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Article by: Dave O Butnu
Canadian sisters, Jen and Sylvia Soksa are making waves in the world of indie horror. With their debut, Dead Hooker In A Trunk, only just reaching its release on DVD in the UK, they are already working on their next project, American Mary. Luckily, the Soska Sisters were able to take some time out of production to talk to subtitledonline.com…
Your first film, Dead Hooker In A Trunk, has just come out on DVD after a pretty successful run on the horror festival circuit. I understand that you’ve been working on it for over 3 years now, so how does it feel to let it loose on the world after all the hard work?
Sylvia: It feels so wonderful that it doesn't seem like reality. Working on this film, we had to face a lot of challenges and use our resources to work around those. We're so used that process that to have it finally out and world distribution just around the corner is a hugely humbling honour. I'm very grateful to the horror community that has really gotten behind the film and made it get to this point. It's a testament to the power of the people and I'm so happy they dug the flick.
Jen: Everything with our Dead Hooker In A Trunk has been surreal. It's an incredible feeling to be a filmmaker with a released film. When you start out, you're just so damn excited to be making a film. There is so much more that goes into filmmaking than just the making of the film in the first place. Not enough people talk about what a struggle it is to get your film out there after it is completed. The festival circuit goes a long way in getting your film seen. It's the people and their response to the film that is the most vital. I can't even begin to say how grateful we are to have been embraced by the horror community.
The film has a very ‘exploitation’ style title, and when watching Dead Hooker… I know that you’re both fans of Grindhouse, but I couldn’t help thinking of Troma as well. Did you consciously draw on these sorts of influences?
Sylvia: There is such a huge misconception that only certain people with a certain amount of money can make movies in a very certain way. That's bulls**t. People with very modest budgets have been making cool flicks since film first began. Troma and the old Grindhouse films of yesterday aren't great because they are flashy, expensive, studio opuses - they were great because of the heart that is put into the work. You can't buy that.
We have loved horror films since childhood - we started at the ripe old age of 9, although the fascination was always there - and we were getting frustrated with what we were seeing in the theatres. I remember talking to Jen and saying that Grindhouse was the first time in a long time that I was excited to go to the movies. We wanted to make something that we would like to see in a theatre and that was the idea that fuelled Dead Hooker In A Trunk.
Jen: The whole Grindhouse style lends itself to indie filmmaking. Having said that, doing a film in the Grindhouse style doesn't mean you can cut corners and get away with making a crappy movie. On the contrary, a Grindhouse film, because they can be done so effectively with a modest budget, are very carefully critiqued. Make sure you have intentional camera work, sharp editing and good actors. Bad acting will instantly ruin your film even if everything else is flawless. It's a big part of why most people are reluctant to even watch an independent film with ‘no name’ actors. As sh***y as it is, people want to see name actors in your films for that very reason. Any indie filmmaker trying to get their film out there can tell you one of the first things anyone asks about your film, especially festivals, reviewers, and distributors, is "who's in it?"
But I digress... We did want to make our film Grindhouse style. We wanted Dead Hooker In A Trunk to be larger than life and that's another thing that the Grindhouse style is really great for. DHIAT is our own take on Grindhouse. We had talked a bit during the making of the film about doing the degraded film with lines running through it, but it took more away from the film than anything else.
Towards the end of Dead Hooker… one of you says something like, “I can’t believe that there were no bad consequences for all of this!” Was it quite liberating to make a movie without teaching everyone a lesson in morals?
Sylvia: You can have morals in a film without preaching at people. I hate watching a film and then having the filmmaker's opinion forced down my throat. Film - like all art - should be open to interpretation. There are tender moments in DHIAT but the overall feeling is fun and loose. No character is just good or just bad. There are too many films where the protagonist has to be this sinless perfect person and that is just not how people work. I really enjoyed the twenty-something b**tard characters that led the adventure. It really did feel liberating to write flawed people who, despite those flaws, had very endearing qualities.
We wanted to have the cast go through all sorts of over the top insanity and, in the end, the only real change in circumstance is the growth in the relationships between the group in seeking peace for the hooker - a stranger in an occupation that is often looked at as less than human. They try to do right by her and that's sweet in a very demented way.
Jen: One of the things said about the film that I am most proud of is "you find yourself falling for these lovable characters despite them never really doing anything lovable." I agree fully with what Sylvie said. I hate those intentional sweet moments that are shoved down our throats more often than not accompanied by some sentimental music. It's insulting to an audience much like a laugh track. We are free to feel however we like about whatever we like. It's degrading to tell your audience "this is the sad part" or "you're supposed to laugh here.”
When we set out to make Dead Hooker In A Trunk we more than anything wanted to make a film that is pure enjoyment for our audiences. Don't you hate that feeling when you leave a theatre and you feel so humiliated for having paid and gone out to see yet another steaming pile of crap that you hope no-one sees you there? I know I do. There may be fewer people going to the theatres these days, but who can really blame them? We wanted to make a film that would get people excited to see it. It started with the title and built from there. It was very liberating to make a film however we liked with whatever story we wanted and with whoever we pleased. We wanted to make a WTF film, and I would humbly say that we have done exactly that.
If people watching your films choose to walk out, do you look at it as more of a triumph or does it hurt your feelings? I love Dead Hooker…, but it must go without saying that some people wouldn’t have the patience for such a relentless movie.
Sylvia: I saw Bob Saget doing stand up in town a few weeks back and people walked out over some jokes that seemed tame to me. But I'm a terrible judge of what people will find offensive. At first, it bothered me when I heard of people walking out, but it's their choice to do so and you can't push your interests on people. That said, we thought the title of the film was ample warning for what they were walking into.
What I do like is the few times I've been in a darkened theatre, watching a horror, and seeing people get so scared from something in the film that they run out screaming. Fear is very interesting to me. I understand what can make something scary, but often I don't find those feelings in myself when watching films. My mother explained horror to me very straight forward when we were young: everything you see on the screen is created by talented artists with the intention of scaring you. So, what can be threatening about that?
One day, I want to create that. That moment that is so horrific in a film that an audience member, despite knowing better, runs screaming out of the theatre because of something we created. I just think that means your work truly touched someone. Not everyone has to run out, screaming, but it would be nice.
Jen: I guess it would depend on why they were walking out of our film. Everyone deserves a bathroom break. Seriously, though, I am surprised when someone is offended by the film. It is just as comedic as it is horrific and, before you even realise it, it gets actually quite touching and sweet. One of the many things that our title does is give our audiences a taste of what they're in for. If you don't giggle like a school girl at a Bieber concert when you first hear it, chances are it's not your cup of tea. I don't expect everyone to love our film. There is no-one film universally loved by everyone. Even films considered classics or one of the greats aren’t loved by everyone. If you start making your work for everyone, you're going to end up with something no-one will enjoy.
There are a lot of contrasts between the characters in Dead Hooker…, most notably the two ‘goodies’ and two ‘baddies’ in the main group of four. Is this theme of duality something that lies closer to your hearts, being twins? Do you get a lot of people assuming that you’re exactly the same as each other?
Sylvia: Relationships between people and the internal conflict of good and evil within individuals fascinate me. We started with two 'goodies' and two 'baddies', but, as the story progresses, you see that these stereotypes have different dimensions. We wanted to play around with that and have contrasting character aspects. Badass was rivalled by her twin Geek. Both are hot-headed and stubborn, but in different ways. Junkie was rivalled by Goody Two-Shoes, as both had this innocent outlook on the world but from two polar opposites of the spectrum. I see people putting a significant amount of faith in stereotypes - that probably came from being born as a twin which comes with preconceived notions of this and that - and I wanted to play with those thoughts and put them on their head a bit.
Jen: We've heard every twin joke, comment, and question you could ever imagine. More often than not, "Which one's the evil twin?" Probably both of us. Being Catholic, we've always had this fascination with good and evil. We divided our four heroes into very definitive stereotypes, but wanted to break those stereotypes, or at very least throw them into question, by the end of the film. Goody in particular has a very distinctive character arc. You can see his breaks in his armour, so to speak, throughout the film, and he more than proves his incredible strength by the end of the whole bloody affair.
We realised that we'd be expected to do a good job of it, seeing as we are real life sisters and that has to come into play on camera. We work very well together. We are two very different people, but we think the same and understand one another. Duality is fascinating to us.
Have there been any issues with censors around the world, now that the movie is being released? Did Dead Hooker… get banned or cut anywhere?
Sylvia: We got extremely lucky with this film in the respect that we maintained creative control over the entire project without having to fight for our content. I'm actually surprised it didn't get more backlash. The only banning happened over the title without the film being watched, so I think people don't have a problem with the content. It got an 18+ rating, but it has extreme language, violence and full frontal male nudity, so that was expected.
Jen: The film is available in its entirety and I am so happy about it. I absolutely detest censorship. I feel that not only is it bulls**t to tell someone what they can or cannot watch and remove the opportunity for them to even decide for themselves, but it breeds ignorance. Just because you don't see something doesn't mean it doesn't exist. How are we ever supposed to deal with real horror in our lives? If someone is attacked and raped, they can't just cut to the next day. They have to be there. Art imitates life. When violence and horror disappear from reality, then it would be appropriate to remove those aspects from film.
If anyone under 18 is reading this, I'm sorry we couldn't lower our rating so you could grab a copy of DHIAT or see it. I hope you still find a way and I hope it inspires you to go out and make your own films. I sincerely mean that. DOB
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Article by: Qasa Alom
Rio Breaks is a film about the colourful, dangerous and poverty stricken favelas of Rio and the two teenage boys trying to escape them through their dreams. On the surface, the picture seems to simply be following a well trodden path epitomized by the iconic Cidade de Deus in 2002. However, director Justin Mitchell looks closer at another aspect of favela life culture, away from the glamorization of crime, to tell the powerful real life story of 13-year-old Fabio and 12-year-old Naama.
subtitledonline.com caught up with director Justin Mitchell whilst touring England to find out some of the reasons why he made the documentary…
What did you set out to achieve with this film?
I saw a story that I thought was worth telling, so in terms of achievement - from an independent film making standpoint - we wanted to get people to see it, learn of the story and see another side to the favelas. I'm a surfer, but I've also worked in documentaries for a long time - both my parents work in it and I used to work in music documentaries - so I've always thought that surfing would be a good world to explore. Having said that, though, I wanted to have a little twist on it and not just make your average surfing film. So, the idea behind it was to take the aesthetics and the trappings of a ‘surf film’ and find a story that we could tell using those aesthetics - almost veiling it within that to bring them closer and pulling them into a social documentary.
It definitely came across like that. How did you find this story then?
Well, I guess I was in the right place at the right time. Vince Madeiro, the writer, has produced pieces for numerous surf magazines and I was always on the lookout for a surf story that would be the genesis of my film. Then one day I spotted something that Vince had written in a magazine called The Surfers Path that looked at the Favela surf club. Ironically, very few people, perhaps maybe one person from the film itself, were actually in the article as well, for a number of reasons, such as the club always changing hands, but when I read it, I instantly knew that this was what I was looking for.
So then I immediately contacted Vince through the internet and basically said: “We have to make this film!” At first Vince was rather apprehensive, he’d never made a film before, but I was just constantly saying, “Don’t worry about it…let’s just meet in Rio.” So, then we were out there just filming or talking to various people and that was the foundation of our film.
Earlier on you mentioned the “surf aesthetic.” What did you actually mean by that?
I love all the classic Surf films, Endless Summer…the film’s from the ‘70s, etc. They were all shot in 16 mm. The way you would shoot those films is that you’d have like a hundred meters of film and then, when you’re out there, you have to take your time with it because you’ve realistically only got the chance for about 7 takes - you’ve really got to be sure that it’s something you want to be shooting. Then you flash forward to the ‘90s, and you have films from people like Thomas Campbell, who brought that style back and shot it with 16 mm as well, so I really wanted to recreate something like that. In fact, I sort of went in with my mind made up of how that’s the way I wanted my film to look, because it gives you a new love for looking at the images and gives it the surfing feel.
Then, though, I actually realised soon after the first trip that it would be very expensive! So, what I did was look for the best alternative at the time for me, which was a 35mm lens adaptor that goes on the front of your HD camera - so we were shooting in HD, but using two or three old NIKON lenses and that was a very big decision that we made early on. I must admit, at the time, it was a slight risk, but a judgement call that I think paid off. You needed to have the aesthetics right, to show the love and care in each shot for the surfing, the landscapes and the story, so I think it worked pretty well to give it that veil.
You mentioned feel there as well, and I suppose I can’t let you escape without talking about the City Of God feel to the picture. Was that intentional?
Yeah, you’ve really hit the nail on the head there. In the early days, in order to get funding, we were pitching it as “Endless Summer meets City Of God,” but it was only really a way of getting the money or attracting people to it.
After the film, people’s views of the favela were all very singular because what was shown in City Of God was all that they knew about it. What we had in mind was showing that actually there was so much more to it, and even so much more than we’ve touched on in the film. We wanted to take care to show other aspects of everyday life down there, that maybe City Of God didn’t look at, because there’s a lot of people in places like Rio that perhaps don’t love the film as much. So, we tried to use surfing to show that there are actually a lot of other positive things that are going on in that community.
And then how did you find the two boys, because on screen they had fantastic chemistry, as well as possessing great personalities that highlighted different aspects of human nature?
Well, I wouldn’t even say that we found them, because they found us really. That’s the best way to describe it. I think Fabio is such a great character; both of them are such intelligent and interesting people, so I suppose they saw us with our cameras on the beach and they just knew they wanted to be a part of it. What was interesting, though, was that I actually thought that we would be looking at kids who were a little bit older than Favio and Naama – kids who are like 15 or 16, because at the time I was of the impression that they were the kids with clear distinctions, who were either in a gang or surfers, whereas the 12-13 year olds were kind of on the brink of it.
What we found, though, was that at the other age – much like teenagers anywhere, I guess, really – is that they really will just do whatever they want to do, and if they’re not interested in you one day then you’re not going to get much help from them. Sure, they might want to help you a couple of days later, or when they’re free, but it’s much harder to structure something with them, whereas with Fabio and Naama, we had their complete attention, and they really wanted to be a part of it, so that really helped a lot. I think they enjoyed that for once the spotlight was really on them, because they were just kids that nobody really cared about or paid much attention to day to day, so to go from that to having camera’s on them all the time - I think they really got a kick out of that and a good buzz.
When I was watching the film, you could certainly see that. The surfing was great but the standout beacon in it really was the characters, they really added an extra dimension to it. Did you notice this at all when you were filming it?
Oh yeah, for sure. We had a number of other characters that could easily have been the focus of the film, or people who could have had bigger ‘roles’, I suppose, such as Maicon, who does a load of flips at the end and eventually joins the circus. There were a few others as well, but all of them personality-wise didn’t really bring it to life in the same way as Flavio and Namal did as a dynamic duo.
For instance, I don’t speak a word of Portuguese, it was always Vince who did the talking, but even on the very first day of meeting them both, I could tell exactly what they were saying, just by their energy and the way they were relating to each other. There was something really special there between them, and I think that it’s really powerful to have that in a film because you can get some sort of deeper meaning - and it’s easier to relate to them without having to speak the language.
And since then, do you think that relationship’s still there?
Well, I can’t really go into details here, but what the film does show by the end is actually the reality of Brazil. A lot of times in the media, or our world and in films, there’s a huge draw to just paint things in black-and-white, good and bad... The reality is that, so much of everything that happens in this world is actually in the middle. People choose different paths all the time, it’s just part of life really and it kind of fits in really neatly to what I wanted to explore throughout the film and through surfing. QA
Exiled Iranian film director Rafi Pitts is motivated just as much by the aesthetic beauty of Cinema as its political power. Having made his name in France with Sanam (2000), hailed as “the Iranian 400 Blows,” Pitts has consolidated himself as one of the Middle East’s most prominent film makers with Golden Bear Nominee It’s Winter (2006) and his latest film The Hunter (2010), for which he managed to return to Iran to film it.
subtitledonline.com spoke with Rafi to discuss the recently released The Hunter, censorship - and Cinema Paradiso…
What was your inspiration behind The Hunter?
It comes from several sources I suppose (he drawls out nonchalantly through puffs of his cigarette – QA) - y’know when you have an idea there is not just one reason, but I would say that one of the primary reasons was that I wanted to make a film that spoke to a young generation living in a very young country. The majority of the country is under the age of 30 and I wanted to make a film from that point of view that broke down the boundaries of realism and asked some questions.
In the film itself, there is a huge preoccupation with sound and image more than words. Was this something you did on purpose?
Yes. It’s a symbol of the character not being able to express himself. That’s why he reacts the way he does within the film. It has to be believable as someone who can’t express themselves losing everything and becoming unstable. However, I do feel that in the film – you know a lot of people say there isn’t much dialogue – but I say it’s full of dialogue because sound is a form of dialogue; y’know sound always suggests what an image is, whereas an image never suggests what a sound is. And I used a lot of sound because you can do or say a lot with it and give the impression of a feeling, and you can also add tension to the film. It’s more subtle in a way than normal dialogue because it plays on the mind of an audience without telling them what is going on.
There is an obvious split in the film, the first half is certainly very art house whereas the second half changes and becomes more tense or psychological. Would you say this is a fair observation?
Yes, sure, I mean when you make a film, you don’t want to make it one-dimensional because all the films I like in the history of cinema have had several readings to them. So here, too, there is a political dimension, there is what I call a neo-realist western dimension, and there’s a classical tragic story of a man who is simply out for revenge. So you sort of try and give it as many layers and dimensions as possible so the audience can choose which dimension they want to see, and they will choose one depending on their own personality and experiences.
In the film, there are quite a lot of shots of cars, motorways and symbols of modern technology…
Yes, this was definitely my intention. I wanted to make it clear that I was speaking of the feelings of today, and that’s why I started off with that music and a picture from the Iranian revolution. You know the majority of the population wasn’t even born at the time of the revolution and today people are asking themselves why did we even have one, and what were the consequences of this revolution. So, it’s a backdrop to the film if you like and then, sure, the film takes its own course, but it was also a warning to what might happen if we can’t express ourselves.
Exactly what were you warning the newer generation against then?
What I try to do as a filmmaker is hold up a mirror to what is going on in society. And today in Iran, what’s going on in our society is that we don’t have that much time to live. You know the economical dire straits we’re living in, we have very little left, and I was trying to portray what would happen if the little we have left, such as spending time with our family, was taken away with us, and how we would react upon that. So, in that sense, it concerns a lot of people in Iran - we’ve become ticking time bombs because of the way the system is trying to rule us.
Do you think you were successful with this then?
(Pauses) Success isn’t something you should ask us filmmakers (he laughs – QA), but the success for me is on the viewers’ point of view. But really, it was a miracle that we managed to make the film over there in Iran. You know, really, to get the authorization to shoot such a film only came about because, at the time, the Ministry of Censorship thought that Iran was about to change, open or reform, and I think that’s why we managed to shoot the film. So had we not shot the film in that particular space of time, we would never have been able to shoot it. Had we tried three years earlier, I don’t think they would have given us permission, had we tried to shoot it after the riots in June 2009, it would have been impossible, so it was in that case a success. There is this expression I like you know where they say “luck is where opportunity meets preparation,” so there was definitely that going on I think.
How difficult is it then to make a film with the censorship laws on directors?
Extremely difficult, but having said that, we used to say it was difficult before June 2009 and sure it was! But now, though, it’s become practically impossible…
As you might have heard, two of our filmmakers, who are also two friends of mine - Jafar Panahi and Mohammad Rasoulof - have both been given a prison sentence for an idea of a film they wanted to make. It’s not even a film that they’ve made! They wanted to reflect on what had happened during those riots and for that they’ve been charged with six year prison sentences, twenty years not allowed to leave the country and twenty years of not being allowed to practise their profession. So that gives you an idea of what’s facing the Iranian film industry at the moment.
You wrote an open letter last year to Ahmedinejad about this. Do you think this sort of behaviour will continue then?
I don’t think it’s going to continue because I can’t see how a government can have the false pretence of thinking they can stop young people being who they are. If you look at the history of the world, you’ll see the beauty of youth and that it knows how to take care of itself, and they’ll go and get it if it’s not at hand to them.
Today, in Iran, people feel that their future has been taken away from them, that they have nothing left, so people will go out and get it. It’s very natural the youth are full of enthusiasm and they want to have a future, so they will go out and get it. The question is, will it take one year, or ten? Obviously, we want this to happen as soon as possible, we want to move forward, and we want this to happen, of course, without the threat of violence.
The protests that have happened in Egypt and elsewhere, can you see that happening in Iran?
Yes, I can (he pauses, and the mood has evidently shifted, with more weight, lengthier pauses and consideration behind each word – QA). For every woman man and child in Iran, if you feel you are being stopped of having something, what are you going to do? You’re going to go out and try to get it. So I don’t think there is any way of stopping that. I don’t think people are just going to be resigned to their fate anymore - people need to go out and…get their future. You know, it’s a very natural thing that’s happening right now.
Going back to the film, there’s a particular scene near the end of the film where the two policemen have a little squabble. What were you getting at here, was it highlighting a contrast between young and old, criticism of the corrupt system, or something else?
It was a symbol of what our society has become. The fact that there is a conflict between those two police officers shows you the diversity of what we’re dealing with and how much a uniform is only the cover of a book; you have to ‘read’ the book to know what’s going on because the cover won’t tell you. I wanted to show the discrepancies in the system because one of the police officers is very much for capital punishment whilst the other is a humanitarian very much against it, so already this shows up the contrasts in the systems and the quarrels that can exist within it.
So, was this a message to people not to judge the police and the system as all bad then?
I’ve never been keen in giving messages because I come from a country where they are giving us messages all the time! For me it’s always been about giving the audience the freedom of choice (he leans back and starts to relax with a glint in his eye – QA). Of course, you give them a narrative and, of course, you offer them a story, but I always tend to think of a film as a…okay, let me put it like this: in Iran, when we invite guests over for dinner, we place in front of them at the table several dishes, but we never tell them what they should eat; we leave them the choice of what they want to eat in whatever order. In my films, I try to offer them the same sort of choice; I give different dimensions and expect some people to take up one angle or perspective and certain other people another. If you look at the end of the film, there are several readings and I’ve never liked full stops but three dots to leave it open. For me it’s a way of respecting the audience.
What were your influences as a child that made you want to become a director?
Well, when I was younger, in Iran we saw a lot of American films from the 1970s that influenced us. Obviously, we saw them all dubbed in Persian, so not in English, and even older films by John Ford with John Wayne and (he starts to chuckle wistfully – QA) I remember the first time I heard John Wayne speak in English and I freaked out because I couldn’t believe this was the guy I’d known for years! I’d known him as this Iranian wise guy and now he was American. So, cinema, of course, influenced me, but also I lived under the post production studio in Tehran, so, obviously, I spent a lot of my childhood with editors in the offices above and I never felt like I was ever out of the film industry or that I was ever going to do anything outside of cinema.
Sounds like Cinema Paradiso…
I know right! (he smiles wildly and takes excited puffs of his cigarette and continues animatedly - QA). But Cinema Paradiso is maybe a more romantic and idealised version.
Yeah, well I lived with my mother as a child, and she was only 17 years older than me. The reason why we lived under the post production studio was because she felt there would be people there who could look out for me. And then, over time, those people became my family in a way, so that’s why I’m still now so attached to the Iranian film industry.
Now that you live in France, what cultural differences do you notice then between the different Arab Diaspora’s; like, for example, the Maghreb who live in France and those who’ve stayed in Iran?
You know, we all come from different cultural backgrounds; I think it’s unfair to just label people as from ‘the Arab world’. I find it such a strange thing to say because the Arab world is such a diverse world. It’s like an Iranian saying the ‘European world’ when there is so much diversity even in Europe, from France to England to even other places. Also, with language, too, I mean in Iran, we speak Persian, so is that the Arab world? Let’s say then that people mean the ‘Muslim’ world – well even there are so many differences in the countries. So there’s a great diversity and by trying to simplify it is like trying to simply Europe – it’s not possible.
Does it annoy you then when people from the West label everything from the Middle East together?
It doesn’t annoy me as such, because you get that from both sides. People tend to want to simplify things because they feel that by simplifying things, they’ll understand it better – but I just think that the beauty of humanity is its depth and the surface is just the surface. Once you acknowledge the depth and difference in cultures things get interesting. I mean even if you were to look at nationalities, I’ve never really met anyone in England who for me completely represents what is English. An individual comes from a cultural background, his own personal background and becomes what they are, and that’s what’s fascinating. We have a tendency, though, to simplify individuals to represent their nationalities, which I don’t think is right.
So, let’s talk about the future of Iranian directors. Can you see a new younger generation of filmmakers coming through behind you? Is there a future for Iranian Cinema?
Well, that’s what was about to happen before all of these events took place in a way. Our cinema, which the world knows as Iranian neo-realism, became more anti-social realism, and became more aggressive with the way we looked at things and the way we would approach our problems in society. At the beginning of all this, there was the film No One Knows About The Persian Cats and there were a lot of films out there being made to point out the points of view of the younger generation (he starts to regain his confidence and previous manner apparent through a louder voice – QA), and I don’t think that now it’s going to stop. It might have come to a sudden stop now, but it’s only natural that artists and filmmakers and young people will find ways of expressing themselves. Now film might take on a modern and new dimension, but I don’t think that Iranian cinema will stop simply because the government wants it to stop. And, in fact, as you probably notice, as soon as a government wants to put a stop to something, this only gives the artist or filmmaker more enthusiasm and drive to make it because an artist doesn’t have any other choice. That’s his profession, that’s his being and you can’t stop people from…being.
What’s the future for you then? Have you got any more ideas in the pipeline?
There are ideas, yes, of course. I’d like to go back to Iran and make another film. I hope (he stresses – QA) I can go back to Iran and make another film…and I’d like to think that one day I can. Because, somehow, we need to believe in possibilities, as that’s the way we keep on going forward. Where I come from, it’s a country where you live by the day; you don’t really calculate the next month or the next year, you just go through your day, and by the end of the day that’s what your life is about. It creates a sense of urgency in people, so I won’t stop making films, and I’ll find a way of going back and doing it. QA
After all, Mlakic’s novel told the story of a conflict close to the hearts and minds of many in the Balkans. Alternating between Bosnian conflict in 1943 and 1993, the story focused on two very different squadron’s of HVO (Bosnian Croat) and Domobran (defenders of the Croat Independent state) who trod the same path with the same bleak conclusions.
But in truth, fans need not have worried, as Milic’s resulting film delivered a layered and vivid adaptation of the novel. Chief amongst Milic’s achievements is undoubtedly the cinematography of the film, which flits between two clearly defined eras, whilst Filip Sovagovic as HVO soldier Tomo and his grandfather Domobran Martin ties the two eras together with a understated performance that captures the kind of everyman soldier thrust into the horrors of war.
Now, four years on, The Living And The Dead is coming to Western audiences via the medium of DVD. For Milic, this is an undoubted triumph, with the director a keen admirer of classic American cinema and genres as diverse as horror and even the spaghetti western.
But Milic, who started out as a key grip and stage hand in Croatia has always strived to create "something that looks good and sounds good.” Now, four years on from the release of The Living And The Dead, and with everyone a little older and a little wiser, we sat down with the Croatian director to discuss the film…
How was the film received in Bosnia when it was first released?
The local press received it very well; however the audience was pretty divided about it.
Have your feelings about the film changed since its release?
It is very hard for me to be objective. I've heard some extremely bad and good reactions, and it sure doesn't help me to clear my own feelings about it.
The film covers two different eras of conflict in Bosnia. How much research was involved in creating an authentic setting for both conflicts?
As we lived through those rough times, we knew enough about the events from the recent conflicts.
As for the WW2, we grew up hearing the stories of our grandfathers. It was easy to recreate 1993, but we had much more fun with 1943, even when we couldn't be 100% accurate.
As for the guns and uniforms, we managed as much as our limited budget allowed us, and we had to make some compromises.
An important way of contrasting the two different eras appears to have been through the cinematography. How was this achieved?
We used a lot of different ‘tools’ to achieve that. We wanted the old times to look like a western, while the new era was supposed to resemble the Vietnam-war films. Classic film equipment was used for the 1943 part (dollies, cranes); while the 1990s pseudo-documentary style required a hand-held camera and steadicam. Also, 1943 was shot in winter and early spring, while 1993 was shot in late spring and summer. However, the most obvious and effective tool was colour grading.
Where did the idea of Vialli's character come from?
You would have to ask Josip Mlakić (the writer) about that. I just know that he was written after a real soldier who was nicknamed after football player Gianluca Vialli.
I think that Velibor Topic did a great job with that character.
How did you help Filip Sovagovic prepare for the dual roles in the film?
He's extremely talented actor. I did very little, if anything, to help him.
The photography of the film really stands out. How much did the natural setting play a part in this?
It plays a big part. I always liked the contrast between beautiful picture and ugly events on the big screen.
There's a standout moment when one of the rebels realises that the man they killed, Redzo, was someone he had played with in a social club. How important did you feel it was to highlight the sudden divides that the conflict in Bosnia created?
We shot this film in the town with two names: one for Muslims and one for Croats (Gornji Vakuf - Uskoplje). It is literally divided in half by one tiny street. And even now, after almost twenty years, they still don't cross that line if it's not absolutely necessary. Josip Mlakić (the author of the novel and the screenplay) lives in that town.
The film does a good job of capturing Bosnia: the combination of a untouched wilderness marred by death comes across particularly in the graveyard setting. How did you set about deciding on the look?
We generally tried to picture Bosnia as a beautiful place soaked with blood. It was important to have one symbolic place where everybody ended no matter what nation or religion they belong to. This particular graveyard is mixture of Catholic, Orthodox and Muslim insignia. There's no such graveyard in reality.
How important do you think the supernatural elements of the film are?
I prefer the realistic approach, so I tried to keep those elements on the symbolic or subconscious level. But I think that everyone should choose his or her own interpretation.
There seemed to be a real sense of camaraderie and also weariness amongst the men. How did you prepare the actors for filming?
We didn't have much of a preparation. It was guerrilla style from the very beginning. But those guys are really good actors and most of them are friends in real life, so it wasn't hard for them to act as a real buddies. And they were tired and cold for real.
How long did it take to shoot the film? Did you encounter any issues in filming in the naturalistic setting?
We shot it for six weeks, in three different campaigns, over the period of a year-and-a-half. We began shooting in December 2004, and wrapped it up in June 2006. We were shooting very high in the mountains, so some days we had snow and sun changing in a matter of hours. We had to shot more day scenes in winter and more night scenes in summer, so it wasn't a walk in a park but I think it was a worthwhile.
What future projects do you have in the pipeline?
I have a few different projects, but they're all still in a process of finding finances. Meanwhile, I work for television, and make short films for fun. I hope that I'll be shooting my next feature film by the end of this year. JB
If promoting your first feature as a director is a stressful task then Diego Luna does not show it. The laid-back, confident star of Y Tu Mama Tambien and Milk is in Edinburgh to attend a screening of Abel, his first fictional film as a director, having made documentary J.C Chavez in 2007. Of course, promotional touring of this kind is nothing new to him, but approaching it as a director is a different ball game. “It’s a lot more personal, I mean it’s your baby you know? There’s no-one to blame but you so it does feel different,” he says. Different it may be, but Diego Luna is clearly relishing the responsibility: “There’s also a lot of joy in promoting this film because I love the film, I feel proud of what we did and it’s easier in many ways than with many other projects I’ve promoted because it’s part of your contract, it’s what I would like to do the most you know? I want everyone to watch the film.”
Abel tells the story of a young boy with serious problems. After two years in an institution he returns home and starts to believe that he is the man of the house, as his father has also been gone for a long-time. Not wanting to cause a regression in his state of mind, his mother encourages Abel’s sister, Selene, and brother, Paúl, to play along with the fantasy, and a strange new family dynamic is created. Blurring the boundary between childhood and adulthood is something which obviously comes quite naturally to Luna, particularly since becoming a father himself. “On holiday me and my wife were playing with my kid and many people thought it was brothers and sisters playing together, you’re like, ‘Who’s the grown up here?’”
While there may be a childishness to Diego Luna both in his youthful good looks and his fun loving attitude, there is also more of him in the character of Abel than there would initially seem. Following the death of his mother when he was just 2 years old, Luna was raised by his father, an acclaimed theatre and movie set designer. This meant that Luna was raised in a world predominantly occupied by adults, so while Abel is far from being autobiographical he does admit: “I’m a little bit like Abel. I decided that I was an adult before I was, so in a way there is a lack of a childhood there, but at the same time there’s always gonna be an immature part of me that didn’t go through the processes you should. That’s why I do film - film is a world that lives in a fantasy, and that’s definitely a very childish thing.”
Fantasy plays a huge part in Abel, but what is equally striking about the film is the degree of realism with which such a bizarre subject matter is put forward, both in terms of the performances of the cast and in the way that Luna has shot the film. Striking this balance between the fantastical elements and the real human emotion which drives the film is something that Luna was acutely aware of when making it. “I do feel that when you’re watching a film, and you don’t think that what you’re watching is possible, there’s a part of you that gets so far away from the characters that you cannot get affected anymore,” he says. “And I like film when it affects you, when it touches you, when it hits you sentimentally.”
Like his title character, Diego Luna displays a maturity as a director that is beyond his years, particularly when asked about a subject that affects many directors who begin their careers as actors; writing himself into a film. While he opted not to do so for Abel, Luna does not rule out the possibility altogether. “Probably a small part, yeah why not?” he begins. “But being the lead of your own film? No way! A lead needs a director and a director needs a lead. It can’t be the same person; you need someone else’s eyes to watch you.”
Luna clearly has a keen sense of what it means to be a director, but looking back over his acting career this is hardly surprising. Working in both Mexico and the United States, Luna has acted under the likes of Alfonso Cuarón, Gus Van Sant and Stephen Spielberg, and says that each of them has had an influence on him as a director. “Every time I worked as an actor, something happened to me that marked me, and because I never went to school, every director I’ve worked with has become my teacher, mentor, whatever you want to call it.” He goes on to add: “I’m influenced by many of them, not just in my directing but in life, in the way I see cinema, and many others are an influence on what not to do!”
A glittering career as an actor and a promising debut as a director may seem like a lot for a man who only recently turned 31, but clearly this is not enough for Diego Luna - he also runs his own film company. Canana Films was started in 2006 by Luna, Gael García Bernal and their friend, producer Pablo Cruz. What made two young and up and coming actors decide to go down the route of starting their own production company? “Gael and I started this, we said, ‘OK we’re getting so much attention, let’s shift this to the actors who should be should be shooting films in Mexico,’” he reveals. “You get a lot of attention as an actor, a lot of the time for the wrong reasons, so it’s nice to shift that attention to things you think deserve the attention. When you grab a microphone, it’s in your hands what to say.”
Both Luna and Bernal then clearly have no problem with using their success as actors to promote their company, and Luna does not underestimate the importance of having a recognisable name in the crowded Mexican film industry.“In the country I live in there’s a lot of freedom, a lot of free space, the problem is it’s a lot of freedom just for a few,” he says. “That’s the reality in the country, but we are those few, so either we do something or we are wasting our time. We started our company six years ago and today we’ve done more than ten films, we have a film festival, we’ve done a TV series, we own our projects, and it’s such a nice feeling.”
Luna clearly feels a great deal of pride when discussing Canana Films, and as the rapport between himself and Pablo Cruz demonstrates, it is a very close community, which is exactly what Luna had always wanted to create. “As an actor you spend a lot of time jumping into families that already exist,” he begins, “by jumping from one to the other you feel the lack of your own family, that’s why we started building Canana. It’s just a feeling that you always have somewhere to go back that you belong to, that is yours.”
With Canana being a company so close to his own heart, is there a possibility that Luna would ever direct a film in Hollywood if the chance presented itself? “Yeah, why not?” he responds. “As a director, definitely. Having a family doesn’t mean you cannot go and have other friends around the world. I definitely see myself working in many places.”
For now Diego Luna will continue to promote Abel around the world, and seek to gain the kind of exposure that his film and his company richly deserve. But what does the future hold for him? A Spanish-language comedy with Will Ferrell is on its way later this year as are several more films from Canana. So, will we be seeing more of Diego Luna the actor, or the director in the years to come? His response is typically charming: “You’re not going to get rid of the actor, but you’ll see more of me as a director.” PK
Interview courtesy of Artificial Eye.
Mathieu Amalric began in working in movies as a props person before moving his way through the ranks as an assistant editor then first assistant with directors like Louis Malle, Romain Goupil, Alain Tanner, Joao Monteiro, before going on to act in films such as Arnaud Desplechin’s Rois Et Reine (which garnered him a Cesar and Lumiere award for Best Actor in 2005), as well as taking the director’s reigns himself, producing a number of shorts and acclaimed feature length movies including La Chose Publique.
Mathieu shows his talents both in front and behind the camera in the Cannes-recognised On Tour, which hits UK cinemas this week…
Where did the inspiration for On Tour come from?
To tell the truth, from Laetitia Gonzalez and yaël Fogiel, the producers, who, when the mixing of La Chose Publique wasn’t even finished (way back in 2002!), said to me: “Now then, what’s next?” So, totally empty but very touched by their interest, I left for several days with Marcelo Novais-Teles, a friend who I often like to kick ideas around with. And it was a text by Colette, The Other Side of Music-Hall, that I’d been carrying round with me for a long time, which came back to the surface. It consists of notes made during a tour, written for a newspaper, which published them as a serial, sublime sketches of her life as an actress, a somewhat scandalous pantomime (Colette was then aged between 33 and 39), lost in the provinces: “We run towards the hotel, to the stifling dressing room, and the blinding footlights. We run, impatient, chattering, clucking like poultry, towards the illusion of living fast, of being warm, of working, of barely thinking, of carrying within us neither regret, nor remorse, nor memories...”
We searched for contemporary equivalents; in striptease, in night-life, elsewhere, but nothing came - we couldn’t find this attraction for movement; Colette’s taste for provocation bursting with health, like a declaration of freedom by the body. Everything brought us back to stories of necessity - to prisoners.
Is that when you thought of the New burlesque girls?
In fact, it was thanks to an article in Libération which delivered a contagious account of their appearance one night at the Zèbre, a Parisian cabaret. Across a double-page, there were already photos of Dirty Martini, the most Fellini-esque, and Kitten On The Keys, the one who plays piano. And suddenly, we had the sensation that Colette was there, in this playful and torrid sensuality, this intimate and political affirmation of the potential beauty of everybody, regardless of age and however non-conformist they may be. The dangerous pleasure of performing; the timidity, the physical bravery, and the tantalizing fragility.
That was the start. But at this stage, based solely on scraps of paper and some photos, as if to allow the imagination to blossom. I mean, I didn’t want to meet them straight away in the flesh. I wanted to have a story first. And it was just then that the French independent producer Humbert Balsan committed suicide. This hit me hard with the realization of the possible end of our mortal selves. What do you do when a force of resistance like him disappears?
Those are two apparently unrelated events…
Of course, but it’s often the clash of two elements which gives rise to a story. Tenuous at first, but which obsesses you and feeds almost off itself, then on everything. Marcelo and I had always explored another avenue: my fascination for producers, their folly and their bravery. Where do they find the strength to continue?
And we made the link. The story of a man struggling against his melancholy. A former TV producer who makes a momentary comeback thanks to these girls who he wants to proudly display in his country, like boastful proof of his resurrection, of his return. Who wants to remain, in his unpleasant manner, a prince, whatever it costs him. But without a kingdom, and above all without power – apart, that is, from the pointless power of his liberty. A man with no home, who no longer knows if holding on means knowing when to leave the stage (which he’s done), or knowing when to stay in the spotlight (which his friends have done).
So where did you see a show for the first time?
In Nantes, at the Banana Hangar, thanks to Kitty Hartl, dance programmer at the Lieu Unique theatre who, in a certain way, is the model for Joachim. I met the girls with Philippe Di Folco, who came on board to finish co-writing the screenplay; he’s a writer and a man curious about everything - passionately erudite. Three intense days and nights to superimpose, with smiles on our faces, our intuitions onto the reality. After that, I went to see some festivals with 150 acts in three days, in San Francisco, New York, Naples, and so on. And I put together my own troupe, step by step over at least two years.
New burlesque gained wider acceptance through the media-savvy Dita Von Teese...
The actresses in On Tour are those who made possible the revival New burlesque. In the beginning, it was a lesbian movement, which started in 1995 with a group called the Velvet Hammer. These girls have politics in their bodies, a resistance to formatted physiques which requires no words. Nowadays, New burlesque has been somewhat appropriated into the canon
of Las Vegas with its more conformist bodies.
Mange Ta Soupe was a film about your family, Le Stade de Wimbledon showed the woman you loved. For the first time, you direct yourself in On Tour. Is this a step into self-portrait?
Goodness me, I don’t know - I haven’t really thought about it. I didn’t want to appear in On Tour. Everyone except me seemed to know I was going to end up doing it! It became a joke which didn’t make me laugh, because I was genuinely looking for someone. And then, yes, three weeks before the shoot, despite my misgivings, and protesting, it ended up being me.
Did the fact that you were acting in the film help you approach the directing differently?
Yes, it was quite practical, I must admit, and created an amusing complicity. I could orient the movement, generate surprises, and receive them. Within the frame, you realise when it’s the moment to make the drama come to the fore. During the scene on the train, for example, at the start of the film, I said to myself: “OK, you like Ophüls, and like in Le Plaisir, you’d like to see all these women sleepy and lascivious in a compartment. But that doesn’t make a scene!” So I picked up my phone and I started shouting. An actor senses if there’s something to get your teeth into, if there’s a scene to be acted out. And immediately, the girls and the gorgeous Roky were all playing along.
And then Christophe Beaucarne, the director of photography, and I were concerned with just one thing: striving so that the spectator goes with the characters, and doesn’t care who’s making the film. It was like an obsession which translated into some very specific questions about the directing: the right distance, discretion, warmth, fluidity of movement, and also live sound.
The issue of documentary and drama comes up repeatedly in On Tour...
All the time. The question came up from the writing stage, then during the preparation for production – which, incidentally, I find increasingly difficult to dissociate from directing. Deciding where you spend the money is already part of the directing process; that’s where the film is really defined, in fact. So you might as well get the project set-up right.
Then we had the intuition that to preserve the spontaneous energy that is vital for shows, we should set up a real tour. We thought the camera alone would not be enough for the girls, that they needed a packed hall. And we would sleep in the hotels where we’d film. From Le Havre to Rochefort, passing through Nantes, we put on a free show for anyone who signed a release form. We could never have afforded all those extras! We only had two-and-a-half hours to shoot each sequence, even those including the dialogues, but that created urgency, a precision which paradoxically bolstered the drama. Because the numbers were always watched, experienced by one of the characters, and the directing was built around that.
There were, of course, some extraordinary moments, so many that the first edit lasted 3 hours 15 mins. What followed, with editor Annette Dutertre, was a struggle between drama and documentary. And unsurprisingly – though with, at times, some terrible regrets – the drama, the characters became the central force.
The film shows places that we usually experience in passing, like hotel chains. Why did you want to film in these ‘neutral’ spaces in provincial France?
Colette spoke a lot about these places where you don’t see anything. That’s what you feel on tour: you’re somewhere, without really being there. And I found there was an amusing misunderstanding: Joachim is fantasizing about America, while the girls are fantasizing about France and Paris. But on tour they see almost nothing of it, or just that side of it.
There’s an unsettling scene at a highway gas station between Joachim and the woman at the cash desk…
It echoes Les passantes by Georges Brassens: just an exchange of glances, she who you could have loved... I like the idea of tours and circuses that go from town to town, the encounter between the residents and those who are just passing through. Very secret, unexpressed sentiments float around at toll booths and highways. And then there’s the incredible actress, Aurélia Petit. And all those uniforms, too: cashiers, air hostesses, hotel staff, social obligations, obligatory obedience...
However strange and empty they seem, the hotels in On Tour become the locus of gaiety and abandon. The film is really a comedy!
Comedy? That depends on the moment. Joachim is so up-tight. But sure, the New burlesque girls have a knack of transforming any place into a party. They never wallow in moaning. I love ham actors, people who like to make a table of people laugh, who go too far, but who we still need to have around. I’m always afraid they’ll sink into despair. With the girls in the troupe, it’s the same. There was no need for them to recount their past; their faces and bodies tell their own story. And yet, they can really transform a dull chain hotel into a place of desire.
Joachim feels that he is “surrounded by witches,” but who is he really?
Aha! We come back to the impenetrable mystery of the figure of the producer who, as the producer Jean-Pierre Rassam used to say, has the duty of shouldering irresponsibility, whatever the cost. And a producer is also an actor if he wants to survive, to charm, to terrify, to dream. Suddenly I’m thinking of Corneille’s Matamore: “When I want I terrify, and when I want I charm.” The cigar, the glitz, the schmaltzy costumes, they are all just decoys, tools of the trade, traps. Here, as a tribute to veteran producer Paulo Branco, I wore a moustache. What’s more, after making love, Mimi seems to think it’s a dressing-up costume. At that moment, Joachim is just a man who’s sleeping at last.
Is there an instruction manual for filming women between themselves?
I don’t really believe in male filmmakers who supposedly know what’s going on inside women’s heads. Rather, let’s just embrace the fact that cinema allows us to waken the adolescent boy in us who fantasizes about girls’ bedrooms.
A moment during the shoot comes back to me: on the balcony when Mimi is telling Dirty about her adventure in the bathroom. We shot several takes, they strolled about, Mimi’s character remaining a little shamefaced and taciturn, but warming up in contact with her friend; that was the planned scene. Fine. We’re about to change shot when an impulse comes to me: “Oh, Mimi, why don’t you tell Dirty what just happened?” Mimi recounts, in her own words, then Dirty reacts, acting (because, once again, as show girls, they’re always ‘dramatizing’). And there I am, behind the camera, headphones on, and thanks to their generosity and their playfulness, I entered the girls’ bedroom!
The mere fact of filming these women becomes an event. They have such charisma!
I admit that the narrative stunt of bringing these American girls to France saved me from a certain ordinariness, that’s for sure. Everything suddenly became interesting, fresh. We shared mutual fantasies, we exchanged our territories.
When you use the word territory, we come back again to this vision of a man amongst women...
Philippe and I would say: first of all, the power of the group. Joachim initially doesn’t look at them individually, then we move in on one. Chance or destiny, whichever you like, conspire for them to come together and something happens. Which in fact brings him back, soothed, within the group. It is the women together who ‘adopt’ him at the end. AE
Interview courtesy of Icon.
Christmas themed horror is going through a major resurgence these days, and the man leading the charge is Finland’s Jalmari Helander. Long before the arrival of Treevenge, Helander - a commercial and music video director - had directed a pair of short films about the ‘real’ Santa Clauses living in the far north and the men who traffic illegally in them.
Titled Rare Exports, the films were huge online hits. So when the time came for Helander to step into the feature world...well, you can guess what he’s doing. The feature version of Rare Exports promises to have an ‘80s style, kid friendly, horror-fantasy vibe. Like The Monster Squad only with more snow - and with Santa being the monster. Helander was good enough to answer a few of our questions about the project…
Rare Exports is something that has been with you for a long time. Can you describe the origins of the project, and what has made it so appealing to you for so long?
In 2003, I was working in a commercial production company, and they wanted to make some kind of Christmas related film as a present to their clients. I started to create an idea. I called my brother Juuso, and few days later he had an interesting idea. Guys who hunted down Santa. We started to build the script from that, and I presented the script to my producers. They liked it. But there was something like 3,000 Euros to make that happen...
After a few favours and millions of phone calls, we were able to start the production. We had two days to shoot - we shot in one-and-a-half. We gave the DVDs to the clients and we also released it in the web. Two weeks later, we realised that it had become a hit. But the idea of Santa had been in my head many years before that. I felt that people needed to know what the original Santa is like.
How difficult did you find the process of adapting the short films into a feature? What kind of challenges were there?
Just to adapt the short film idea and to make it a feature could have been a serious mistake. I realised that I finally have the time to tell the whole concept of the ‘real’ Christmas that I have been thinking about a lot. And, of course, I wanted to keep the same characters and have the same feel as the short films.
I know some Nordic countries (Iceland for sure) have VERY different legends about Santa. Is that true for Finland? Did you grow up hearing about a scary Santa, or is this something you discovered later?
I have to confess that the legend of Santa in the feature is a little bit scarier than the stories I heard as a child. But the reason for all this is the original Finnish Santa. He was not a nice, fat and jolly Coca Cola Santa but a scary creature who came on Christmas Eve and demanded presents for himself. That was the original story. And it made me wonder why this story has been turned into something totally different. It's weird. There has to be some kind of conspiracy behind this... Something bad happened, and they are trying to make us all forget what the real Santa is about.
Kids fantasy is a genre I love and have been sad to watch slip away, but this really seems to capture that late 1980s spirit. What were the key films you looked at when trying to find the right tone for this?
It’s hard to say exactly. There's a bit of a mix of E.T., Signs, Fargo and Pan's Labyrinth, but nothing like those films at all.
What would you say the balance is between horror, fantasy and comedy in the film? What audience did you make it for?
The answer of the mix is in my previous answer. It’s not a horror film, that's for sure, but it's not for little children either. I hope it is funny but in a dark kind of way. And it's really hard to say who is the audience. I think for people like me.
When I go to movies I like to see something nice and exiting. Something that I can't see in my everyday life. I want to be entertained.
The film is so different from anything else to have ever come out of the region… Did you have trouble pitching the concept to investors and the industry?
Actually, no. I had some starting problems with the script, but when the idea was ready, I was lucky to see that everything went quite smoothly. The short films helped, and they seem to like the script. IC
Interview courtesy of New Wave Films.
Apichatpong Weerasethakul was born in Bangkok (1970) and grew up in Khon Kaen, north‐eastern Thailand. He graduated from Khon Kaen University and holds a Bachelor’s degree in Architecture, then a Master of Fine Arts in Filmmaking from The Art Institute of Chicago.
Apichatpong started making films and video shorts in 1994, and completed his first feature in 2000. Often non‐linear, his works link with memory, invoked in subtle ways personal politics and social issues. Working independently of the Thai commercial film industry, he devotes himself to promoting experimental and independent filmmaking through his company Kick The Machine Films, founded in 1999. Kick the Machine has produced all his feature films.
In 2008, he embarked on the Primitive Project, a multi‐platform work of which Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall his Past Lives is part. The film won the Palme d’Or in 2010 (not the first time the director has received award recognition).
With the film now on general release in cinemas across the UK (click here for more details), the director shares his thoughts on the project with subtitledonline.com…
What is so special about the north‐east of Thailand to you? And what inspired you to make the film?
A few years ago, when I was living in the north‐east, I came across Uncle Boonmee. An abbot at a monastery near my house told me that there was an old man who had arrived at the temple to help out with the temple’s activities and to learn meditation. One day this man, Boonmee, came to an abbot and told him that while he was deep in meditation, he could see his past lives playing behind his closed eyes like a movie. He saw and felt himself to be a buffalo, a cow, even a body‐less spirit that roamed around the north‐eastern plains.
The abbot was impressed but not surprised, because Boonmee was not the first person to tell him about such experiences. From near and far, he had collected stories from villagers who shared their past lives with him. Later, he published a little book. On its cover one could read: A Man Who Can Recall His Past Lives. Unfortunately, by the time I got a hold of the book, Boonmee had passed away several years earlier.
All your films have incorporated strongly autobiographical elements. That seems to be much less the case with Uncle Boonmee…?
Compared to that original Boonmee book, this film has a lot of me in it. The process of making this film made me realise that I am incapable of being faithful to any original source! Besides altering the past lives, I pushed Boonmee into the background and foregrounded my regular actors, Jenjira and Tong, who act as witnesses to this anonymous guy’s passing. The film is not about Boonmee, but about my take on the idea of reincarnation.
The film naturally developed into an homage to the cinema I grew up with. A cinema that’s also dying or dead. And once again, my father slipped into the film. He succumbed to kidney failure. All those pieces of equipment in Boonmee’s bedroom are a simulation of those in my dad’s.
Once again you have chosen to work with your regular actors and then with two primarily amateur performers (Uncle Boonmee and Huay). How did you cast the film? Are they all from the north‐east?
Only Tong is not. So he’s the only one who’s not speaking north‐eastern dialect. To me, Boonmee is anonymous. So I could not use professional actors who have many public identities.
I think the amateurishness is precious when you are aiming for early cinema’s acting style. So I cast people from all walks of life. We ended up having a roof welder and a singer to play Boonmee and Huay.
Although the title of the film refers to Uncle Boonmee’s past lives, he never explains them or describes what they are…
Originally, the script was more explicit in explaining which were the past lives, which were not. But, in the film, I decided to respect the audience’s imagination.
Of course, after watching it, you can tell that he could be a buffalo or a princess. But for me, he could be every living thing in the film, the bugs, the bees, the soldier, the catfish and so on. He could even be his Monkey Ghost son and his ghost wife. In this way, the film reinforces a special association between cinema and reincarnation. Cinema is man’s way to create alternate universes, other lives.
You have spoken of the film being an homage to a certain kind of cinema - the cinema of your youth. What sort of cinema did you have in mind? Thai cinema?
I was old enough to catch the television shows that used to be shot on 16mm film. They were done in studios with strong, direct lighting. The lines were whispered to the actors, who mechanically repeated them. The monsters were always in the dark, in order to hide the cheaply made costumes. Their eyes were red lights, so that the audience could spot them. I only got the chance to see old horror films later, when I was already making films.
I also think that the Thai comic books influenced me. The plots were not complicated ‐ the ghosts were always part of the landscape. It’s still like that today.
The film has distinctive shifts of tone and style; sometimes it is almost comic and ironic, at other times very serious and moving…
I love my movies to operate like a stream of consciousness, drifting from one remembrance to another. I think it is important to accentuate this drifting when the root of the film is about reincarnation, about wandering spirits.
You have spoken of your interest in the ‘transmigration of souls’. This comes to mind particularly in the closing scenes of the film. Is that what is taking place to Jen and Tong?
The scene (gently) attacks the movie’s time and reference points. I hope that in the end, the audiences are the ones who are transported.
Ghosts and fantastic beings have appeared in your earlier films like Tropical Malady. But in Uncle Boonmee… they have taken centre stage. Could you comment on this?
The film focuses on the beliefs in otherworldly elements that are actually parts of our lives. I am captivated by the fact that as we age, our childhood has become more vivid. I think the curiosity (and perhaps the fear) of ghosts and of other worlds arises when we are young, and when we are dying.
Your recent work seems to have taken on a more political direction. The still photo sequence would seem to highlight this. That sequence is so different from everything else in the film…
I wanted to introduce my memory of making this project into the film as well. The film is part of the Primitive Project in which I tried to capture some memories of the north‐east. I ended up working with the teens in a village that had a violent political history. We built a spaceship and made up scenarios. We also made a short film, A Letter To Uncle Boonmee, in which we scanned the village in order to find a suitable house for the feature.
For me, the experience in this village was always related to Boonmee’s existence. It is a place where memories are repressed. I want to link it with the guy who remembers everything. With that photo scene in the film, Boonmee’s and my memories merge. NW
Interview courtesy of Trinity.
First-time Swedish director-writer Ruben Östlund’s multi award-winning debut Involuntary is an inventive, social comedy of embarrassment akin to the stinging satires of Neil Labute or Todd Solondz.
Delving into the nature of group dynamics, and the power of a group over the individual, Östlund’s perceptive ensemble piece depicts the imperfections and enmities of everyday life, and potential catastrophes which lie behind each character’s moral dilemma with glacial wit…
You came to filmmaking in a rather original way…
That’s true. Before going to film school, before even thinking of it, I was obsessed with downhill skiing. Between 1995 and 1998, I travelled across Europe and the United States going from one ski resort to another. It seems like I spent the second half of the ‘90s in Chamonix. I became interested in cinema because back then I made films about skiing, a mixture of images and music destined for very specific audiences. In the films I make today, I make systematic use of long takes. This originates from my skiing films.
When you film someone skiing there is one rule: the longer you can keep filming without a cut the better the exploit. For as soon as a cut can be seen, the audience could take it as a sign of covering up a fault made by the skier.
Contemporary Swedish cinema is little known, but it seems that something is happening just now. Do you feel that you belong to a cresting wave?
Yes indeed, particularly in my home town of Göteborg. The Film School of Göteborg University was created just ten years ago, and it is currently reaching its peak. It may sound idiotic to say so, but a good school changes many things. All the students live in residence and work together on each other’s projects. We call it the ‘Göteborg bubble’. Right now, that’s where the most interesting things are going on.
What was the genesis of Involuntary?
In my first feature film, The Guitar Mongoloid, I addressed the theme of individual people seeking their place in society. Characters who never took into account what their entourage might think of them. At the same time, I witnessed totally opposite situations, people who would do anything not to lose face in front of other people - The Guitar Mongoloid examined those people who don’t give a damn what others think of them. Involuntary looks at those who attribute too much importance to the opinions of others, and are terrorised by the idea of losing face.
In Sweden, everybody knows the story of Engineer Andrea, who attempted to reach the North Pole by hot-air balloon, an attempt which resulted in the deaths of the whole crew. In his diary, it is evident that he himself didn’t believe in the viability of the project, he was convinced he was going to die. But the event had taken on such huge proportions – it seemed that all of Sweden participated in one way or another – so he couldn’t pull out without losing face. And that led to disaster.
The influence of a group on one individual is extremely and fundamentally powerful. While I was working on The Guitar Mongoloid, we started making a short film called Autobiographical Scene Number 6882, which is set on a bridge and studies group behaviour. Initially, this short film was to have made up one of the parts of Involuntary, but it was selected in so many festivals that it was no longer possible to include it.
In one of key scenes of Involuntary, a schoolgirl must decide which is the longest of two lines drawn on a sheet of paper. Twice the other members of her class say she has chosen wrongly. The third time, against all visual evidence, she opts for the shorter line. This scene could resume all the others…
It is undoubtedly the scene which expresses the general theme of the film in the clearest manner. That’s why it is placed in the middle. Put at the beginning or the end it would have made the film both too simple and too mechanical. It encapsulates the notion that a group can exercise irresistible power over a single individual forced to adapt so as to be integrated. Originally, it was an experiment that my mother, a teacher herself, conducted with her Grade 3 pupils. I must have been 14 or 15 years old when she told us about it on her return home from school. I was shocked at the time that such a thing should be inflicted on children. But obviously when making the film, we did exactly the same: the little girl in the film had not read the script and the experiment was repeated on her.
A small detail: it was written in the script “the third time around she points to the shorter of the two lines.” We shot the scene a number of times with different young girls; six out of ten opted for the shorter of the two lines at the third try.
Is her action really involuntary? For each of the five situations which crisscross throughout the film the title could include a question mark…
Being under the influence of a group can deprive us of free will, but does that also free us of individual responsibility? In each story, the characters have the impression that they have no choice, but that is not the case: they simply don’t take the opportunity given to them. In the best of possible worlds, no-one would let the opportunity of reacting in the best possible way pass by. But things are very different in reality.
I am well aware that it is provoking to say that it is ‘involuntary’, but it is an ongoing repetitive phenomenon. Let’s take the case of the damaged curtains in the toilets of the bus. The driver refuses to continue the journey until the guilty person owns up. There is a very brief moment here when it would be easy to say: “Yes, it was me, I’m sorry,” without any consequences. But when that moment has passed, it becomes increasingly difficult to admit guilt, because that now involves admitting to a lie.
It’s not so much the group that influences the individual, as the individual him/herself, in his/her relationship with the group, who feels obliged to react in one way or another…
It all comes from the image a person has of self within the group. The dynamics of a situation come from the fact of feeling obliged to react in a certain way so as to fit into the image one has of oneself inside the group. Each individual has his/her own share of responsibility in the way they are led by the group.
In each story we find a ‘victim’ of this phenomenon, but the reaction of those who are ‘guilty’ is also a direct consequence…
That’s very true. The story about the gang of pals in their thirties came from something that happened amongst my skiing friends. I am well acquainted with the man who was ‘forced’ into homosexual practices, as well as those who forced him. It was therefore very important for me to use due caution. No question of designating ‘guilt’ but of putting both sides of the question: “How could such a thing take place, and why did the victim let it happen?” A group is an entity which functions as if of its own free will. Inside a group, all the individuals commit ‘involuntary’ acts.
The fragmented structure of your film, with different slices of life presented in mosaical form, brings to mind the work of Michael Haneke, Ulrich Seidl and Roy Anderson...
Their films have greatly influenced me. If, when watching a film, I am too aware of following a narrative, I start to get bored. To maintain audience concentration on the familiar situations from daily life depicted in my film then spectators must be disoriented, not made aware of the narrative - they must not see where I am leading. Disorientation leads the viewer to seek clarity, and thus encourages concentration.
Similarly, the different scenes are filmed from a radical point of view deliberately parcelled up: either too close, or from too far away, making it impossible to understand the whole context of a situation at a single glance...
As a spectator, I like to be active; I like the director to leave some of the work for me to do myself. As a filmmaker that is also what I want to give the audience. It was a keyword during the shoot: keep the viewer busy, Find a visual language that makes the spectator ask all the time “Where am I?” “What’s that?” “What’s going on?” I like a voyeuristic style: you watch something happening in front of you and it’s up to you to interpret the scene using your own moral values. As a director, I like to keep my distance, putting my own values aside – although, of course, they are expressed throughout the whole film – to enable the audience to test their own values themselves. TR
