Hammad Khan Director of ’Slackistan’

Hammad Khan opens his hotel door and greets me with a warm smile and a firm handshake, the very model of affability. The thirtysomething Englishman has every reason to be in a good mood; his debut feature, Slackistan, recently had its world premiere in London, garnering favourable notices from critics and distributors alike. “It’s hard to take in”, he says, “I’m still trying to process it all”.

Filmmaking seems an unlikely career for someone of Khan’s background, which he understatedly describes as “interesting”. He was born in Pakistan, the son of a prominent army major who unprecedentedly resigned his post in the aftermath of the 1977 coup d’état that plunged Pakistan into a decade of military rule. Soon after, his parents sought refugee status in London and became central figures in a burgeoning government in exile. “I understood what ‘democracy’ was at age 5, because I was painting banners and protesting at the Embassy”, the filmmaker remembers. The Khan household was a hive of activity; poets, artists and politicians (including “Auntie” Benazir Bhutto) were regular visitors.

Khan’s father, of whom the director speaks with obvious respect and affection, returned the family to Pakistan in advance of the restoration of democracy, and was imprisoned for a time. Upon his release he was made a Senator, but his exertions had taken their toll and he gradually moved away from active politics. “He felt that power had gone to the heads of some people, and was a little disappointed”, his son recalls, magnanimously. This peripatetic childhood inevitably made it difficult for Khan to define his identity: was he English or Pakistani? “That question is the eternal struggle. It’s something that I constantly try to understand, although I don’t think I ever will”, he admits.

Feeling alienated and alone while studying law at university, he experienced a Damascene conversion after a friend advised him to watch Taxi Driver: “I suddenly realised I was in the wrong library and that film was my real passion”, explains Khan.

Still, it took him a while to pluck up the courage to try directing. He was 27 when he made his first short film; three more followed before he arrived at the idea of shooting an Islamabad-set tribute to the early work of Richard Linklater, which would follow a group of wealthy socialites killing time in lieu of having meaningful careers. He concedes that the catchy title, Slackistan, arrived before the screenplay, which was co-written by his wife Shanana Ayub, a psychiatrist and Islamabad native, who could let him know whether a scene rang true or not. His younger sister helped him scout locations and he cast the movie through word of mouth and Facebook. Shooting began in April 2009, without either official permission or a sizable budget, using relatively inexpensive digital equipment. He now believes that due to heightened security checks “it’s the only way to shoot in this city”.

Khan acknowledges that the step up to full blown feature-making proved a steep learning curve for cast and crew. He was initially keen to encourage improvisation, but the inexperienced actors baulked at the idea. However, he animatedly recounts his delight that the architecture of the city, with its prison-like grid structure, “really helped articulate the confinement of these young people”.

He is conscious of the fact that some people may regard the characters as indolent and spoiled, particularly in the context of the ongoing political and meteorogical strife that is engulfing Pakistan. Khan appreciates this viewpoint, but defends himself by asserting that it’s “impossible to represent the whole situation in 90 minutes”, adding that the characters in the movie “are the ones who will inherit the country”, and therefore deserve analysis. In any case, he is already writing a new script which “in marked contrast to Slackistan […] will deal with the Pakistani psyche”.

As we finish our conversation, he strolls over to his bedside table and picks up a copy of Krzysztof Kieślowski’s autobiography, pausing a moment to extol the virtues of auteurism; I notice he is wearing an Antonioni themed t-shirt. “I feel like I’ve made my American film”, he concludes. “Now it’s time to do the European one”.

By Michael O’Regan