Arundati Thandur: Funny, period.

From the TikTok-native menstruation comedy I’m Dying Inside to Westfield’s ’80s-inflected Mother’s Day campaign, Arundati Thandur’s work finds humour through authenticity. 

Here, the FINCH director speaks to Jamie Madge about performance, trust and stories that feel human.

How did you first get into writing and directing, and when did you begin to feel confident in your own creative voice?

It all felt quite serendipitous, actually. I wanted to be an actor, but quickly lost faith in that dream. I ended up doing a film major at university with little to no understanding of what directing actually was. But I found that world-building, the intricacies of writing a script, leaning on people who can make your work better, and shaping a truly good performance was a more gratifying way to express what I wanted to.

With writing, there was more resistance. I really struggled with it initially, but writing badly is a necessary part of the process. I think what helped me the most was writing with other people, which felt more energising and took away the broody, lonely feeling of writing on your own.

I see through a lens of humour when I observe the world, which naturally seeps into my writing or performance.

The confidence came with time. But, specifically, it was an accumulation of creating work imperfectly but with vigour. A lot of failures and wins ended up forming my voice, which is still evolving.

You come from a family of actors, singers and performers. Did that background shape the way you think about performance on screen?

I think it has, in a subtle, unconscious way. We’re all inherently theatrical and passionate people, loud, and I’ve always had their support, so that’s certainly helped nurture my creativity and drive.

Your work often uses humour, even when dealing with more personal or serious subjects. Is that something you naturally reach for?

Not intentionally. But I’ve realised I see through a lens of humour when I observe the world, which naturally seeps into my writing or performance. It’s instinctual, which I love. I think if you can make an audience laugh, you have a way to reflect reality back to them, so they can connect to something real.

Whether working with actors, comedians, TikTok creators or real people, performance seems central to your approach. What do you look for when putting someone on camera?

I think casting is the most important part of my process. When I am writing a script, I already have a sense of who that person is. Ultimately, I want someone who can deliver the performance I know will work, but also bring some levity, something new that I am not expecting. I find I am able to crack open and breathe new life into a script in an audition, so actors play a huge role in that. I want them to bring a part of themselves to the role, so they’re never just functional in a scene or a film.

Sometimes, it’s a mix of these things, and often it’s just intuitive. For non-actors, it’s just being there for them in the way they need. And that can be tricky, because they often might not know. It’s about being really present, and anticipating what can help them arrive at a strong performance.

Above: Arundati Thandur finds frank, social-native humour in I’m Dying Inside, a TikTok series built around the realities of menstruation.

I’m Dying Inside tackled period experiences with honesty and comedy rather than squeamishness. How did you find the right tone for something so intimate, funny and potentially awkward?

This might be a boring answer, but I just veered towards what I thought was funny. It also helped that I was chronically online and understood what people around my age would be into. 

So, this was one time where increasing my screen time was a career move.

In discussing I’m Dying Inside, you talked about how open the writers’ room was, with people sharing very personal stories. How important is that kind of trust when building comedy around lived experience?

In comedy, it’s vital because a joke only works if it’s grounded in something real. And even more so when sharing something on a platform like TikTok. 

The comment section can be brutal, and the majority of people online are waiting to sniff out anything that doesn’t feel authentic.

The series was made specifically for TikTok, with vertical framing, quick hooks and social-native storytelling. Do you think emerging filmmakers now have that kind of language built into the way they see and frame stories?

Yes, absolutely. A lot of commercial directors have had to adapt to that language and ensure they cater to social-native storytelling. And certainly in the filmmaking space as well. 

Actress, writer and producer Issa Rae is now coming out with a TikTok series. I think that says a lot.

You’ve said that if filmmaking is a walk, creating successful online content is sprinting. What did that pace teach you about directing more traditional spots?

I think that is certainly the case for TikTok, because we were always considering our audience. Gen Z don’t particularly respond to being sold something. They want to go online and be entertained. Internet humour is odd and can be hard to nail. And what goes viral is mostly humour. I’m Dying Inside was entertainment first and product second. That’s what the platform required.

Internet humour is odd and can be hard to nail.

With traditional spots, I’m focused more on the performance or the strongest gag. It’s taking apart every word on the page and finding the funniest way to land that gag.

Your recent Westfield Mother’s Day work has the heightened feel of an ’80s music video. Was that fun to play with, and what appeals to you about using nostalgia as a comedic language?

Nostalgia is always powerful to play with. It’s comforting, and inherently connects people across cultures and demographics. But combining it with the relatability of being a mother, in an unfiltered comedic way, made it so impactful. Huge credit to AKQA for coming up with the concept, and Westfield for taking a leap with the approach. Because it worked.