Mercy

The idea for Mercy came when a friend and ex-sex worker told me the story of a client with whom he felt inexplicably paralysed with fear, trapped in a car driving to the client’s home. This feeling did not go away - not when the client was naked and tied up, not driving back to the train station, and not even when he eventually handed over a wad of cash - far more than he had anticipated. There was something tormenting the client which seeped through him, into the car, and into my friend.

I used this story as the starting point to explore ideas around emotional inarticulacy and isolation, as well as repressed sexuality. I wanted to look at where and how shame manifests itself, and how we come to understand our own desires. Setting the film in Poland, where I was studying, allowed for a deeper expression of these themes; gay and trans people face high levels of stigma and violence, and the country has one of the lowest rankings for LGBTQ+ rights in the EU. But the relationship between sex, shame and alienation is universal; originating in repressive social and religious orders, these feelings transcend time and place, and arise from unknowable territories within.

Sex work is a deeply misunderstood and stigmatised profession. Directing a documentary about the sex workers rights’ movement in North Macedonia has given me insight into how profoundly diverse and nuanced the experiences of sex workers and clients are. It has also revealed the degree to which fear and shame of our own desires play a role in our attitudes towards sex work and sexuality. People need touch, intimacy and real connections - but what can heal us is often fraught with doubt or pain accumulated over a lifetime. Mercy moves beyond a sensationalised depiction of sex work, instead exploring the at times tender humanity of these interactions, and the loneliness which we all search for ways to overcome.