In the Mongolian premiere of “To Kill a Mongolian Horse,” becoming a hero takes time. Especially one who captivates the audience at renowned horse shows.

“I am a local — I grew up on this land. Still, every time I watch these shows, I feel emotional. They are captivating, but after a while I started to pay attention to the performers as well,” debuting director Jiang Xiaoxuan tells Variety .

Intrigued, she eventually ventured backstage.

“They had to dress up and put on all this makeup in order to become heroic figures. It’s not something that happens naturally. It takes time for you to put on the ‘armor.’ Even with Marvel superheroes, you see their ‘normal’ side and then you see them in costume. But how do they put them on?,” Jiang says.

Inspired by true events and her real-life friend Saina — who ultimately played the lead role — she decided to create a story about a Mongolian horseman who transitions into a performer while trying to save his ranch. However, the mother of his child prefers him to have a traditional job.

“My friend had to make similar choices to earn money and find their place in society. It felt so relatable,” she reveals.

“I found myself at a certain point in my filmmaking journey. I was questioning how I can create the films I want and, at the same time, have a sustainable, successful career. Some of my friends started making commercials to make ends meet, so I understand this struggle of deciding whether to continue doing something, even if it doesn't bring financial rewards. I was also approaching the age when many Asian parents start asking: ‘When are you going to get married?,’” she laughs. “This contrast between a role I have to ‘play’ and the desire to be my true self… I felt that too.”

The movie, chosen for the Venice Days category and produced by Zhulin Mo for Da Huang Pictures, is a joint venture between Malaysia, the U.S., Hong Kong, Korea and Japan. Pluto Film manages distribution.

“We were able to create it because the budget was incredibly tight. We worked on a compressed schedule and with non-professional actors, which turned out to be a very good decision. If we had a dream sequence set in a blizzard, we had to wait for the actual blizzard,” says Jiang.

“The scarcity of films like this can be attributed to the reduced funding available after the COVID pandemic. Moreover, not everyone has access to international financial support or feels comfortable working in English. My team, however, is comfortable in this environment. We made a concerted effort to be present at all these markets.”

While she fought for her film, her protagonist, urged to make a change for his child's sake, doesn't seem overly proactive.

“I call it passive resistance, which can be quite amusing. He's navigating a transitional period in his life with limited control. Outside these performances, he's not part of the grandiose 'Mongolian hero journey.' When he finally does something unexpected, it feels like a sudden, surprising break in the fourth wall for the audience,” she says.

Furthermore, despite his setbacks, he's never truly alone: his horse is always by his side.

“The film wasn't about explicitly depicting the depth of his love for his horse and vice versa. I simply wanted this animal to be an integral part of his life, reflecting his current state. The horse is aging and no longer useful - his way of life is fading too. They are both outsiders, perfectly suited for each other,” she adds.

“White horses hold a special spiritual significance for the Mongolian people. They also look stunning on screen!”