Cambodian Filmmaker Rithy Panh Looks for ‘The Missing Picture’

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Rithy Panh, whose autobiographical ‘The Missing Picture’ is nominated for a best foreign-language-film Oscar.

Rithy Panh was 13 years old in April 1975 when the Khmer Rouge took control of Cambodia. His middle-class family was forced out of their Phnom Penh home, and eventually his parents perished—along with an estimated 1.7 million others during the regime’s rule from 1975 to 1979. Mr. Panh escaped to Thailand in 1979 and settled in a refugee camp before making his way to France the following year.

That’s all a long way from Hollywood, where Mr. Panh will be on March 2 for the Academy Awards ceremony. His autobiographical film “The Missing Picture” is nominated for best foreign-language film, the first time a Cambodia entry has received an Oscar nomination. The film, which won the top prize in the Un Certain Regard section at last year’s Cannes Film Festival, uses miniature clay figures and archival newsreels to recount Mr. Panh’s childhood memories—the missing pictures of the title.

Mr. Panh’s love of cinema began during his early days in France after he borrowed a friend’s movie camera while attending a vocational school. That led him to apply to the elite Institut des Hautes Études Cinématographiques, where he received his degree. He returned to Cambodia in 1990 to make films, among them the acclaimed 2003 documentary “S-21: The Khmer Rouge Killing Machine,” about the notorious Phnom Penh prison. In 2005, he founded the Bophana Audiovisual Resource Center, an educational organization and a film and still-image archive.

During a recent break on his latest project, Mr. Panh, who is in early 50s, spoke to the Journal from Phnom Penh over Skype about artistic freedom, the evolution of Cambodian cinema and the prospect of working with foreign actors. Edited excerpts.

Edko Films Ltd.

‘The Missing Picture’ uses miniature clay figures to recount Mr. Panh’s childhood memories.

What are you saying in your latest film?

“The Missing Picture” is about my story and my parents. Before this film I never said “I” in a film, so it is very personal. There are very few fiction films about genocide that are really good. Roman Polanski’s “The Pianist” [in 2002] was the last one. He found a way to do it beautiful, sincere, moving. I liked it very much. We have not a possibility to do more good fiction films, so we have to invent other forms. I go with clay figurines that don’t move, but [audiences] can feel the life, the soul. If you cannot find a new form to express that, maybe you have to stop—maybe it means that you have said everything you can say.

Why did you use clay figures?

When we were children we had no plastic toys, so we would go to the river [and] make figurines with clay, create a story. We come from earth, water, sun, so it is poetic. In our culture, when you pray before a Buddha, it [is] not just stone, but soul. These figurines have soul.

What’s the biggest challenge in making a film about genocide?

To stay very fair. It is very difficult. I have no lesson to give. We are not judges. We are a little bit like historians, but we are not. Film is subjective, and we must be careful with that. The kinds of films I love are those that observe, and I give possibility for people to talk. No need for me to tell people what to think—even when I make a film like “S-21.” It’s only one point of view. It’s still a film, it’s not a tribunal. I have no right to say this guy is a perpetrator.

What does the Oscar nomination mean to you?

Cannes or Oscars is not only to bring happiness and recognition—they protect people like me. The world knows who you are. You can work. You can express. You can help other people. It’s not only the star system. It’s a symbol of freedom. Art is freedom. If you defend art, you defend freedom. I also hope people at the Oscars can read the reaction on Facebook. It is marvelous. It has helped the young generation of filmmakers here. The recognition that your feeling, your talent, your culture is appreciated. Young Cambodians on Facebook are very proud. It’s their film now. The good news gives people hope.

You do quite a few things. How do you prefer to be identified?

I am a filmmaker. Making films is my true job. I run Bophana like a volunteer. We are one of the first centers that work to access memory through film. I try to be very accessible, especially to young Cambodians. Sometimes they ask me for some advice. Bophana is like endless filmmaking. We not only screen films, but we also present archives.

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‘Art is freedom. If you defend art, you defend freedom.’

Why did you start Bophana, which you named after an S-21 victim?

We had no more audiovisual heritage. A lot of images were destroyed by the Khmer Rouge. Other images are very, very badly [damaged or destroyed]. We cannot really develop a country without reconstructing its memory, its identity. We cannot force people to speak about that because we don’t know if they will feel better after talking about that or if they will feel worse. So I respect when they refuse to talk about the Khmer Rouge regime. But if you want young people to turn the page, and not feel guilty about their history, then you must work on memory. I started to make a series of films on that. Twenty years ago, only a few people watched these films because people say, “Why do you talk about that? It’s painful. Why don’t you make a love story or a ghost film?” I don’t want to be a film director of genocide. I want to make films, but it is my story, so I have to face my story.

How has filmmaking changed in Cambodia since you returned in 1990?

Twenty years ago when I went to shoot a film, I had very few technicians who can work with me. I had to train a generation of technicians how to work in documentary film. Politically it was very hard because I needed some bodyguards with guns because there is no security like today. We still have a lot of problems, but you can move in Cambodia and go anywhere. The Khmer Rouge killed a lot of our technicians, film directors, actors, actresses—only few of them survive. We have to start again. We have trained more than 150 good technicians who can work in feature films. In two to three years maybe you can see a very good Cambodian film come to the regional market. We have a new generation of film directors now. This has been built piece by piece.

What is your next project?

Another documentary film. It is something about colonialism, and the working title is “Cochinchine.” It’s also our history. When I watch a lot of footage it seems to me it’s like today, but today we call it globalization. People don’t learn from history.

Your documentary “The Land of Wandering Souls” (2000), about villagers digging a trench to lay a fiber-optic cable across Cambodia, also was about globalization.

It was a film about the Internet and globalization. Maybe I made it much too early. I filmed it in 1997-98. It looked at the globalization of information. The one who owns information, owns power. You see what happened now with the National Security Agency in the United States. The guys who control the information, control everything.

Do you have any plans for a fictional film?

I have made a few—three or four already. I like fiction very much because everything is fake. The cry is fake, happiness is fake. I like the fake story. Until now, I made a lot of films with Cambodian people. Maybe I have to make a film with a foreign actor or actress from America or Europe. I have a story—but still no business plan—about a journalist who comes to Cambodia. Maybe it’s good for me to work with a professional actress or actor.