Hills Without Names

Davud returns from war to find everyone in his village has succumbed to a strange illness and has decomposed. His sister, the only survivor, is slowly rotting away herself. Davud is troubled by his memories as a soldier, as he confronts the only true question: is surviving the same as living?

A young man wanders through the ruins of what may or may not be his childhood home, where each crumbling doorway opens up onto the past. Memories accost him-memories of his school days, of loved ones long gone, of wonder, callousness, and defeat. The painful invasion gives rise to a series reflections on the limits of cinema and the poverty, and inescapability, of the life of the mind. No matter how much he has tried to change, the young man-who may or may not be the filmmaker himself-always returns to the same places, same questions, same faces, same recollections-the same nails in his brain.

The love story of Davud, a young man in search of his ‘true’ family, who completes his life cycle in a single day. When he does find Love, it's in the place he has always lived. But perhaps it is too late.

Birthday of a lonely woman. Her husband died years ago and her sons left her alone. She expects only a simple telephone call but nobody calls. She makes special meals but nobody visits. She prays all day but they are not heard.

Davud and Sura are under siege. They wait for the Hunter. Hunter is omnipresent.

Musa, a law student seeks out Davud, a man imprisoned for kidnapping four women. He soon discovers that all of his victims have no wish to press charges. On the contrary, they have the feeling of a new truth in themselves. Musa's encounter with the purported criminal becomes a journey into someone else's inner world. Are the questions he asks the correct ones? Is the law a genuine form of justice? What is the meaning of humans imposing punishment on others? Is Musa being enlightened by a superior man, or is he being lured into a world of illusion?

Immobile in a home where the sands of time fall to the rhythm of the rural Azerbaijani sounds, a mother waits for her son. When he arrives, their conversations circle around existential questions and news from afar. Unrest cloaks the world outside. Mother and son grow closer, silence melts into words, and life springs between them. The son leaves, and winter settles in to the forever-outdated house in which temporalities blurs and past and present beat to the rhythm of the same clock.

In rural Azerbaijan, a mother welcomes her adult son, who left home eight years earlier. In the calm rhythm of rural life, reflective silences punctuate their personal, philosophical conversations.

One man and an apartment, about which we know nothing. This is the premise of a conceptual documentary based on the concept of providing a deliberately limited amount of information to the viewer. We look into the intimate space behind the closed front door, where the most ordinary activities are carried out: cooking lunch, preparing tea, eating lunch, starting a fire in the fireplace. In this residential monodrama, a second living actor is desperately lacking, one that would bring to life the plot embodied in speech. It becomes a study of a person’s existence in their most personal space - a dwelling that can be just as much a preserve of peace and security as a golden cage of solitude.

As the world comes to an end, Shah Ismail embarks on a quest for the water of Life.