Did you always plan to open the film with Wadjda wearing trainers under her abaya?
In Saudi, the dress code is about honour. You always have to be in black, to maintain this chastity. I wanted her to wear Converse to express this rebellious spirit. In the Arab world, we don't celebrate this kind of individuality.
How did you cast 12-year-old Waad Mohammed as the lead?
A lot of Saudis don't want their girls to be in front of camera. But when Waad came in wearing jeans and Chuck Taylor sneakers, hair curled, listening to Justin Bieber, she looked exactly like a teenager in London. I realised there is a universal youth culture.
You received backing from King Abdullah to make the film but is it true you had to hide in a production van, directing your male crew members via walkie-talkie?
Saudi is a very segregated society. As a woman, I am not supposed to work in public. Men and women cannot be on the streets together, particularly if the woman is directing the men.
Your father was the poet Abdul Rahman Mansour. What was your childhood like?
My father was very open-minded. I never felt I couldn't do anything because I was a girl. He encouraged his daughters to study. He brought home films for us to watch. I had a green bicycle. But he was under a lot of pressure. People would write letters saying: "You are an honest, good man. How could you let your daughter make films? That is very corrupt and wrong." But he wanted me to do what made me happy. I have so much respect for him.
What was it like growing up as one of 12?
You push for attention and compete with the other siblings, but you're never bored. Because we grew up in a very small, conservative town and my family's not conservative, we didn't mix a lot. We were the family nobody wanted to play with. We always felt like outsiders because my sisters and I didn't cover our hair. We studied abroad - I studied comparative literature at the American University in Cairo - in a culture where women are married off after high school or even younger. It was good to have lots of siblings so as not to feel alone.
Was it natural to ask them to appear in your first short film?
Yes. My sister was holding the camera. My nephew played the little boy in the film. My family and friends helped by giving suggestions on the script, costumes, lighting. I didn't think it would go anywhere, but I submitted it to a local competition and it was selected. At the time, I was working at an oil company but I felt completely invisible as a woman ... So next, I made a documentary called Women Without Shadows [about the hidden lives of women in the Gulf].
Do you feel you navigate two cultures?
Being married to an American has given me an advantage and a way into Western culture, which we don't understand in the Middle East. We always feel like we're outsiders. I met my husband when he was working in Saudi as the American cultural attache. They showed my films at the US consulate and had a Q&A ... and the rest is history. We lived in Australia for two years. But then we moved to Bahrain because it is close to my mother, and my kids, now 5 and 3, can see my family. But, yes, I feel at home when I go to Saudi. I miss the intense heat and the sun and the coffee.
I read that you drove yourself to your wedding in a golf cart. Were you sending out a message to Saudi women?
I was having fun with it. I drove with my sisters, who were my bridesmaids.
In April, Saudi Arabia lifted its ban on women cycling, albeit in controlled areas. Has the film had a subliminal effect?
I'm so happy that girls will have more opportunities to learn to ride bikes and feel the freedom and exhilaration that goes with any type of outdoor sport. The religious police should be commended for giving more liberties to women, even small liberties.
Who: Haifaa al-Mansour, director
What: Wadjda
Screening: Bridgeway, Sunday, July 21, 3.45pm; Civic, Monday July 22 6.15pm; Academy Wednesday, July 24, 6.30pm and 25, 11.15am
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- TimeOut / Observer
