel something, or experience something unique. I hesitate to use the word “different” because cinema, as an art form, should be a vehicle for artists to express themselves and what they’re going through, not just to be different for the sake of being different. For me, filmmaking is a way to discover who I am and what I’m meant to do in life. By truly exploring myself, I believe the audience will connect, because despite our differences in language, skin, or nationality, we all share common experiences. In this modern world, we face the same defeats and triumphs. That’s the beauty of Iñárritu’s quote—by navigating our own experiences, we create a mirror of who we are, and that’s where the connection happens.

You can’t achieve that connection without engaging the audience’s critical mind. Hopefully, this reflection leads to change, but even getting the audience to think critically is a change in itself, and for me, that’s enough. That’s why I make movies.

PR – How do you look back on the experience of making I Don’t Care if the World Collapses? And do you see it as being a transformative experience?

KS – Making I Don’t Care if the World Collapses was definitely a transformative experience on many levels. Personally, I feel like I’m not the same person—I’ve changed in ways that brought me closer to understanding who I am and the kind of films I want to create. Looking back, what stands out most is the freedom we had during the process. I wasn’t focused on festivals or studios; I simply had something I needed to express, and from there, everything fell into place. Collaborating with such talented artists felt natural and smooth.

This experience will always serve as a benchmark for me, a reminder not to be afraid to share my ideas and tell my story through the magic of filmmaking. The creative freedom we embraced while making this film is something I want to carry with me in all my future projects.

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Karim Shaaban is pictured on both images featured on this interview.