October 23, 2012
‘La vie au ranch’ - Interview with Sophie Letourneur

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Released in her native France in 2010, La vie au ranch is the first feature-length film by 33-year-old Sophie Letourneur. Following a number of short and medium-length films that have garnered her awards from festivals across Europe, her debut feature continues her preoccupation with the theme of friendship among young women, frequently drawn from her own experiences.

In La vie au ranch, Letourneur turns her camera to a group of college girls living in a cramped apartment in Paris. A seemingly carefree and tight-knit life of parties and next-morning hangovers quickly reveals a deep-seated dissatisfaction in the protagonist Pam who, over the course of the film, grows increasingly detached from the friends she has had since high school, eventually escaping from Paris’ suffocating familiarity for the bohemian utopia of Berlin.

While the subject matter is hardly original, it is its treatment that makes La vie au ranch stand out. Demonstrating subtle tact and a keen sense of observation, Letourneur gradually constructs a compelling portrait of her characters through highly naturalistic dialogues and situations, which perfectly convey the characters’ emotional conflicts without resorting to sensationalism or ponderous sentimentality. Beyond successfully capturing a very defining transitional stage in a young person’s life, this deceptively simple film also addresses broader issues pertaining to the representation of femininity in cinema.

La vie au ranch is screening through Thursday, October 25 as part of BAMcinématek’s current series on the young French cinema group ACID. Although Letourneur was meant to be present for her film’s US premiere, the advanced stage of her pregnancy forced her to cancel her visit to New York. Fortunately, I was able to speak with her on the phone, learning about the extremely protracted and painstaking pre-production process that lent the script its striking authenticity and about the role gender politics play in her filmmaking.

Interview translated from French by author.

At the end of the credits you included the message “with nostalgic recollection of the group that we were.” To what extent is La vie au ranch based on your personal experiences?

The initial drive to tell this story is linked to events that really happened, that is, to my departure from a group of friends. As for the characters, they’re completely based on people from my life. I was living in a flatshare with my best friend, with whom I had a falling out; we all went on holiday, as they do in the film; and there’s even aspects of the film that I took directly from videos and recordings I had made at the time. The entire script was pretty much constructed around my memories, whether recalled or from these documents that I had made. I recorded a lot of things back then. There’s even whole sequences in the film that are reconstructions of dialogues that I had recorded.

So far you have always worked with highly personal material. Is this crucial for you or could you imagine working on stories that completely depart from your personal experience in the future?

Actually, I’ve just finished co-writing a script, which took me three years to complete, and though I feel very close to the material, it isn’t at all inspired by my own experiences. Ultimately, it is always related to me in some way, I can always somehow identify with my characters, but I think that’s the case for a lot of directors. I couldn’t write something that is too detached from my own personality, about a subject completely external to myself.

This is an excerpt of my interview published on BOMB magazine’s blog, BOMBlog. You can read the full interview here.

October 18, 2012
‘Wake in Fright’ - Interview with Ted Kotcheff

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“It’s a friendly place. Nobody worries who you are, where you’re from. If you’re a good bloke, you’re all right. You know what I mean?” These friendly words offered upon arrival in the outback backwater of Bundanyabba serve as an introduction to hell in Ted Kotcheff’s Wake in Fright, an Australian film that despite receiving overwhelmingly positive critical reception when it premiered at the 1971 Cannes film festival has been all but impossible to see for the last forty years. Now, a new restoration by the National Film and Sound Archive of Australia offers an opportunity to see this long-lost gem of Australian cinema.

In true Conradian fashion, the supposedly sophisticated John Grant arrives in town full of contempt for its yokel inhabitants—whose life seems to consist exclusively of binge drinking, gambling and fighting—only to be seduced by their savagery and readily turn into as depraved a beast as the worst of them. With stunning cinematography and truly remarkable performances, the film offers an unsparing portrayal of the Yabba, as the residents affectionately call the town, as well as the darkest recesses of the human soul. Though superficially comparable to the ‘hicksploitation’ wave of the 1970s —from Deliverance to The Hills Have Eyes — it offers a far more nuanced and terrifying study of its protagonists than these films with which it is regularly grouped. In fact, if there is one blessing from its disappearance, it’s that — by being re-released now — it transcends and subverts this established genre that the film actually preceded.

Ted Kotcheff went on to direct other, more immediately successful films, such as the first installment of the Rambo series, First Blood. I met with him on the evening that the restored version of Wake in Fright celebrated its American premiere at New York’s Film Forum. In a genial mood and not without manifest pride, he recounted the film’s incredible four-decade journey from distributors’ pariah to reinstated classic before discussing the themes and style that make his film as trenchant and haunting today as it was at the time of its original release.

I wanted to ask about the history of the film. There are various accounts of why it disappeared for so long. What is your take?

Well, you know, when a film fails at the box office—which it did—the people who distribute who are only interested in profit lose interest. The film didn’t do well in Australia, which is where it was made. I think the Australians perhaps took affront to the way Aussie males were depicted in the film. It did well, because of the Cannes festival, in France, but that’s the only country in the world where it did any business. And then they opened it here, but the distributor, United Artists, didn’t believe in the film at all. They said to me, “Americans aren’t going to come see this film. They’re gonna be repulsed by the kangaroo hunt.” And they opened it in New York, at a small cinema in the East Side, without any publicity whatsoever, on a Sunday night, in a heavy blizzard. Nobody came. They were right. They told me, “See, we told you nobody would come.” (laughter) So everybody just lost interest.

This is an excerpt of my interview published on BOMB magazine’s blog, BOMBlog. You can read the full interview here.

August 31, 2012
Review - Was bleibt

What happens when bourgeois families congregate in arthouse films? Crisis! Such is the case in Was bleibt, except with the customary fireworks replaced by passive aggression and bitter rancour.

All the elements for a good film are there: a convincing script, strong performances – Corinna Harfouch and Lars Eidinger as the mother and elder son are particularly noteworthy – and solid direction and cinematography. And yet, though there’s nothing bad about it, there isn’t anything particularly good either, resulting in a well-executed but bland and ultimately redundant rehash of truisms as old as the bourgeoisie itself.

Was bleibt (E: Home for the Weekend) | Directed by Hans-Christian Schmid (Germany 2012) with Lars Eidinger, Corinna Harfouch, Sebastian Zimmler. Opens September 6.

Originally published in the September 2012 issue of Exberliner

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August 25, 2012
Review - Holy Motors

Considering his frequent dismissal as little more than a talented yet over-sensationalist fanboy fixated on the Nouvelle Vague, Leos Carax’s first feature in 13 years works as an exultant re-affirmation if not redemption of all the schismatic idiosyncrasies that have characterised his style, plus an extra bucketful thrown on top for good measure.

Without a narrative to speak of, Holy Motors follows Carax regular Denis Lavant as he’s driven around in a stretch limo that doubles as a dressing room, setting up a series of loony vignettes that see him transformed into ever-more outrageous characters: from the leader of a parade of bare-chested skinhead accordion players raging through a church, to Monsieur Merde, a flower-munching, erection-wielding goblin worthy of Rabelais, to a latex-clad cyber-pornstar performing a ‘sex’ scene so bizarre, it’ll have psychoanalysts frothing at the mouth.

In structure and intent, it’s strongly reminiscent of Italo Calvino’s lit classic If on a winter’s night a traveller. Just as Calvino celebrated literature by offering the opening chapters of ten different novels that were never written, so too Carax celebrates cinema by giving us a glimpse of ten different films that could have been. Unfortunately, the film also shares the book’s weakness: while most of the episodes are brilliant, those that fail kill its momentum and, lacking anything concrete for the viewer to be invested in, highlight a lack of substance beneath the stylistic flourishes and unbridled intertextuality.

Regardless, in sheer lunatic audacity and ambition, it makes for a laudable and incredibly refreshing spectacle.

Holy Motors | Directed by Leos Carax (France/Germany 2012) with Denis Lavant, Michel Piccoli, Kylie Minogue, Eva Mendes. Opens August 30.

Originally published in the September 2012 issue of Exberliner

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August 5, 2012
Review - We Need To Talk About Kevin

Horror films have often dealt with a mother’s fear of bearing a wicked offspring. Rosemary’s Baby and The Omen took it literally, bestowing the seed of Satan on their heroines. What if, however, there are no demonic forces involved? The child is yours and as much as you tried, you’ve never been able to convince yourself that you truly wanted him. Despite all your best efforts and sacrifice, you watched him grow from a harrowing baby, to an insufferable brat, to a full-blown sociopath, and just before turning 16, he commits an unspeakable act of terror designed specifically, it seems, to bring your whole world to ruins – what if you aren’t blameless after all? 

Brilliantly adapted from Lionel Shriver’s best-selling novel of the same name, We Need To Talk About Kevin features Tilda Swinton as the protagonist Eva, mother of the wicked offspring Kevin. Her performance is phenomenal (even for her incredible standards), perfectly conveying both Eva’s torments raising Kevin and her devastated psychology after the horror. Ezra Miller is also excellent as the sinister and frighteningly intelligent son and his muted yet palpable hostility towards Eva creates a terrifying tension that gradually builds up to a fierce climax.

Complemented by stunning cinematography and a perfect soundtrack by Radiohead’s Johnny Greenwood (also the composer for There Will Be Blood), this film’s instilment of genuine horror into suburban domesticity is a real tour de force.

We Need To Talk About Kevin | Directed by Lynne Ramsay  (UK/USA 2011) with Tilda Swinton, Ezra Miller, John C. Reilly. Opens August 16.

Originally published in the July/August 2012 issue of Exberliner

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July 8, 2012
Review - 360

Describing itself on iMDb as a “vivid, suspenseful and deeply moving tale of love in the 21st century”, 360 by erstwhile Cidade de Deus (City of God) director Fernando Meirelles is a veritably trite affair that despite its arthouse and Altman-esque pretensions is only a step above such star-studded atrocities as Valentine’s Day and New Year’s Eve.

The film depicts the various romantic tribulations of a multi-generational, multi-national ensemble cast as they jet around the world, ‘randomly’ run into one another and have improbably intimate interactions in airport lounges, hotel lobbies and other such cinematically apposite locales. A twenty-something girl (Flor) leaves London for her native Brazil to embrace promiscuity after her boyfriend (Cazarré) cheats on her once too often; a woman nearing middle age (Weisz) ends her affair with aforementioned boyfriend — who else? — while in Vienna her husband (Law) resists picking up a prostitute; an old man (Hopkins) looks back at his adulterous life with regretful wisdom in a monologue delivered at an AA meeting in backwater USA…

360 is painfully formulaic and tries to mask the fact that it has absolutely nothing original, meaningful or even charming to say with a pseudo-complex plot of parallels and interconnections rendered only more artificial and blatant through heavyhanded cinematic techniques such as the overused and highly irritating split screens. Cidade de Deus was a sensational film in so many respects — the scriptwriter Bráulio Mantovani went on to pen the not-so-borderline fascist Tropa de Elite (which, yes, did win the Golden Bear) and Meirelles to make this… what happened?

360 | Directed by Fernando Meirelles (UK/Austria/France/Brazil 2011) with Rachel Weisz, Jude Law, Anthony Hopkins, Ben Foster, Moritz Bleibtreu, Jamel Debbouze, Juliano Cazarré, Maria Flor. Opens August 16.

Shorter version of review originally published in the July/August 2012 issue of Exberliner

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July 3, 2012
Review - Metéora

With its story of an orthodox monk and nun living in monasteries perched atop opposing mountains and lusting for one another, Metéora purports to explore the conflict of spirit vs. flesh. Featuring almost no dialogue and even less action, it’s one of the most insipid renditions of a theme favoured by some of cinema’s greatest directors (Buñuel, Fellini, Bergman, Scorsese, to name only a few).

With such a spectacular setting (the titular, UNESCO-protected monastery in Greece), the cinematography could have been its saving grace. Instead, the entire film is shot slightly out of focus, at first giving the impression that the projection is badly calibrated. No such luck — the effect is intentional and utterly baffling as it grants the film an ugly and persistently irritating TV aesthetic completely bereft of any evocative potential. Although skillfully executed Byzantine-like animation sequences illustrating the protagonists’ spiritual struggle provide interesting interludes, these alone are not enough to offset the film’s oppressive tedium.

Metéora | Directed by Spiros Stathoulopoulos (Greece 2012) with Theo Alexander, Tamila Koulieva-Karantinaki. Opens July 26

Originally published in the July/August 2012 issue of Exberliner

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June 24, 2012
Video Interview - The Family in the Films of Yorgos Lanthimos

Earlier this month I posted my interview with Yorgos Lanthimos, published in Exberliner.

I had also made a recording of the interview for Cine-Fils’ series of thematised video interviews with filmmakers, which was published today. Our theme was ‘Family’ and you can watch the video on the Cine-Fils website.

Unfortunately, this time there is no accompanying essay. However, here are two excerpts from Mark Fisher’s excellent analysis of the role of the family in Dogtooth that elaborate nicely on what Lanthimos himself says in our interview:

“ “It’s very striking to see that, as the century draws to a close,” Alain Badiou writes in The Century (Polity, 2007), “the family has once more become a consensual and practically unassailable value. The young love the family, in which, moreover, they now dwell until later and later. The German Green Party … at one time contemplated calling itself the ‘party of the family’. Even homosexuals … nowadays demand insertion within the framework of the family, inheritance and ‘citizenship’” (66). It is possible, despite all the parental cruelty, to read Dogtooth as a satire on the sociological tendency of the young to “dwell within the family until later and later.” But the significance of the film, particularly in the decade of Fritzl, is to highlight what Badiou calls the “pathogenic” qualities of the family. For Badiou, the consolidation of the family has been part of a massive restoration of power and authority; instead of debating alternatives to the family as revolutionaries did during the radical moments of the twentieth century, the family has once again assumed a totally dominant ideological position, a position that the actual collapse of the nuclear family in western societies and the challenges to heterosexual normativity have done little to upset. “The overwhelming majority of child murders are carried out, not by sleazy unmarried paedophiles,” Badiou reminds us, “but by parents, especially mothers. And the overwhelming majority of sexual abuse is incestuous, in this instance courtesy of fathers or stepfathers. But about this, seal your lips! Murderous mothers and incestuous fathers, who are infinitely more widespread than paedophile killers, are an unsettling intrusion into the idyllic portrait of the family, which depicts the delightful relationship between our citizen parents and their angelic offspring” (76).

[…]

What disturbed some about Natascha Kampusch was her moral conservatism; soon after her release, she spoke of the benefits of being kept hostage—it meant, she said, that she could not smoke or fall into bad company. “I hope your kids have bad influences and develop bad personalities,” the father spits at Christina, just after he has savagely beaten her. If you stay inside, you are protected is the slogan of  social conservatism, and it is as if Lanthimos is demonstrating what the ideal conditions for such conservatism would actually need to be. The outside must be totally pathologized: the children have to become literally xenophobic, terrified of everything that lies beyond the limits of their “protected” enclave. Dogtooth’s study of the pathogenic family is also, then, a study of the psychology of captivity.”

- Fisher, Mark. 2011. ‘Dogtooth: the Family Syndrome’, Film Quarterly, vol. 64, No. 4, pp. 22-27


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June 18, 2012
‘Tomboy’ - Interview with Céline Sciamma

In her 2007 debut Water Lillies, French director Céline Sciamma depicted the blossoming sexual experiences of three girls during early adolescence. With her second feature Tomboy, which again tackles issues of sexuality and gender, she has turned her camera to an even younger protagonist.

The story of 10-year-old Laure pretending to be a boy to the world outside her home was a critical favourite when it premiered at last year’s Berlinale, where it also won the Teddy Awards’ Jury prize, and has since gone on to become an arthouse hit worldwide. I met with her in the event of Tomboy’s German theatrical release and we talked about her experience working with children and of her film’s role in the still nascent gender discourse in France.

Both your films explore adult themes through very young characters. What do you feel are the advantages of this perspective?

I like coming of age stories because they’re really strong, you can really identify with the characters. It’s life but it’s kind of bigger than life, you know, it’s the first time. With Water Lilies, I felt it wasn’t adult themes, it was really… the rise of desire and sexual awareness, which fit with teenagehood. Tomboy is much more subversive in the way that it puts that matter at the moment of childhood. But that’s what excited me about it, the fact that it offers a new perspective on that subject and also allows to tell about childhood in general. Childhood is the time of life where everybody pretends to be somebody else for an afternoon. You invent yourself, you’ve got that freedom of fiction in your life. And I think that’s why people really connected to it. In France it was a huge success, they felt they had their childhood back. I like the balance between those two subjects.

The children’s dialogues in Tomboy all feel strikingly authentic. What was your approach in writing the script?

There’s very little improv in the film, it’s all written. I try to write the dialogues as simple as possible, I didn’t try to mimic the way children talk. I wanted the movie to be from the point of view of a child, I didn’t want to have my adult look on things, so that’s why there’s no psychology at all. She’s not thinking about what she’s doing, she just experiences it. So it’s really written as an action movie – kids are always doing stuff. And that was also a strategy in the screenplay, thinking about the fact that I was going to direct kids.

How was the experience of directing children?

I didn’t want them to be waiting to say their lines, so they were always in action. On set, for instance they’re in the bathtub and I’m giving them toys and they are playing just freely, and I’m already shooting. Not to get improv but to get them to be in that natural feeling at the time I need them to say the line. I was shooting very long takes, I was never cutting, because for them it means that they have failed if you cut. I would always talk to them and make it a non-dramatic event, to be making a film. You have to treat them like actors, have them to know their lines to be focused, to understand their character – I didn’t want to be a puppeteer – but also you have to make it fun, which actually is kind of cool, because you start believing it’s fun, though it’s your job, and it’s hard.

To what extent were the children aware of the film’s larger themes?

Well, they read the script and I talked to them about how I was going to shoot every sequence. It was important for me that they know. I didn’t have big talks with them about what it means. I did talk to my main actress, of course. About the character, and about her, because she was kind of boyish in life, so we shared that.

Were they ever hesitant about playing a scene?

The kids that play in the movie, the gang of kids, they’re actually her real friends in life. They hang out, they play football every day, so it wasn’t far from what they’re living. When they had to shoot the scene where they check if she’s a girl, of course everybody was kind of tense. But they weren’t reluctant at all and I felt that they were actually much more educated on the subject than myself when I was their age. Like, they knew the word transsexual for instance, which I didn’t know at all. “Oh, so she’s a transsexual?” “Well, you know, we can talk about it…” [Laughs] But they knew the word, little kids from the suburbs of Paris. That kind of made me optimistic actually.

At the end of the film, the intrusion of the adults back into the story introduces intolerance, which up to that point didn’t exist in the children’s world.

I didn’t want the adult character to be ‘right’, or to be ‘wise’. You know, when movies are about adults, which is 99% of the time, children can be the cliché of children. In a movie with children, I didn’t want adults to be the cliché of adults: “I know what to do.” So I wanted them to be complex fragile characters with doubts and not to give them the ‘right’ reaction but to give them the reaction that would be kind of true to the subject and give the audience strong emotions. And to me there’s a two-step reaction, the first is cruel. and then they talk. You can see that the mother is actually trying to be protective. And I think it’s true to life, I mean, to protect your own child from violence you can become violent.

And Tomboy’s been taken up in the curricula of French schools. Did you originally envisage this pedagogic potential?

No, I mean, I really wanted kids to be able to see the movie, I was really longing for their opinion actually. When the movie came out in France, parents were taking their children, I was really, really happy with that. And I’ve done screenings with kids and I was amazed at how we really connect. They had kind of the same questions as the adults, but they identify super-strongly, of course. I remember when I was a kid there were a lot of movies with kids, there were all those Spielberg productions, a lot of movies where growing up was an adventure. Now the kids have Pixar movies and stuff, they identify with the parrot in Rio, so it was striking to see them moved by the fact that the story’s about them. In France we’re not very open on gender studies, it’s really beginning, you know. When Tomboy was selected to go to schools, at the same time the parliament refused that the gender question was introduced in the schoolbooks. But it’s strongly political that we got there, so I’m really proud of it, actually.

Shorter version of interview originally published in Exberliner

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June 11, 2012
‘Alpeis’ - Interview with Yorgos Lanthimos

With his second solo feature Kynodontas (Dogtooth) in 2009, then 36-year-old Yorgos Lanthimos took the arthouse by storm, winning the Prix Un Certain Regard at Cannes and earning a highly uncharacteristic Oscar nomination for Best Foreign Language Film. His next film, Alpeis (Alps, out in Germany on June 14), screened to great critical acclaim in the main competition at Venice last year, taking home the prize for best script. With these two films Lanthimos has established himself as one of Europe’s most promising new auteurs and helped turn international attention to the work of a new generation of Greek filmmakers.

In town for a preview of Alpeis in May, Lanthimos spoke with me  about his signature style, the recurrent theme of the family in his work and his perspective on his films being regarded as part of a ‘new wave’ of Greek cinema.

Like your previous films, Alpeis presents often extreme situations and handles them by mixing humour and horror, tragedy and irony. What is it that appeals to you about this dialectical approach?

I think because every situation – depending on who you are and where you stand – you can see it in completely different ways. Someone can see something and laugh to death, and someone can cry to death in the same situation. It really depends on the state of mind, what has happened before… so many different things. I think what we try and do is somehow replicate this throughout the film, that any situation can be ridiculous, and tragic, and funny at the same time. It only takes a small shift in your perception to just laugh at it or feel awkward with it or feel bad about it or whatever. I find this feeling of awkwardness – of not knowing really, of having just laughed but then realizing that maybe you shouldn’t laugh and it’s bad, according to other people, to laugh about this – this realization, I think, makes you very engaged and aware of what you’re watching. I think it’s a precious feeling to feel awkward about how you react to a film.

With the protagonist in this film infiltrating families as a surrogate member and eventually confusing the limits of her role, you again seem to be making a strongly critical, if not subversive, comment on the institution of the family.

Well, it’s definitely a comment, but I don’t know if it’s subversive. I do question even the existence of family and if it’s right the way in which it’s organized. Obviously it’s different for different families and in regions around the world. In Greece, according to my experience – not personal experience, but what I have observed – it’s this institution that keeps children until they’re very old within its structure. Even if they leave home and they’re old, they still have this kind of – sick in some ways – relation and dependence to the family. So, my experience was of that kind – to me it’s a comment of what I’ve experienced.

In your films then, the family is responsible for the stunted socialization of the characters?

Family should somehow prepare you or help you socialize. I think that’s the theme of one or two of my films, that it kind of does the opposite. When it’s done in an extreme way, it somehow prevents you from being independent, from being able to be on your own out in the world. Sometimes I think that maybe at some point the family would stop to exist, and that’s where the beginning of Dogtooth came from. It was like a science fiction idea: what if there were no families anymore? Do we really need them? Why most families fall apart after a while – husband and wife get separated, the single parent has the kid and it causes all kinds of problems – I’m still trying to figure it out.

You seem to portray authority of all kinds as deeply perverse.

I think authority is perverse anyway. It’s not that I portray it this way, that’s what I’ve observed in general. There’s hardly ever a situation which is authoritative and there hasn’t been some kind of abuse. From any party. Or some kind of revolt against it when authority is abused, in different ways. I just somehow take it as granted – it’s not my way of portraying it.

You mention the influence of your Greek experience – do you regard your films as specifically Greek?

In general the themes and the stories are quite universal. Just because they’re Greek films – they’re made in Greece, by Greek people, in the Greek language, and Greek light – somehow, all these elements creep into the film, all of a sudden it becomes a Greek film. At the starting point, they’re issues that exist everywhere. If we made our film in some other place, it wouldn’t be the same in the end. The philosophy and culture and language of the people and the place would come in, so it wouldn’t be the same film, but it would have the same starting point for us.

Your films have been described as part of a ‘new wave’ of young Greek cinema, which includes your producer and fellow director Athina Tsangari and others of your generation. Do you agree?

No, unfortunately I don’t [laughs]. One thing is, press and journalism in general have the need to label this kind of thing. There are so many different reasons for what’s happened in Greece. The main one is that there’s a new generation of filmmakers making films, so the films are different. There was the fact that a couple of the films became very successful when there weren’t any films shown internationally, so the film community started wondering what’s going on in Greece and trying to find other films that are interesting. But the films themselves didn’t really change. There were always bad films and good films, it’s just that now people are looking into Greece, whereas before they weren’t. And this is something that has happened in many countries, not just Greece – before it was Romania, Iran, and Korea. There’s this need of discovering a new ethnic cinema.

What about the catalyzing role ascribed to the Greek economic crisis?

Greece has been in the headlines now for a while, so that’s a nice combination, a nice package, like: “look, the crisis, the creativity…” Which is partly true, but it’s also by chance. Something that people don’t really look into is that before the crisis all these younger filmmakers – myself included – were privileged to go through a period in Greece where there was a lot of money spent in TV commercials. We don’t really have a proper film school in Greece, so we gained a lot of technical experience through that, and we also made money that we could invest in the films. There is no financing in Greece for films, but I was able to put some money into my films, work for a year without having to work another job, which I usually have to. So that also helped this younger generation make films. It’s so complex, it’s not that during crises you become more creative, and it’s not like there’s a community of filmmakers that help each other, it’s just small groups of people and friends that help each other. And because there’s no financing, people are kind of free creatively – there’s no one telling them what they should do or not do for the film to be more commercial or more successful. They’re free to do whatever they want, which is why they’re more distinguished and individual somehow.

Interview originally published in Exberliner

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