“Almost Zero” is a visceral, immersive journey through one person’s aftermath of the Palisades fire—where loss, memory, and resilience blur in the raw stillness of what remains.

Director’s Vision for ‘Almost Zero’

On January 17th, my friend Rana sent me a voice note. She had lost everything. As soon as I heard it, I thought, “Oh sh*#, I guess I’m making something with this.”

Her voice carried something raw—revelations that only surface through force majeure. I felt jolted. Without thinking, I called Stephanie, a violinist who understands my process. I asked her to bounce the bow against the strings, layering harmonics behind Rana’s voice. Something was taking shape.

Then came the sleepless nights. Waking at 4 AM, dragged from bed by an inaudible whisper, navigating road closures, authorities, wild rains— at the mercy of reality. I went up in a helicopter and simply told the pilot, “Palisades.” My usual faith-based approach, but drenched in hypervigilance.

The film grew from that foundation— Rana’s voice, the violins, the flight.

To accompany a friend to their ashen home for the first time is a disquieting privilege. One found only the dishes, perfectly preserved in the dishwasher, lifting them like a victorious child on a scavenger hunt. Numb, I stayed silent and kept rolling, my breath recorded through my respirator, wondering if I was of any use, if the film would resolve.

Then I understood. Watching my friends’ lives reduced to almost zero echoed my own family’s escape from Iran, where we left not just our home but our heritage.

This film carries that imprint.