“Lowkey what we did today, it’s actually like some art sh- bro”.
– Mustafa Mohamoud, co-director of 6 till 6, 32:38.

“What the f- is the point in us doing this? I am confused.”
– Mustafa Mohamoud, co-director of 6 till 6, 32:50


The creation of art is the search for meaning.

Human beings, by nature, demand answers. Every thread has to have a clear conclusion; it has to make sense.

The ironic thing, of course, is that art is inherently nonsensical in the same way that our own personalities and idiosyncrasies are nonsensical. You can be the most therapized person in the world and will still never understand yourself fully.

I’m 24. It’s been a complicated road learning that most things do not make sense. There is little rhyme or reason for most human behaviour.

In my journey to accept this, I discovered 6 till 6.

Two filmmakers, Arran Ashan and Mustafa Mohamoud took on the unruly task of filming for 24 hours around East London. There is no plan, no script, no shot list, nothing.

6 till 6 feels pure. The handheld shots, extreme close ups and sporadic zoom-ins break the conventional form of documentary filmmaking. The directors liberally commentate over the film in a casual way, often throwing their own opinions in there with nary a single thought towards being impartial.

The visual design of the film is immediately striking in how it harkens back to the experimental nature of documentaries made during the advent of digital cameras, a la The Gleaners & I (Agnes Varda, 2000). The nostalgic wave of early 2000s aesthetics has become prominent within internet culture, and Ashan and Mohamoud utilise this as a stylistic influence for the film to unabashedly represent the idea of ‘culture.’ And in London, one of the most diverse cities in the world, culture is paramount.

This is not a film concerned with looking pretty. It is reality.

And the reality is heartbreaking, it’s jovial, it’s enlightening, it’s scary. It is London. From the most northern stop in Chesham to the southernmost stop in New Addington, there has to be something. Some corner surely contains some inkling of meaning. Something that gives you a reason.

But reason must always coexist with the absence of it.

Outside the Westfield shopping mall in White City, Arran and Mustafa stumble on a group of runners planning to run 30km. When interviewed, they struggle to find a clear way to explain the reason as to why they’re doing it. Eventually, Toby, one of the runners, finds his reason.

“Wholesome discourse.” A search for meaningful conversation.

In the very next scene, we find ourselves at the E20 area of Stratford. A black woman named Cassie is assaulted by security guards outside the Stratford Hotel. She passionately and justifiably unloads her frustrations towards the camera, saliva liberally flying from her mouth as she recounts being pushed to the ground, unconcerned with her appearance.

The filmmakers ask why this would happen to her specifically. No reason is given by the security guards.

But this dialogue about the search for meaning is not just from the contributors as Ashan and Mohamoud spend the entire film questioning their own impetus regarding this, trying to find a throughline that showcases some deeper intention.

By the end of the film, we, the viewers, start to wonder what it is we’ve seen and what we’re meant to feel.

It was only upon rewatching it that I truly understood.

In the opening, the film cuts through archive footage of major cultural events. The moon landing, the fall of the World Trade Centre, the rise of TikTok amidst the pandemic.

You could try and find reasons for these events. You could find reasoning for any event that has happened in your life and understand it logically.

But the macro implications, what they truly mean in the wider scope of things, is what you want to know. You want to know if these things matter, why they happen.

In the end, there is no logical answer. There is just the universe and the strange ways it is governed. There is no meaning to the art you create, it is a feeling that you must express regardless of how it is perceived in the long run.

A lack of true meaning, the absence of answers is not a void. It permits for something beautiful and horrendous. The ability to tap into raw emotions and allowing you, me, Arran and Moustafa to create something pure, free of some clandestine intention.

From 6 till 6, you shed the artifice and you face the world for what it truly is. Chaotic, beautiful, violent, loving, materialistic and utterly authentic in its lack of explanation.