The flash of a camera. The hum of a VCR. The gentle murmur of bedtime stories. For Melbourne-based filmmaker Anoop Lokkur, whose Kannada feature film Don’t Tell Mother premiered at the 30th edition of the Busan International Film Festival, these weren’t the mere sights and sounds of a 90s childhood in the then-sleepy city of Bengaluru— they were the seeds of a lifelong affair with filmmaking. “One of my earliest memories of cinema is watching classics like ET, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and Mary Poppins on the VCR,” he recalls.
The only Kannada film to be selected at the festival this year, Don’t Tell Mother is a coming-of-age drama that follows Aakash, a nine-year-old boy navigating childhood. In school, he endures the anger of a frustrated teacher, keeping it hidden from his mother. Meanwhile, his mother wrestles with the suffocating demands of patriarchy that leaves little space for her own identity.
Lokkur’s passion for storytelling began with his father’s ritual of bedtime stories. “He was so good at narrating them that instead of drifting off to sleep, we’d stay wide awake, hanging on to every word,” he remembers. Even on family trips, a young Lokkur was always found with a camera tightly clenched in his hands. “I would click photos on our Kodak—a love that eventually evolved into filmmaking,” he recalls. So, when a friend suggested he take his passion seriously, Lokkur did not hesitate. He took the leap of faith and never looked back.
For inspiration, Lokkur went back to his childhood. “Writing the script of the film itself was like a time travel back to the 90s—a time when afternoons were spent playing around. There was a real sense of community in the city, and life felt slower, more intimate. That is the spirit I wanted to capture,” he shares.
Two incidents from Lokkur’s own childhood formed the foundation of the story. Like in the film, he himself was caned by his maths teacher for speaking too much. “The other was a traumatic moment when my younger brother was rushed to the hospital because of me,” Lokkur says.
The character of Amma, too, is inspired by the director’s mom, who was caught between family and aspirations. “I watched as she struggled to pursue her dreams, only to be repeatedly silenced by a patriarchal society. It was through making this film that I truly began to understand her journey,” he reveals. This prompted him to explore not only the impact of violence on children but also the emotional cost borne by women forced to navigate a world that often denies them recognition or freedom.
Lokkur’s favourite directors are Hirokazu Kore-eda, Edward Yang, and Wong Kar-wai. “Each of them has taught me how cinema can look at ordinary people with extraordinary depth,” he says.
Lokkur is hopeful that the film will spark meaningful conversations. “I have tried to be as honest as I could, and if the film makes people think about their mothers—their selfless love and quiet sacrifices—I would be happy,” he says.
He is keen on working on other projects that hold special meaning for him, and believes that the future of independent filmmakers is bright. “I hope that OTT platforms and distributors continue to support our voice. They truly have the power to bring intimate stories like ours to audiences who might otherwise not get to see them.”