DIRECTOR SPOTLIGHTElif Öner
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The film explores unstable relationships and life’s uncertainties. What aspects of these challenges were most important for you to explore?
The film reflects a deeply personal journey for me, particularly as someone in her 20s navigating the complexities of relationships and the uncertainty of building a life in independent cinema. One of the aspects I wanted to explore was how unstable relationships shape a person’s sense of self, often rooted in childhood traumas and dynamics. That’s why the movie opens with childhood footage, transitioning to my 20-something self. The intention behind this opening is to invite the audience to experience the story not as viewers, but as therapists, witnessing one of the moments where Elif’s unstable relationships and inner chaos originate.
The film reflects a deeply personal journey for me, particularly as someone in her 20s navigating the complexities of relationships and the uncertainty of building a life in independent cinema. One of the aspects I wanted to explore was how unstable relationships shape a person’s sense of self, often rooted in childhood traumas and dynamics. That’s why the movie opens with childhood footage, transitioning to my 20-something self. The intention behind this opening is to invite the audience to experience the story not as viewers, but as therapists, witnessing one of the moments where Elif’s unstable relationships and inner chaos originate.
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I believe independent filmmaking is not just storytelling; it is a therapeutic process for the filmmaker, a way to reveal vulnerabilities and reflect on what matters most. For me, that means talking about the impact of generational struggles on women. Gen Z is a generation dealing with the highest rates of anxiety, depression, and loneliness, which have only gotten worse because of the pandemic, the rise of social media, and the fall of self-concept. Even though the struggles of Gen Z are universal, in Turkey, my generation experiences a unique sense of hopelessness due to the country’s economic state. Many 20-something individuals, just beginning to build their lives, are unable to do so because of inflation and the difficulty of finding a job. This often leads to a desire to move abroad in search of better conditions, but being a foreigner in another country is not always easy. You’ll face the difficulty of finding a job again, this time due to bureaucratic hurdles, and if poor economic circumstances were the reason for leaving in the first place, trying to build a life abroad without any support can feel even more overwhelming and depressing.
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We’re living in a world that moves too fast, where escapism and existential crises often collide with the pressure to find our authentic selves. While the struggles of being in your 20s, like navigating complicated friendships, confronting the emotional weight of past traumas, and trying to carve out a life of your own within the uncertainties of adulthood, are already exhausting, being a woman comes with extra frustrations, such as questioning self-worth due to societal expectations. I wanted to capture those raw, unspoken emotions: fear, frustration, and hope, which define this phase of life.
The concept of "daimon" is central to the story. What drew you to this idea, and how did it shape the film?
I first encountered the term "daimon" in Plato’s writings, where it is described as a divine intermediary, a force that is both creative and destructive, rooted in the same source of human personality. Daimons are not inherently negative; they embody the potential for both chaos and creation, with inner conflict often fueling the drive to create. This duality inspired me to represent Elif’s inner anxieties as purple, glittering demons that personify her daimons. They manifest her suppressed fears, doubts, and unresolved past, acting as both bullies and, ultimately, guides toward self-acceptance. The connection of the demons as bullies led me to name the film Crybaby, as I was often bullied with that nickname by my classmates when I was younger.
I first encountered the term "daimon" in Plato’s writings, where it is described as a divine intermediary, a force that is both creative and destructive, rooted in the same source of human personality. Daimons are not inherently negative; they embody the potential for both chaos and creation, with inner conflict often fueling the drive to create. This duality inspired me to represent Elif’s inner anxieties as purple, glittering demons that personify her daimons. They manifest her suppressed fears, doubts, and unresolved past, acting as both bullies and, ultimately, guides toward self-acceptance. The connection of the demons as bullies led me to name the film Crybaby, as I was often bullied with that nickname by my classmates when I was younger.
Interestingly, while researching the daimon, I discovered that Xenocrates, a Greek philosopher who was the first to frame the concept negatively, leading to the modern association of "demon" with evil, born in Chalcedon, modern-day Kadıköy, where I live. Ironically, we shot Crybaby in my apartment in Kadıköy, adding a layer of personal significance to the project.
The film also blurs the boundaries between fiction and reality, much like the daimon bridges the mortal and divine. By playing myself, using my real name, and incorporating childhood footage, I invite the audience to question how much of this is fiction and how much is real. Just as Elif questions whether the demons she sees are real or imagined, the audience is drawn into the same uncertainty.
The film also blurs the boundaries between fiction and reality, much like the daimon bridges the mortal and divine. By playing myself, using my real name, and incorporating childhood footage, I invite the audience to question how much of this is fiction and how much is real. Just as Elif questions whether the demons she sees are real or imagined, the audience is drawn into the same uncertainty.
How does Elif’s journey speak to the broader struggles of young women in patriarchal or traditional societies?
Elif embodies the opposite of what patriarchy demands from women: she’s loud, expressive, unapologetically messy, and flawed. She doesn’t soften herself to fit in, she overshares, speaks her mind, cries openly, and refuses to hide her authentic self. Yet, society imposes double standards. A rude man is seen as complex while a rude woman is simply labeled annoying, and a depressed man might be considered dark and mysterious while a sad woman is seen as a 'vibe killer.'
I often wonder how Elif’s actions would be perceived if she were a privileged, white, straight, cisgender man instead of a 20-something woman. For example, in the scene where she overshares about her suicide attempt, a male protagonist might be seen as a funny or relatable antihero. Elif, on the other hand, can be seen as “oversharing.” If the protagonist were a man, his tears might be viewed as brave, showing vulnerability and emotion. But because Elif is a 20-something young woman, she’s simply called a “crybaby.”
Elif embodies the opposite of what patriarchy demands from women: she’s loud, expressive, unapologetically messy, and flawed. She doesn’t soften herself to fit in, she overshares, speaks her mind, cries openly, and refuses to hide her authentic self. Yet, society imposes double standards. A rude man is seen as complex while a rude woman is simply labeled annoying, and a depressed man might be considered dark and mysterious while a sad woman is seen as a 'vibe killer.'
I often wonder how Elif’s actions would be perceived if she were a privileged, white, straight, cisgender man instead of a 20-something woman. For example, in the scene where she overshares about her suicide attempt, a male protagonist might be seen as a funny or relatable antihero. Elif, on the other hand, can be seen as “oversharing.” If the protagonist were a man, his tears might be viewed as brave, showing vulnerability and emotion. But because Elif is a 20-something young woman, she’s simply called a “crybaby.”
Even though crying is as natural as laughing, it is often seen as unorthodox, something that doesn’t quite fit within social norms, regardless of a person’s gender or sexual orientation. Because of societal expectations, crying and showing emotions are brave acts for women, just as they are for men in patriarchal societies. However, when a man cries in public, he challenges the cliché of "men don’t cry" and is recognized for breaking the norm. On the other hand, when a woman cries in public, she doesn’t face a cliché but rather a stereotype. She’s called “hysterical,” her emotions are dismissed or mocked, or people assume her boyfriend broke up with her, without considering something more complex or as simple as just a period pain.
Elif’s journey of self-exploration, understanding, and accepting herself alongside her daimons, is not just her story. It reflects the broader struggles of women pushing back against patriarchy. In a world that often refuses to understand or accept them, women have to learn to understand and accept themselves.
Elif’s journey of self-exploration, understanding, and accepting herself alongside her daimons, is not just her story. It reflects the broader struggles of women pushing back against patriarchy. In a world that often refuses to understand or accept them, women have to learn to understand and accept themselves.
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The color palette shifts between party scenes and the outside world, with striking use of red lighting. How did these visual choices help convey Elif’s emotional and mental state?
In the party scenes, I used bright colors, mostly magenta-toned purples, which match the color palette of Elif’s demons and her outfit. At first, the purple feels fun and glamorous, giving the party an exciting vibe. But as the film progresses and the party becomes more chaotic, the tone of the purple shifts to something more overwhelming, reflecting Elif’s growing frustration. When Elif steps outside to confront her mother, the color palette changes to natural tones. This shift represents a moment of clarity, where Elif steps out of her chaotic environment and tries to confront her struggles directly. However, just like in the childhood footage at the start of the film, where Elif asks her mother for help, this confrontation with her mother fails, and Elif retreats back into the party. The purple tones return and the chaos intensifies, mirroring her mental and emotional tension as she becomes overwhelmed by her struggles. |
In the final scene, I chose a completely different color palette: red. The red creates an intense, almost alarming atmosphere, symbolizing Elif’s heightened emotional state as she finally confronts her demons. There’s a playful yet unsettling element in this scene, where the demons crown her "crybaby queen," teasing her with a sash, a bouquet, and a crown. At first, they seem like bullies, but by the end, Elif stops crying and joins in their laughter, embracing her crybaby nature and accepting her true self.
I wanted this moment to feel transformative. The beauty pageant imagery reflects societal norms that pressure women to be “perfect” for acceptance. Elif is far from perfect, but by confronting and embracing her demons, she claims her identity and becomes a “queen” in her own way. The red color in this scene reminds me of Carrie (1976), one of my favorite films, particularly the prom queen scene where Carrie, covered in blood, embraces her rage and true power. For me, the red in Crybaby feels like Elif’s version of Carrie’s blood; an intense, cathartic moment of self-acceptance and empowerment.
I wanted this moment to feel transformative. The beauty pageant imagery reflects societal norms that pressure women to be “perfect” for acceptance. Elif is far from perfect, but by confronting and embracing her demons, she claims her identity and becomes a “queen” in her own way. The red color in this scene reminds me of Carrie (1976), one of my favorite films, particularly the prom queen scene where Carrie, covered in blood, embraces her rage and true power. For me, the red in Crybaby feels like Elif’s version of Carrie’s blood; an intense, cathartic moment of self-acceptance and empowerment.
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What do you hope audiences will take away from Elif’s journey and her confrontation with her demons?
Through Elif’s journey and her confrontation with her daimons, I hope audiences will reflect on their own struggles and inner chaos. We all have our daimons, and we need to embrace them because these "demons" shape our actions and identities. By acknowledging them, we can begin the process of healing and growth. Elif’s story feels both personal and universal, especially for young women navigating a world that often expects them to suppress or apologize for who they really are. I hope viewers come away with the understanding that it’s okay to cry, overshare, be vulnerable, or simply exist without constantly seeking approval. |
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Your statement mentions Crybaby reflects on uncertain career paths and anxieties of life in your 20s. How has making this film helped you process these challenges personally?
To be honest, I’m still figuring out how to work through my anxieties and financial struggles, but I think that’s completely normal. After all, I’m a young, independent female director, right? Making this film helped me a lot in understanding how my inner struggles are shaped by external challenges, like how so many 20-something Gen Z individuals are struggling today. Now, I’m trying to see things from a broader perspective without ignoring my personal struggles. I feel less “weird” or lonely for going through these experiences because Crybaby has given me a way to talk about topics I believe more people should discuss. It’s also helped me connect with audiences, not just in Turkey but all over the world.
To be honest, I’m still figuring out how to work through my anxieties and financial struggles, but I think that’s completely normal. After all, I’m a young, independent female director, right? Making this film helped me a lot in understanding how my inner struggles are shaped by external challenges, like how so many 20-something Gen Z individuals are struggling today. Now, I’m trying to see things from a broader perspective without ignoring my personal struggles. I feel less “weird” or lonely for going through these experiences because Crybaby has given me a way to talk about topics I believe more people should discuss. It’s also helped me connect with audiences, not just in Turkey but all over the world.
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When I discovered my huge archive of childhood videos, recorded on MiniDV and mostly shot by my mother from my birth until my high school graduation, I found myself revisiting those memories and reconnecting with my younger self and her ‘daimons’. I think our daimons shine brightest when we’re younger, but as we grow older and life becomes more difficult, we either forget they exist, like fading childhood memories, or we suppress the parts of ourselves that don’t fit into society. Crybaby helped me with this realization though I’m still working on making peace with my own daimons, but I’ve started to embrace their existence and understand that there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m just trying to be myself.
As a filmmaker, researching the concept of "daimon" resonated deeply with me and influenced the kinds of stories I’m drawn to; ones that are sincere, flawed, and deeply human, just like Crybaby. To me, perfection feels insincere because it isn’t truly human, therefore sincerity is definitely daemonic. Now, looking back at the film I feel like 18 minutes wasn’t enough to talk about all these concepts. That’s why I’ve decided to expand Crybaby into a feature-length film. I’m currently in the process of finishing the script and, hopefully, with enough support, I’ll be able to make it a reality. |
What do you hope audiences—both in Turkey and abroad—take away from Crybaby?
Through the film, I hope to reflect the reality of a generation, particularly young women, trying to embrace both the chaos and the moments of clarity as they figure out who they are. I wanted to tell a deeply human story that resonates universally while still reflecting the specific challenges of being a young woman in Turkey. Until recently, I found myself apologizing for almost every action I made. I was apologizing whenever I cried, overshared, made mistakes, panicked, laughed too hard, or was too loud, as if I were apologizing for my very existence. I realized that this need for outer acceptance often distances us from our true selves, causing us to lose track of our identity and sense of belonging. With that, we slip into an endless loop of existential crises.
Through the film, I hope to reflect the reality of a generation, particularly young women, trying to embrace both the chaos and the moments of clarity as they figure out who they are. I wanted to tell a deeply human story that resonates universally while still reflecting the specific challenges of being a young woman in Turkey. Until recently, I found myself apologizing for almost every action I made. I was apologizing whenever I cried, overshared, made mistakes, panicked, laughed too hard, or was too loud, as if I were apologizing for my very existence. I realized that this need for outer acceptance often distances us from our true selves, causing us to lose track of our identity and sense of belonging. With that, we slip into an endless loop of existential crises.
I hope audiences, both in Turkey and abroad, feel less alone while watching Crybaby. It’s a film for those who’ve struggled to fit in, those who feel like their emotions or imperfections make them “too much.” Through Elif’s journey and the concept of the daimon, I want to remind viewers that there’s nothing wrong with showing your true self. I hope this film inspires people to embrace their humanity, love themselves a little more, and realize that our imperfections, our daimons, are not burdens but essential parts of who we are meant to be.
And yet, self-love is a journey, and I don’t think anyone can be certain that this journey ever truly ends or that they can fully claim to love themselves. What matters is starting the journey and being willing to keep going, even through the inevitable ups and downs, because, as Diotima said, “Love is not a deity, but rather a great daimon.”
And yet, self-love is a journey, and I don’t think anyone can be certain that this journey ever truly ends or that they can fully claim to love themselves. What matters is starting the journey and being willing to keep going, even through the inevitable ups and downs, because, as Diotima said, “Love is not a deity, but rather a great daimon.”
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Elif Öner was born and raised in Istanbul in 1999. She graduated from Istanbul Bilgi University, Cinema and Television BA in 2021. She studied her master’s degree in University of Reading, MA Creative Enterprise: Film Pathway, and graduated in 2023.
You can find more of her work at : https://vimeo.com/elifoner |
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