Cameraman Bagdat Arginov is only 31 years old, but can already boast an impressive curriculum. He has worked on music videos for Kazakhstani artists (like Darkhan Juzz and Jeltoksan), films Run (2020) and Ottegi (2024), as well as web-series Sheker, 5:32, 1286, Serjan Bratan, and Moshenniki. Having just filmed Auru with Kazakhstani director Aitore Zholdaskali, he is preparing to film 7 Karakshi with Kuanysh Beisek while simultaneously filming Tale of a Pink Hare 2.
Film critic Galiya Baizhanova spoke with Arginov about his famous mentor Emir Baigazin, how his birthplace influences his eye for beauty, and why his rivals are not from Kazakhstan but the West.
Your first Instagram post gives thanks to Kazakhstani director Emir Baigazin. I was surprised. I didn’t know that he had students
He’s one of those people whom I approached at the very beginning of my journey. After studying in St. Petersburg, I returned to Kazakhstan. I didn’t know anyone in the film industry. I just contacted popular directors. I wrote to Emir Baigazin saying that I needed work. I didn’t forget to mention that I was from Aktobe, just like him. Emir invited me to meet up, and after that he suggested I become his pupil. There were two other young guys he also mentored. I don’t see them around in the industry anymore, but for me personally the experience of working with Emir was really inspiring. He taught me so much.
For example, what?
He taught me to think like a professional cinematographer. For example, he asked us what the difference is between a professional cameraman and an amateur. It’s impossible to answer this question correctly, because you’d think it’s all about the technique: one has professional equipment while the other doesn’t, one has the training while the other doesn’t. But I will always remember Emir’s answer: “Amateurs create pretty things, professionals allow a story to unfold as deeply as possible.” Your work should show your style, and it has to be sustained. You have to pick each frame like you're putting together a photo album. I liked this idea so much that I try to think only like this. I hope that’s clear in the Sheker series.
Why didn't you make any of Baigazin's movies then, since he's now a cameraman himself?
In his film Life, I worked as a camera mechanic. He would sit and tell us why the camera should be on the left or the right. I would move, but I didn’t always understand why. I later realized that he was doing everything right for the composition of his shots. As for our full-fledged collaboration, I said I'd like to shoot one of his movies, but he said that I hadn’t matured enough yet [in my camerawork]. That Instagram post you mentioned was taken on the set of Life, which we filmed in Thailand. I remember we had a conversation there where he told me that in order to reach his level, I’ll have to let the story speak more.
And then you moved on.
Before I left his team, he clearly felt that and tried to motivate me, but other projects were already waiting for me. I needed to earn a living, gain more experience. About a year ago Emir wrote to me saying that he follows my success. He said that I have the potential to become a director. He said that he sees how I tell my own story. I was really pleased to hear this.
You are a great cameraman, you enjoy your work, why would you want to start directing?
From the start, I wanted to be a director, but I was limited by my language skills. At the time I only really spoke Kazakh. I went to study in Russia, so I decided to become a cameraman since it’s more technical work and you don’t have to speak [Russian] as well. But in the future I have plans to become a director and share my own inner feelings. When I do camera work, I am telling someone else’s story, but I have my own, too. I have something to say.
What story do you want to tell?
I think I want to talk about my childhood.
An important topic, considering that we don’t really have movies focused on children. What was special about your childhood?
I’m interested in the theme of friendship. As children we live with the feeling that we will be with our friends our whole lives long. But as you grow up, you realize it’s not so simple. I had a group of friends that I would play with in the yard, and I was the leader of the group. I would come up with different games for us to play. My childhood friends say that I was already like that as a child. We played, had fun, and then suddenly everyone moved away. I remember one year all of my friends left at the same time. I was so upset that I cried.
When you grow up, neighborhood friends are replaced by other friends — from school, then university, then work… Isn’t this common?
Yes, but they will never be like childhood friendships. There are so many people around me who want to be friends, they treat me like family, but it's as if I choose not to go for the close connection. I only just understood why. I think I have some trauma.
You’re afraid that if you love them with all your heart, they will disappear?
Yes. I only just realized this. So I want to make a film about childhood, hopefully in my hometown Aktobe. You know, in Aktobe there are these incredible clouds unlike anywhere else. They look like a Hayao Miyazaki film. Fluffy, white, miraculous.
Some people think that film appeared in Los Angeles specifically because there is some sort of incredible soft light there. It seems that Aktobe has that same photogenic quality. Does your home city inspire something special?
I answered this when I was still living in St. Petersburg. I was sitting in the kitchen with some friends. They said, “you’re from Kazakhstan, it’s impossible to grow up with a different vision. You have such beautiful nature there.” But when they talked about beauty they were speaking of Almaty or other places. I told them, you’re jumping to conclusions. I’ll show you my hometown. I love it so much, but Aktobe is a small city full of factories and standard panel buildings. Architecturally, it doesn’t look any different from any other small city. As for nature, it’s just steppe all around, and there’s not much else. I think that in order to see the world in its beauty you need to grow up in a place like that.
A person who found aesthetic in panel buildings will for sure find beauty everywhere, no? What did you think of Almaty?
To me, Almaty was cold in every sense of the word. When I came here, it was raining, and I got robbed on the bus. But coming here on a train, I saw the mountains for the first time in my life. They looked like some sort of living presence, maybe a dinosaur or a crocodile. I looked out the window and listened to Moldanazar [a Kazakhstani band] the whole way. It all seemed so bright, and to this day I remember that feeling. I even got a tattoo that day. (He shows his tattoo in the shape of a play button.)
Did you go from the station straight to your mentor Baigazin?
Of course not. I actually contacted several people before Baigazin. I remember, I met Aitore Zholdaskali. He had only just started shooting music videos. He had a popular company QazaqBro. I sent him my show reel, and he liked it. Then I got some work as a videographer at Yerbolat Bedelkhan’s Juz Entertainment, which produced [popular Kazakhstani boy band] Ninety One. In 2018 I went with that company all over Kazakhstan. Honestly, when I first saw their music videos, I thought, who are these guys? Why are they all so colorful? What are these hairstyles? Then when I got to know them better, I realized that I was mistaken. They’re very simple and talented, and then my worldview really changed. I always tell everyone, know your limits, meet new people, and travel: this will change you. After a few trips, I started writing down my feelings. I think it helped me.
And when did you have your big break?
After COVID and quarantine. I was living with my girlfriend at the time, now my wife, and I paid practically nothing for the apartment. I had hardly any money. Everyone was entitled to the 42,500 tenge (around $80) government emergency check, but since I wasn't registered anywhere, I didn't even get that money. I became depressed. From morning to evening I watched movies and TV shows. I slept in the afternoon, watched movies at night. I had some small projects here and there, but no regular work. Then my mom called and said, “My boy, why don’t you come home?” I said no, I was waiting for work. She started to worry that I would only make 150,000 tenge per project (about $290) and that I would have to spend it all on the apartment. I asked her to wait. I had no rich patrons, I was all by myself. It takes a little bit more time.
And your mother supported you?
Yes. And then one morning Zholdaskali wrote to me. He and Ergazy (Zholdaskali's co-director at the time, now an editing director) decided to make a music video for Jaiykpen Juzdeskende, a song by Jeltoksan [a local group]. They crowdfunded 1.5 million tenge (almost 2,900 USD), got a professional Arri camera with a 12 mm wide-angle lens, and they were looking for a cameraman. They said they had originally invited Azamat Dulatov [one of the most famous cameramen in Kazakhstan]. He wasn’t able to do it, so they tried Madiyar Satybaldiev, but he also couldn’t do it. I was the third. I was very flattered because the other people they mentioned are incredible. I realized it was a chance to prove myself.
Did you agree to work for free?
Yes. But they gave me complete artistic freedom because of this. I knew that either I could stay in Almaty and prove myself, or I could go home, work at a factory, forget about film, and live like an ordinary person. My fate was in my hands. The night before filming I even called my mom. I told her I was anxious. I really had a feeling that things were going to change after this job.
And did they change?
Yes! The video gave me a name. After that, everyone was interested in me. Famous directors started following me on social media. They asked me where I came from.
What do you think the magic of this music video comes from?
Probably from the fact that we — Aitore, Ergazy, and I — were all so eager, we really wanted to make something good. And the video actually turned out magical. Generally, after about a month, I start to dislike my own projects, but not this one. This song is about the victims of Soviet repressions, but we wanted to convey this story visually. It all worked out how we imagined it. I was running around with this huge camera, oblivious to everything. I was really tired but satisfied.
Was it a sign from the universe after all?
When I first worked with Aitore on the Sheker music video, a music producer from the Ozen production company called me and said, “Do you believe in the signs of the universe?” I didn’t understand and I asked “What happened?” He said, “Oh nothing, you sent Aitore a showreel this morning, and just today our cameraman disappeared. Are you joining our project or not?” I agreed, and that’s how it all played out.
Which directors from the global stage would you like to work with in the future?
I really like Korean directors, especially the creator of Parasite, Bong Joon Ho. I still haven’t seen his Mickey 17, but I think there will be a lot of cool cinematographic choices. I would be overjoyed to work with him.
Today you are one of the most famous young cameramen in Kazakhstan. Do you get to pick and choose which jobs you take?
Unfortunately not yet. Our industry and economy are still developing. If I sat and waited for a really good screenplay or some special film, I wouldn’t have any work. If I were picky like that, then I’d only have one job per year maximum, and I’m not the only cameraman in the business. There’s Azamat Dulatov, Nursultan Bazarbayev, Yerkebulan Kuanyshbayev, we have a lot of good ones here.
Which cameramen do you perceive as competitors?
You know, I wouldn’t say other Kazakhstanis are my competition, but rather the Western cameramen who work in Hollywood or on big streaming projects. They, of course, don’t know that they have competition in Kazakhstan yet, but I already feel it. Within Kazakhstan, I’m not a fan of the whole rivalry, jealousy thing. I love all of my colleagues and I want to be their friend, not fight them. So my competition isn’t here in Kazakhstan, it’s somewhere out there.
Will you name your rivals then?
Someone like Hoyte van Hoytema [who filmed Interstellar, Dunkirk, and Oppenheimer]. I also really like Roger Deakins [1917, Blade Runner 2049, and No Country For Old Men].
What advice do you have for beginner cameramen? Where should they start? How should they train themselves?
I’d recommend that they begin with analog film. Normally there’s 24 frames, 36 maximum. You film, but you can’t immediately watch it or delete or reformat it, so each frame is precious. You learn not to water everything down but to really frame the shot. You wait for the perfect lighting, composition. That’s how you learn to see the world in a special way. If you want, you can make the task more difficult and choose a theme for your film. For example, you film only red-colored objects, from a red bus to a red dress. And when you develop the film and see that you've got it right, it means you can think systematically. That's how you learn.
An edited version of this article was translated into English by Zeina Nassif.
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