In August 2021, as the capital city Kabul fell to the Taliban, the west’s 20-year mission in Afghanistan, spearheaded by the US and Nato, collapsed in a single day. The Americans abandoned their embassy in panic and there was harrowing footage of desperate Afghans attempting to cling to the undercarriage of a US military plane that was taking off from Kabul airport. At least two seemed to plummet to their death.
It was while watching these scenes, at home in Berlin, that Ibrahim Nash’at decided that he wanted to make a film about Afghanistan. A 34-year-old journalist, originally from Egypt, he had never stepped foot in the country – though he had familiarity with war zones and had cut his teeth making YouTube videos during the 2011 Egyptian revolution. “The people hanging on a wheel of a plane just to leave, it triggered something in me and I couldn’t sleep,” says Nash’at, who has dense, corkscrew curls and an unblinking gaze. “I wanted to go and make a story about in whose hands this country was left.”
The result is Hollywoodgate, which has been a hit at film festivals and is expected to make an awards push. But the documentary, which opens in UK cinemas next month, has a far-from-straightforward origin story. Nash’at, who has previously worked with broadcasters such as Deutsche Welle, Al Jazeera and Voice of America, bought a ticket to Afghanistan and organised a fixer. His original idea was to make a film about the shura, the collective leadership body that the Taliban has traditionally used to make decisions. But this was “naive”, he now accepts, and, after weeks of being fobbed off, Nash’at started to run out of hope and money. “It was all panic,” he says, when we meet in London. “From the beginning it was an emotional rollercoaster.”
Just as Nash’at was set to leave Afghanistan, he was introduced to MJ Mukhtar, an ambitious low-level Taliban soldier, who agreed to be followed and filmed, but only with the permission of his boss, who turned out to be Mawlawi Mansour, newly appointed chief of the new government’s air force. And, in the course of setting up these meetings, Nash’at would be introduced to the real star of his film: the vast Hollywood Gate complex, a former US stronghold on the outskirts of Kabul. “The Taliban says it was CIA,” smiles Nash’at. “But you and I know that the CIA will never admit something like that.”
According to the Pentagon, more than $7bn worth of equipment was left behind in Afghanistan when the US made its hasty departure. This, in the case of Hollywood Gate, included everything from tactical fighter jets and M16 rifles, to a fully equipped gym and a fridge loaded with Jägermeister and Johnnie Walker Red Label. Nash’at’s camera tracks Mansour as he wanders around the abandoned base trying to get a handle on the exotic trove he has been bequeathed. There is a long discussion in a stockroom about the expiration date of cough drops and calamine lotion; then, in a moment of levity, we watch Mansour’s first experience on a treadmill, while his lackeys surround him and compliment him on his efforts.
In scenes like this, it’s hard not to wonder – as a viewer – why the Taliban’s top brass agreed to let Nash’at shoot a fly-on-the-wall documentary of the early days of the regime. Certain restrictions were imposed: he was not allowed to interview Afghan citizens or film much outside the complex. And it is clear that not everyone agrees with Mansour’s decision to allow Nash’at access. “That little devil is filming us,” says one Taliban soldier during the film. Another time, Mansour comments coldly about Nash’at: “If his intentions are bad, he will die soon.”
How did Nash’at feel when he received those thinly veiled death threats? He laughs drily. “I asked the translator not to translate anything bad they say about me.”
So why did the Taliban allow it? Nash’at thinks the main reason was that they hoped for legitimacy – even propaganda – and were impressed by his credits for major European and American news outlets. “In the beginning, the media had stronger power over them because they wanted presence in the media,” he says. “They were not a regime yet. And there was also this ego, of course: of loving having a foreigner running after them, especially when they saw footage of me filming with world leaders. This gave them a sense of feeling important.”
For Nash’at, the hardest part of the film was not in fact securing access, but keeping it. In the end, he made five filming trips for about seven months in total over a year. Hollywoodgate culminates in a lavish military parade organised by the Taliban, with envoys from China, Iran and Russia in attendance. The central tension concerns whether Mansour has been able to oversee the repair of the fighter jets and Black Hawk helicopters that the Americans had quickly sabotaged when they left.
“Things were starting to get dark, like harder and harder and harder until the day of the parade,” Nash’at recalls. “The secret service approached me and said: ‘Come tomorrow with your footage to our office, we want to check what you have.’ And I knew that” – he mimics an alarm ringing – “they are now a military regime, because they have a secret service that follows journalists. So I left the country the same day.
“I went to the airport without a ticket,” he goes on, “and I bought one for a flight that was leaving 45 minutes later. I only felt safe when I… I don’t know, I only felt safe when I dealt with the situation with my therapist, I think.”
Hollywoodgate is a powerful, unusual film. There is only very scant narration from Nash’at, at the beginning and end; otherwise the action is presented without comment or interviews. There are scenes that are disconcertingly comic, such as the treadmill or when Mansour and a room of advisers struggle to work out simple maths. “Of course, it was funny!” exclaims Nash’at. “It’s very funny to see someone not being able to calculate 67 times 100, but also, it’s dark comedy, unfortunately. It’s really not funny to know that this person has the power to just say ‘Let’s invade this country’ and he would go and invade the country.”
Ultimately, Hollywoodgate prods us to reflect how quickly Afghanistan has slipped from the public consciousness. It also offers a damning verdict on the futility of the two-decade campaign by US and Nato forces. “The west has claimed to make this place a better place, but it’s not,” says Nash’at. “Was it really for the people? Or was it a power game from the US and Nato?”
Nash’at also believes that the west has consistently underestimated the Taliban – and continues to do so. “There’s definitely a lack of understanding of Afghanistan and the mentality of the Taliban,” he says. “And this lack of understanding has led to so many casualties – and this word is the ugliest word ever created because there’s nothing casual about killing people.”
He escaped Afghanistan, but does Nash’at have any fear for his own safety now Hollywoodgate is being released? “I’m a human being at the end – of course there’s fear!” he says. “But I made a choice to go to Afghanistan. The Afghans didn’t have any choice to live this life. My suffering is nothing compared to their suffering.
“And I knew the power of the camera I’m holding,” he continues. “That’s as strong as the weapon in their hands, maybe even much stronger.”
Nash’at is clearly charged about making more films, but it is early days and he is reluctant to give details. “I have another secretive project that I’m working on now,” he says. “It does not include death threats… so far.” I suggest after his experience making Hollywoodgate, perhaps he should consider making something lighter – maybe a romantic comedy. He breaks into a broad grin. “Well, we already made a Taliban comedy.”
• Hollywoodgate is in cinemas from 16 August
