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Days of Wonder, Interview with Karin Pennanen

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During her childhood, the director spent much time with her uncle Markku. Markku is a multi-talented composer and an artist. Suddenly, he disappears without explanation. After withdrawing to his self-designed artist house on the outskirts of a small town in Finland, Markku produces an immense amount of art, storing all of it in his house, without anyone knowing. Now, the director finds his hidden world and starts to make a film about his life – to her surprise, together with him. A cinematic journey into the hidden world of a reclusive Finnish artist, bringing his lost genius to light.

Interview by Dimitra Kouzi 

Dimitra Kouzi: When you first opened the door to your uncle’s house after his passing, what was the most surprising or emotionally powerful thing you discovered?

Karin Pennanen: We hadn’t talked about his home at all. We knew he was an artist, but he’d lived there for thirty-four years, and no one had entered. I went in with a mix of curiosity and fear – your imagination runs wild: what might be hidden, what will I find? Among the piles of things were paintings and thousands of newspaper cuttings. I realised this wasn’t rubbish but material for art. He had been making collages for years, cutting out images from the papers he delivered as a night-time newspaper boy. We saved sixteen big boxes of these clippings. But there are nearly a thousand collages. He was incredibly productive. It felt like a huge relief for me when I found out he had been making art all along.

Dimitra Kouzi: Why do you think most people choose to live conventional lives when they have the freedom not to? He clearly lived an unconventional one.

Karin Pennanen: I’ve often wondered that. He’s been a great inspiration to me. My own life is quite conventional – I have a family, I work – though being an artist adds another dimension. I think it comes down to the need for security. We’re herd animals; we follow one another.
He, however, kept his inner child alive. Children think freely and play; adults often lose that connection to what they truly want. He never lost the ability to play. It’s sad that so many people forget it.
Of course, society and capitalism encourage us to conform and consume. People are insecure, and it’s frightening to live differently. But we only have one life – we should listen to ourselves and follow what truly moves us.

Director Days of wonder, Karin Pennanen

Dimitra Kouzi: How do you push yourself out of your own comfort zone, both as a filmmaker and as a person?

Karin Pennanen: I’ve made a habit of it. I started out in scenography, worked in theatre, but wasn’t happy, so in my thirties I went to study film in Norway. Most of my classmates were ten years younger, so that was already a leap. I’ve always felt this inner push. For me, it’s scarier to stay put. I’m a bit of an adventurer – I love surprises, excitement – even though I’m actually quite a fearful person, yet I keep moving towards what scares me.
Just last week I started a new job as a journalist for a popular Finnish talk show. I keep learning new things – though it’s harder now than at twenty! And stepping out of your comfort zone always comes with a dose of embarrassment; you must learn to live with that.

Dimitra Kouzi: Embarrassment often leads to self-censorship. Since you appear in Days of Wonder, you had to direct yourself and others at once. How did you handle that?

Karin Pennanen: I don’t enjoy being in front of the camera anymore. When I was younger, I dreamt of being an actress – not anymore. But in this film, I felt that if I was revealing so much about my uncle, I had to put myself there too. It had to be a dialogue.

Still, it was difficult. I’m a visual director, I like watching the frame, but here I had to trust the cinematographer and simply be. I have highly appreciated cinematographer Pietari Peltola’s earlier work, so he was easy to trust, and he is great in all other ways too, so that helped me. In development phase, we had Ville Tanttu as cinematographer, and I really appreciate him, too. He came with me to the house when I first went there. But it is a schizophrenic situation – you know that good documentary moments happen when the subject forgets themselves, yet as a director, you can’t.
In editing, I forced myself to see “me” as a character. I’d even say to my editor, “That person there,” not “Me.” That distance was essential.

Dimitra Kouzi: Let’s talk about that dialogue. How did it take shape between you and him?

Karin Pennanen: My uncle left an immense archive – over five hundred hours of recorded phone calls and audio diaries. Listening to them felt like he was talking to me from beyond death. It was almost magical.
He’d even recorded reflections on cinema – on what a film should be and how dramaturgy works. In a way, he’d unconsciously been preparing this film himself by documenting his life. I was simply continuing what he started. It took me a year just to listen to the tapes – and then there was all the other stuff. The dialogue in the film exists on many levels, in a wider, cinematic sense – not just words. Sometimes I respond to his recordings directly; sometimes I answer through images, in a visual, emotional, conceptual dialogue. It’s a cinematic conversation between two worlds.

Watch the trailer

Dimitra Kouzi: You worked with so much material – archives, your own poetic images. How did you find coherence?

Karin Pennanen: At some point I embraced collage as the guiding idea – fitting, since it was my uncle’s main artistic method. Bringing fragments together to create something new.
We had Super 8, digital video, VHS, new material, new Super 8 reconstructions. The process was organic and evolved mostly in editing. My editor, Markus Leppälä (Helsinki Effect), brought a lot to the film. He bravely started editing from what we had. From being in dialogue with my uncle in the research and planning phase, it went to dialogue between me and Markus in the editing phase. We talked a lot, tried stuff out, and I felt we were on the same wavelength. Same with sound designer Ville Katajala: sound and music play an important role in the film, and Ville also intuitively understood the quality of my uncle.
The white-canvas scenes, filmed in the studio, were my way of reflecting on the filmmaking process itself. For me, the canvas became a border between life and death – my uncle on one side, me on the other – and cinema the tool that allows a dialogue across that border. I like the idea of the cinema canvas being a place where I could meet my uncle.

Dimitra Kouzi: What would you say is the main narrative or question in the film?

Karin Pennanen: The focus is on my uncle’s life – his choices, his relationships, how he lived. I ask many big questions, and those never have one simple answer. I like to let the audience think for themselves and draw their own conclusions. Another key theme is visibility and invisibility. He had lived almost invisibly, and without this film, his life and work might have vanished. Making it was a way to make him visible again. I could not bear the thought of his world just vanishing.

Dimitra Kouzi: Yet he chose invisibility. How did you approach that ethical dilemma – making someone visible who didn’t want to be?

Karin Pennanen: I thought about it a lot. At first, I asked myself if it was right – what if he wouldn’t have wanted this? But gradually I understood it wouldn’t harm anyone. My motivation was admiration and love.
He even wondered in his recordings what might happen if someone listened to them one day. But I did not find any note or record of him not wanting to be seen, or anything like that. He didn’t seem to need recognition; he was deeply focused on creating and learning.
Some of my relatives see it differently. My brother, who’s also an artist, was almost angry – he believes artists have a duty to share their work. In the art world, making art for yourself is often considered wrong or selfish. But my uncle was dedicated to inner growth.
He had even designed his house with large windows so that big paintings could be taken out – so he must have thought about showing them. But he was shy, introverted, often standing in the shadows. I think he might have also been protecting himself.

Dimitra Kouzi: Why was it threatening for your father to imagine you becoming like him?

Karin Pennanen: My parents are both successful – my father a professor, my mother a well-known textile artist. Even if they said success wasn’t important, their lives show otherwise. They used to say, “What a pity he never showed his art.”
I think especially my father simply didn’t understand him. They were so different; it is incredible that brothers from the same parents can be so different. Both my dad and mom thought he was wasting his talent by not exhibiting his work.
But he wasn’t interested in success. He was fascinated by life itself – by science, philosophy, existence. He was sceptical of psychic phenomena but open. When I was a child, he talked to me about UFOs and reincarnation. His computer was like an encyclopaedia. He was constantly learning and thinking about why we are here, how humans function, what connects us. My mother told me he once said to her that he was never bored, “Life is so interesting!”

Dimitra Kouzi: How has your family reacted?

Karin Pennanen: They haven’t seen the finished film yet. I’m most nervous about my parents because they appear in it, but they’ve been supportive throughout. My father had a complicated, distant relationship with his brother, yet both my parents will come to the Tallinn premiere next week.
It’s brave of them to be part of it, and I’m grateful. Everyone in my family has been positive and helpful. I also interviewed my cousin and brother, but not everyone made the final cut. For all of us, this film touches a shared pain. We wanted to respect his wish for solitude but also wondered what he wanted, whether we should have reached out. The film might be cathartic for the whole family.

Dimitra Kouzi: You mentioned Leonardo da Vinci earlier. What artists or filmmakers inspired you while making Days of Wonder?

Karin Pennanen: Existentialist philosophy influenced me deeply. I also followed the artists and thinkers my uncle admired – he listened to everything from Bach to Mozart, studying their scores to understand how they thought. He was communicating with other dead artists, in a way. His favourite filmmaker was David Lynch – one of my favourites too. Maybe you can sense that influence in the film.
I also researched personal documentaries: Sarah Polley’s Stories We Tell, The Devil and Daniel Johnston, Searching for Sugar Man, Grizzly Man, Finding Vivian Maier. Still, I realised his world was so unique that I had to find my own form for this film.

Dimitra Kouzi: He says in the film that when we look at another person, we also look into ourselves. What did making Days of Wonder reveal to you about yourself?

Karin Pennanen: It revealed how deeply other people shape us without our noticing. Without this film, I might never have understood how much my uncle shaped me as a child – perhaps I wouldn’t even be a filmmaker without him. The process made me aware of how interconnected we are. Making the film was, ultimately, an existential experience. Through it, I processed my own relationship with death. On a practical level, it was also a huge step in my career – my first feature. I still feel it was, in some way, a gift, even though it came out of sorrow.
I was dealing with his long absence and with the question I had carried since childhood: why did he move away? Making the film filled a gap in my own story. And I’ve realised that many families have such a figure – a relative who remains mysterious or distant – so I think the film can resonate beyond my personal experience. Going through his life taught me a lot that never made it into the film. I loved his slightly anarchic attitude; it reminded me how important it is for artists to keep asking themselves, why am I doing this?

Dimitra Kouzi: How long did the film take to complete?

Karin Pennanen: Almost four years. I started immediately – the very day he passed away, at the end of 2021, I went to his house. Since then, I’ve taken part in international workshops and pitching forums, meeting other filmmakers who often spend five to ten years on their features. It’s inspiring – though I still wonder how they manage financially!

Dimitra Kouzi: Funding a personal documentary about someone who isn’t famous must have been challenging. How did you and your producer, Sonja Linder, convince funders to support a story without a conventional dramatic arc?

Karin Pennanen:  From the start I knew it would be hard to convince people. Competition for funding is tough, and personal films are easily questioned by financiers – even though, as a viewer, I often find them the most powerful. We live in a world of formatted content; I believe what stands out is authenticity and a personal voice. My uncle’s uniqueness helped: he wasn’t just anyone – he was an exceptionally intelligent, complex artist, even a member of Mensa. But I also needed a distinctive perspective. The idea of a dialogue across the border of death gave the film its form and its emotional strength. Of course, as a debuting filmmaker for a feature-length documentary, I didn’t know so much about the funding process. I’m sure I would not be here with the film if it wasn’t for producer Sonja Lindén, who is more experienced and networked. Thanks to her, the film is a co-production with Denmark and Norway, which feels great since I have studied film in Norway and value Scandinavian collaboration. And she advised me with workshops, pitching forums; she really has helped me so much with my whole career through making this film happen. We can’t make it alone in this business. I am grateful.

producer Sonja Lindén

Dimitra Kouzi: Since your uncle didn’t care about recognition, I wonder – do you? Who did you make this film for?

Karin Pennanen: Every filmmaker is asked that, and my answer might sound selfish: I believe artists must first make work for themselves. Otherwise, you risk losing authenticity.
Of course, I hope the film speaks to anyone interested in how to live – in existential questions like why we are here and what makes a meaningful life. It’s for people who are curious about others. It’s a contemplative film; it doesn’t hand out answers or information. It follows its own poetic logic. So-called transcendental films have always attracted me, and I hope I’ve managed to capture something of that atmosphere in my own work.

Dimitra Kouzi: It connects beautifully to what we discussed earlier – the courage to live differently. Do you hope the film might inspire people in that way?

Karin Pennanen: That would make me very happy – and I think my uncle would have liked that too.

World Premiere @Doc@PÖFF International Competition Best Film 2025

Credits

Director: Karin Pennanen

Script: Karin Pennanen

Cinematography: Pietari Peltola, Ville Tanttu

Sound: Ville Katajala

Editing: Markus Leppälä

Music: Markku Pennanen

Producer: Sonja Lindén

Financed by: The Finnish Film Foundation, YLE, AVEK, Konstsamfundet, Svenska Kulturfonden, Finnish Cultural Foundation, KMS, DFI, Den Vestdanske Filmpule, Viken Film Center

More about the film HERE

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Why ARNode, and how to define it

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By Mit Mitropoulos, Galaxidi, Delphi Municipality, Greece June 2025 (This text follows my verbal response to Dimitra Kouzi’s request, which she filmed this morning in my Kavos studio, as part of her documentary on ARNode. I am writing this text as if I am addressing her live).

ARNode process is a pleasure to me re-visiting good people or baddies, occasions, discoveries, conflicts, failures, the warmth of teamwork, working on hopeful futures.
It is a context for me to make new connections of old concepts to works in different discipline platforms. Of concepts like Space as a Network, or the worn out Together/Separate, valid for my exchange with the nude girl I am drawing. And/or with communication at a distance, see the F2F series. And/or when I design articulations of space—architecture as such is present, but peripheral. Such connections may be separated in Time, or by Geography itself.
For this purpose I have been compiling 5 Guides. Guide-1 is a project that can serve as model to big scale environmental artworks using communications technology, an AST (Art-Science- Technology) prototype. Guide-2 uses as a spine, the series of EIKASTIKA 3/1983 to 3/1986 publications(a visual arts review in Greece, running on 5.000 each month) I contributed to instead of exhibiting works, and occasionally physically intervening whether with a razor-sharp obsidian piece, or sticking on one specific page the 2-monitors stamp (5.000 of them). Guide-3 uses as spine the series of papers in the Alzheimer’s Thessaloniki conferences (and the as many recorded verbal presentations—in the 9,5 years acting as caretaker for my mother hit by memory degeneration). Guide-4 Vol I uses as spine the long series of my Ekistics publications (editor extraordinary Psomopoulos) over the 49 years I have related to that Doxiadis group. Guide-4 Vol II and Guide-5 focusing on Islands, have been delayed due to my Intestinal Obstruction medical urgency—material for them is ready and waiting for me. The Guides are interdisciplinary, for instance in one Guide-2 visual arts review, we use the Space as a Network Environmental Psychology concept in the hands-on example for a MCA (Museum of Contemporary Arts) in downtown Athens—a presentation to the Pantion conference, organized by SYST, late 1970s. The Guides are re-visiting the Past, towards possible Futures, meaning neither Dystopian terrors nor Utopian wishful thinking.
ARNode process is pursuing work as if I am of age 30, and operating on longterm planning. It is for staying useful after I am gone, for instance see Notations for Complex Urban Systems. Or doing proposals that can be carried out in the future, upgraded versions of them (like D-Line ,or Sundown)—I also enjoy looking back, for instance on the 14th c. and asking what Galaxidi was really like, or, what aesthetics did people go by at the time. Or being modest and going back just for 60 years, back to 1966, having just passed the Academie entrance exams (cramming the official 2 years preparing for them, into 2 months flat—no kidding) and off to NYNY acting as translator on the Groote Beer liner, then back to Galaxidi till the end of summer, then return to Brussels for the Aca Royale 1966-7 academic year. This ARNode process stands also as a Delaying Mechanism, to delay (if not to avoid altogether) a possible memory degeneration: I am working on my Cognitive Reserves— that saved my mother, as she had plenty of them (see Guide-3).
Besides Questions you may have to ask me, whilst re-visiting, a few items get highlighted, prioritise themselves, stand out, like with Complexities, Preference to paper v. off the screen, Choices made over time, and Joys of a daily researcher’s schedule. Complexity keeps coming up, what with our capacity to adapt(to unavoidable changes), the incoming messages over distance, the growing number of choices over a longer life, and with over half of the planet’s pptn gone urban in the last decade—the latter bringing up the need of Notations I used for my 1971 Academie finals (they refused me to do my presentatioin,only to adopt a partial version 20 years later, named ‘Architecture Urbaine’). I do keep reading the Weekend FT and Kathimerini newspapers + keeping notes on the margins. Furthermore, I have observed how those running on an off the screen lifestyle leads to ‘Response People’,participating either as Opposers creating a ,lively debate fit for coffee houses,or as Followers contributing additional material they retrieve from tapping their tablet. Having to make a choice, it appears I run on two criteria: I don t want to become rich, and I don t care if I am not popular. Finally, I get intoxicated locating common denominators in disciplines I grew up with as separate by decisions useful, yet arbitrary: see AST, starting with the Art v. Science divide (and the joy of setting up and running the Edinburgh U course BAS (Basic Architectural Space). Same with sticking to (or re-discovering) ways I had worked out as a green student, like sleep on a problem (and letting the brain tackle it) rather than stay awake working for a solution. Same with ‘learning from the environment’ what with relevant events happening (and getting instant updates), and checking on irrelevant Found printed matter, when by reading a report/opinion, my brain somehow triggered and deals with subject matter relevant to me.
Same with checking I may be wrong in assuming work on the SN Notations was wasting my time (see the CAD that took over keeping the design process the same, only faster). But it was such fun doing it (and got me a Ph.D in the process), and I stayed in good company as it so happened: Phil Thiel, Don Appleyard, Kev Lynch, Brian Goodey, CA Trevarthen, and more good people.

Question: Am I wrong in assuming that the Pantion University conference paper MCA As A Network, introduced the Networks concept in the broader cultural (scientific and visuals arts) milieu in Greece? No credits received, but it is only natural in our No Credits Culture country: at the time I was teaching with the Thessaloniki Aristotelian U, where the assistant prof responded to my request to add a Bibliography to his paper, was “Knowledge does not belong to those creating it but to the people”— AVGI newspaper of the Left (of quality at that time) would not print Bibliographies (a rule overturned with my early 1980s full page presentation of using comms/info technologies to create networks made up of Aegean Sea islands as nodes).

Note: I will limit myself to one of your Qs “What is a Network to you?” Answer: A Network is made up of variable number of Nodes, each Node acting at same time both as Center and Periphery

Thank you Dimitra for having me.

(the links in the text are edited by Dimitra Kouzi) more about Mit Mitropoulos here

The following is Dimitra Kouzi’s text in preparation for filming us both (Mit and herself) (on June 4, 2025), in an exchange toward’s defining ARNode


ARNode is one Research Center-Node within ever-changing Networks. It addresses artists, scientists and researchers who may wish to pursue Mit’s interdisciplinary work(on on-going concepts, or on packaged tools ready for eventual use), all on the AST (Art-Science-Technology) platform. At the core of his lifework stands Communications, both with and without technology, and the initial concept of Space as a Network (rather than as Place). ARNode is physically located in Galaxidi (Delphi Municipality), Greece, a place for reflection into possible futures. At this moment in the ARNode process, he is considering- exploring possible legal structures, whilst organising his archive, and reviewing-updating-prioritising his body of work: he is creating new material.

Το ARNode είναι ένα Ερευνητικό Κεντρο-Κόμβος μέσα σε συνεχώς διαμορφούμενα Δίκτυα. Αφορά καλλιτέχνες , επιστήμονες και ερευνητές που θα θελήσουν να δώσουν συνέχειες στην διεπιστημονική δουλειά του Μιτ Μητρόπουλου (έννοιες διαχρονικές , ή συγκεκριμένα εργαλεία έτοιμα για μελλοντικές χρήσεις), πάνω στην πλατφορμα AST (Τέχνη- Επιστήμη-Τεχνολογία). Στο επίκεντρο της εργασίας του είναι οι Επικοινωνίες με ή χωρίς τεχνολογία, και η αρχική έννοια Χώρος σαν Δίκτυο (αντί σαν Τόπος). Η φυσική παρουσία του ARNode είναι το Γαλαξείδι (Δήμος Δελφών), ένας χώρος διαλογισμού για εφικτές μελλοντικές χρονικές περιόδους. Στην σημερινή περίοδο διαδικασιας ARNode, ο Μιτ εξετάζει την νομική-ιδρυματοποιημένη μορφή, ενώ οργανώνει το αρχείο του, επισκέπτεται-επικαιροποιεί-προτεραιοποιεί την δουλειά μιας ζωής: δημιουργεί νέο υλικό.

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Child of Dust – 50 Years Since the End of the Vietnam War

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Sang, the protagonist of Weronika Mliczewska’s Child of Dust, is one of countless children left behind by American soldiers after  the Vietnam War. Stigmatized and abandoned, he spends a lifetime  longing for the father he never had. When he unexpectedly locates his  gravely ill father in the United States, he is determined to meet him,  even at a heavy cost—leaving his wife, daughter, and grandson behind. 

The Vietnam War (1955–1975) left lasting  scars on millions, particularly the estimated  300,000 Amerasian children, like Sang, born to  American servicemen and Vietnamese  women. Dubbed “children of dust,” they  were often abandoned, stigmatized, and  marginalized due to their mixed heritage.  In Vietnam, where paternal lineage defines  social standing, growing up without a  father rendered these children nearly  invisible. A Vietnamese saying captures  this sentiment: “A child without a father is  like a house without a roof.” 

Screenshot

After the war, many Amerasians faced  extreme discrimination, seen as reminders  of the enemy. They were denied education  and economic opportunities, and their  mothers—often ostracized for their  relationships with U.S. soldiers—sometimes  destroyed any evidence of their children’s  American heritage, making it even harder  for them to trace their roots. 

In the 1980s, the U.S. passed the Amerasian  Homecoming Act, offering Amerasians  and their families the chance to immigrate.  However, the transition was fraught with  challenges. Many arrived in the U.S. only  to encounter racism, cultural barriers,  and economic hardship. While the law  acknowledged their American lineage,  it did not ensure their integration into  society. Sang, like many before him, arrives  in a country that recognizes him on paper  but leaves him to navigate an unfamiliar  world alone—illiterate, disconnected, and  without the support system he once had  in Vietnam. 

His experience reflects the broader  struggles of immigrants and refugees  today—whether it’s undocumented  individuals seeking asylum, DREAMers  fighting to stay in the only home they’ve  ever known, or families separated by  shifting policies. America has long been  seen as a land of opportunity, but for  those who don’t fit an idealized image of  belonging, that promise often remains out  of reach. 

For over 50 years, Vietnam and its people were denied a human face in  American war narratives, allowing propaganda to justify past violence.  Child of Dust challenges this erasure, asking how nations reckon with  the long-term consequences of war. It serves as a stark reminder that  unchecked nationalism and unexamined history leave the door open for  future conflicts. Through Sang’s journey, Child of Dust sheds light on this forgotten history,  revealing how the legacy of war continues  to shape lives today. 

Weronika Mliczewska, Director/Producer, Child of Dust

INTERVIEW WITH THE DIRECTOR

WERONIKA MLICZEWSKA, Child of Dust, by Dimitra Kouzi

Weronika Mliczewska is a documentary filmmaker and cultural anthropologist. Child of Dust is her feature-length documentary debut as a director and a producer - a project she has worked on for over eight years.

Child of Dust explores the long-term consequences of war. Half a century after the Vietnam War, what echoes of its impact do you see in today’s world?

The Vietnam War may have ended, but its consequences—displacement, trauma, and the struggle for identity—are still deeply felt. The film serves as a reminder that war doesn’t simply end when the fighting stops—it continues in the lives of those forced to navigate its aftermath. In Child of Dust, the protagonists can no longer suppress their past; they must confront it, as it defines their future. These themes resonate strongly today. From conflicts in the Middle East to the war in Ukraine, we see cycles of forced migration, rape, sending children to camps, exposing them to propaganda, and inherited trauma. If the wounds of war are not transformed into healing, history will inevitably repeat itself. This film is not just about the Vietnam War—it’s about all wars and the scars that remain unseen.

Displacement and identity are major issues in today’s migration crises. Looking at today’s rising nationalism, do you see parallels between the struggles of Amerasians after the Vietnam War and marginalized communities today?

Amerasians embody the lasting scars of war—caught between worlds, unwanted by both sides. Today, children born in war zones face the same fate, pushed to society’s margins as painful reminders of the past. Sang refuses to stay trapped in this role, but escaping it is not easy. His struggle mirrors those of many marginalized communities today, especially amid rising nationalism. They are blamed for simply existing, yet their displacement is the result of political choices made long before them. This film isn’t about blame.

Sang’s journey is about the search for identity in a world that constantly defines you. What does his story reveal about self-discovery and belonging?

At the world premiere at Thessaloniki Documentary Festival 2025

Sang’s journey begins with a deep longing for belonging, shaped by a culture where fatherhood defines identity. Without love and acceptance as a child, he carries a lifelong sense of inadequacy. Over time, he realizes that identity is not fixed but shaped by experience, displacement, and self-discovery. Rather than providing a definitive answer, the film explores what it means to define oneself in a world that imposes labels. By the end, Sang is free from the pain of the past and culture-based expectations. He no longer seeks validation—he follows his own path, breaking free from childhood trauma and forging his own sense of self.

How do you see Sang’s story resonating with contemporary refugee and immigrant experiences? Does his journey reflect the broader impact of immigration policies on those seeking a home in America?

Sang’s journey mirrors the struggles of many immigrants—caught between cultures, seeking belonging in a place that defines them as “other.” More than legal barriers, the film explores the emotional cost of migration—the longing for home, fractured identities, and the need to prove one’s worth. His American family assumes that moving to the U.S. is the best thing for him, but his journey isn’t about seeking a better life—it’s about healing. Branded an outsider since birth, he longs for acceptance and love, only to realize that no place or person can fill that void. The true transformation happens within him. This film also challenges how we perceive migration. We rarely ask why people leave. Conflicts may seem distant, but their ripple effects shape global politics and individual lives, proving how deeply interconnected we all are.

with Sangs family in the US
Backstage during the shooting

The film’s climax centers on Sang’s realization that true healing does not come from proximity to his father but from accepting the past and reclaiming his own narrative. How did this shape the film’s resolution?Sang’s realization that true healing comes not from finding his father but from accepting his past and taking control of his own story deeply influenced the film’s resolution. Rather than offering a conventional reunion or closure, the ending reflects the complexity of identity and the emotional weight of intergenerational trauma. The film shifts from an external search—finding a father—to an internal journey of self-acceptance, emphasizing that healing is not about rewriting the past but about redefining the future. By the final moments, Sang is no longer seeking validation from someone else. Instead, he begins to see himself as whole, regardless of the unresolved pieces of his history. This quieter, more reflective resolution stays true to the film’s observational approach, allowing the audience to sit with the ambiguity of his journey, just as Sang does.

Sang's Sister Mel Tores and Cinematographer Mikael Lypinski, Director - Producer Weronika Mliczewska, Dimitra Kouzi Audience Developer and Co-Producer Michał Sikora in Thessaloniki.

The film follows both Sang and his American family, who discover they have an unwanted member they never knew about. Why did you choose to jump between these two worlds?

In Child of Dust, I wanted to show a rare example of a family taking responsibility for their actions, despite how difficult and uncomfortable that process is. It is deeply concerning that even veterans, who lived through the war, still struggle to see the full scale of its impact—not just on the Vietnamese, but on their own people. Many who killed during the war still justify their actions through propaganda, telling themselves they were fighting communism. This mindset hasn’t faded, and for over 50 years, a human face has been denied to the Vietnamese people. There are no winners in war, and this lack of reflection leaves a dangerous window open for future violence fueled by nationalist and imperialist agendas—without truly understanding the cost.

You used an observational, character-driven approach for your first feature-length documentary. Why did you choose this style over a more traditional “interview” format?

I chose an observational, character-driven approach to immerse viewers in Sang’s world, allowing emotions to unfold naturally. This story is full of raw, life-changing moments, and I wanted the audience to experience them as they happen, rather than through guided explanations. Everyday interactions, body language, and silences often speak louder than words, creating a deeper emotional connection. Skipping direct interviews was an intentional choice—a matter of trust. I trusted the audience to interpret Sang’s journey, and I trusted Sang to reveal himself through action.

How did you use cinematography and sound design to reflect Sang’s emotional journey in the film’s natural soundscapes and visual metaphors?

We used cinematography and sound design to mirror Sang’s inner world. In Vietnam, a handheld camera captures his turmoil with intimate close-ups. In the U.S., wider, static shots emphasize his isolation. Natural soundscapes—traffic hum, distant voices, rustling leaves— immerse the audience in his experience. Instead of a heavy score, silence and subtle ambient sounds amplify his loneliness and moments of connection. By embracing quiet observation and poetic realism, we allow the audience to feel Sang’s journey rather than dictate it.

Enormous press coverage! Featured in Variety, Cineuropa, Business Doc Europe, Screen Daily, Daily Entertainment, Eye for Film, elperfil, Exostis, Athens-Macedonian News Agency, Politic, I-efimerida, MACEDONIA NEWSPAPER, TV100, ERT 3, Flix, El Culture, Cinephilia

What are your main influences in cinema or other art forms?

My biggest influences come from filmmakers who master visual storytelling with a rich atmosphere, character-driven narratives, and subtle humor. Jim Jarmusch has been a major inspiration—his minimalist yet poetic style captures the quiet awkwardness of human interactions. His characters don’t always find resolution, but their journeys—both external and internal—are deeply felt. Sofia Coppola’s Lost in Translation also influenced me, particularly its introspective tone and themes of alienation. The unexpected, often humorous cultural clashes in that film reflect my own experiences navigating different cultures, especially in Tokyo. For the second part of my film, I drew inspiration from Alexander Payne’s humanistic storytelling. He masterfully balances humor and melancholy in his portrayal of everyday life, an approach that helped me frame Sang’s journey—not just as one of hardship, but of self-discovery, and even moments of quiet absurdity.

How did your studies in anthropology and directing actors influence your filmmaking? My background in anthropology allowed me to approach Child of Dust with deep cultural sensitivity, ensuring Sang’s story was told with authenticity and respect. It helped me observe without imposing, allowing moments to unfold naturally rather than shaping them to fit a preconceived narrative. At the same time, my experience in directing actors influenced how I worked with real people—paying close attention to body language, subtext, and emotion to capture deeply personal, character-driven storytelling. This combination of anthropology and cinematic direction helped create a documentary that feels both observational and immersive, blurring the lines between reality and narrative cinema.

What were the biggest challenges in earning Sang’s trust and authentically portraying a Vietnamese story as a Polish filmmaker?

Sang trusted me because, for the first time, someone truly listened. He knew this film could give voice to a forgotten history. I was fortunate to have a strong Vietnamese team who helped build trust and preserve cultural authenticity. Their insights ensured that Sang’s story was told with care and respect. What moved me most was his strength—the courage to challenge his fate. Despite abandonment and uncertainty, he took control of his story, embracing change even when it meant struggle. His journey is a testament to resilience, proving that identity is not just inherited but shaped by choice.

You are both the director and the producer of this film. Did being the producer influence your creative decisions?

Co-Producer Michał Sikora, Director - Producer Weronika Mliczewska, Sang's Sister Mel Tores and Cinematographer Mikael Lypinski

This film would not have been possible if the roles were different. Who else would have taken on such risks or gone into debt for years to bring this story to life? While I had experience as a producer, this was my first time producing and directing a feature-length documentary. After early setbacks—when no one believed in the project—we ended up securing five co-production partners and two TV stations. That alone speaks to the universal nature of this story. In the end, persistence and unwavering belief made this film happen. I am incredibly proud of the team behind it. Wearing both hats allowed me to maintain creative control while staying adaptable, ensuring that every decision—both artistic and logistical—served the heart of Sang’s journey.

During production, you had a baby. How difficult was it to balance filmmaking, family, and travel across three continents? As a female director, was it particularly challenging to manage a documentary shoot that couldn’t wait?

It was incredibly difficult, but it proved that nothing is impossible. If a female director wants to balance filmmaking, family, and a fulfilling personal life, I can now say: Go for it. It is possible! Rather than conforming to existing structures, we shape reality to fit our needs. I had immense support from my husband, which allowed me to shoot in Vietnam while four months pregnant. I remember sweating in a cramped, sweltering corridor with our protagonist and his family, thinking—this is my dream come true. It wasn’t about comfort; it was about passion. With the support of my husband, his mother, and his sister, we made it work—filming while pregnant, then traveling with our son, ensuring he felt loved and cared for through it all.

How do you see the role of fathers evolving in Western societies?

Fatherhood is shifting beyond the traditional role of provider, with fathers now expected to be more emotionally present. This evolution is why I wanted to explore fatherhood in my film—to question and redefine it across cultures. Regardless of where we begin, being a father reshapes identity, just as it does for mothers. The film suggests that parenting may be our most profound impact on the world, shaping future generations. As my protagonist says, “My home is my family”—a reminder that love, not politics or divisions, should be our foundation.

Weronika Mliczewska and Dimitra Kouzi in Thessaloniki

How did your personal experiences influence your approach to this story?

As a teenager, I was bullied and often felt like an outsider, which drew me to stories of displacement and identity. Beyond filmmaking, I’m also a cultural anthropologist, having studied in the UK, USA, and Poland. All my films have been made in Asia—Japan, India, China, and now Vietnam—exploring characters who exist between worlds. Navigating different cultures shaped my perspective, allowing me to connect with Sang’s journey on a deeper level and portray his story with empathy and authenticity.

What is the most important message about intergenerational trauma in Child of Dust?

Intergenerational trauma isn’t just history—it shapes identity, relationships, and belonging in the present. Sang’s journey asks whether breaking free from this cycle is truly possible. The outcome of his story is unexpected, unfolding in ways we couldn’t predict—just like life itself. We can’t always control what happens to us, but we can choose how we respond. And that’s Sang’s greatest strength. Some may see his story as tragic, but to me, he’s a winner. He took a risk, fulfilled his dream, and finally moved forward. If his journey inspires even one person, I’ve done my job.

What kinds of audiences do you seek for this film? How do you think different audiences will relate to Sang’s quest for identity?

This is a film about human connection, loss, and resilience—themes that transcend borders and speak to a global audience.

What do you hope for Child of Dust and its impact on global conversations about war, trauma, and reconciliation?

My goal is for the film to not only shed light on the forgotten stories of Amerasians but also to show how the consequences of war continue to shape lives across generations. More than anything, I want this film to highlight how imperialism and propaganda create divisions, fueling violence while justifying violence, even genocide. By making this film, I am making a statement: we need to heal from the past and focus on offering love to our children, ensuring history doesn’t repeat itself.

The interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Child of Dust won a Special Mention at the Thessaloniki Documentary Festival 2025 International Competition

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Interview with Zaradasht Ahmed

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Director of The Lions by the River Tigris, produced by Thorvald Nilsen.

A documentary about the aftermath of war

I first met Zaradasht Ahmed in 2016, when he premiered Nowhere to Hide at IDFA (produced by Mette Cheng Munthe Kaas). We collaborated on the film’s launch, which went on to win the main competition award for its unflinching portrayal of war’s human cost. That film marked him as a filmmaker with a rare ability: to capture the aftermath of conflict—not through statistics or spectacle, but through deeply personal stories that give terror a face and memory.

When his producer Thorvald Nilsen at Indie Film reached out about The Lions by the River Tigris, his new documentary set in Mosul, I was both honoured and intrigued. Nearly a decade later, we found ourselves working together once again, returning to the themes he knows best—resilience, memory, and the fragility of cultural heritage. What follows is a conversation about craft, the emotional weight of returning to a war-torn region, and the enduring power of storytelling in the face of destruction.

Dimitra Kouzi: How has your background influenced your approach to this story?
Zaradasht Ahmed: Even though I am Kurdish, Iraq’s culture is deeply familiar to me. We grew up with the same history—Assyria, Mesopotamia, the rivers, the mountains, the deserts. These are embedded in my identity. I understand how people there think and feel. It’s not foreign to me. I don’t experience culture shock. Instead, I carry the pain of seeing my country go through so much change and hardship. That emotional connection shapes my filmmaking. I don’t just observe; I feel. That’s why my approach differs from that of an outsider.

Q: You once said, “I come from the Middle East, and it will always be a part of me.” Yet after making Nowhere to Hide, you said you would never make another film in the region. What changed your mind?
Ahmed: When I finished Nowhere to Hide, I was deeply traumatized. So much was at stake, especially the life of the main character, Nori, and his family. He could have lost his life. I lived with constant anxiety, fearing that something might happen to him and that I would bear some responsibility. Beyond that, working in Iraq is extremely difficult. Security is unpredictable, and you are immediately viewed with suspicion. People assume you might be a spy or have ulterior motives. Authorities don’t like you, and neither do many locals. As a filmmaker, you are often unwelcome. Filming in Iraq is always a challenge. People are suspicious of cameras. Authorities fear being exposed. They forbid you to film without explanation. You are constantly accused of having hidden motives. When I first started researching in 2020, people thought I was crazy. Mosul was still considered a minefield. But I found people who helped me—locals who trusted me. That trust made all the difference. They saw I had traveled thousands of kilometers from Norway to Iraq to tell their story. Being a member of the Iraqi Journalist Association also helped. Even so, I was stopped by police and security forces many times. There were aggressive encounters—questions like, “Why are you filming my wife? Why are you filming me?” And beyond the physical challenges, there was the emotional weight of going to a war zone. Working with people, witnessing their feelings, seeing Bashar’s pain—his tears welling up so often—those were the hardest moments. Yet, no matter how far I go, Iraq is always a part of me. It isn’t a chapter that simply ends.

Q: With global conflicts ongoing, do you see parallels between Mosul’s story and other war-torn regions?
Ahmed: Absolutely. When I started this film, there was no war in Ukraine or Gaza, Lebanon had not erupted, Syria was relatively quiet. I visited Mosul as part of research for another film and was shocked by the devastation. When the war in Ukraine began, I saw the parallels in the destruction of cities and the human casualties. And then, an even more brutal war started in Gaza. Journalists reporting on Gaza even used Mosul as a reference point: “bombed like Mosul.” Eventually, the destruction in Gaza surpassed what we had seen in Mosul. War—like in Sudan now—brings the same devastation everywhere: displacement, destruction, and death. It is a brutal cycle that keeps repeating.

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Q: The two lions in the film hold deep symbolic meaning. What do they represent?
Ahmed: The lions are more than just stone carvings—they are a link to the past. For Bashar, they are the last piece of his home. As long as they stand, the house still exists in his memory. They give him hope that his house can be rebuilt one day.

For Fakhri, they are artifacts in danger. He fears they will be lost like so many other ruins. He sees them as part of the city’s identity, a cultural inheritance that must be protected.

Q: Bashar, Fakhri, and Fadel each have unique relationships with the city. How do their stories reflect the larger themes of memory, loss, and identity?
Ahmed: All three belong to Mosul. They were born there, and their families have lived there for generations. The city is their home. It defines who they are. ISIS destroyed that shared identity. They split people into “good” and “bad.” Musicians like Fadel were silenced. Collectors like Fakhri were marginalized. Fishermen like Bashar were only tolerated if they complied with harsh rules. Bashar never wanted to leave. His life, his memories—everything was rooted there. He represents the everyday victims whose stories often go untold. Fakhri returned after the fall of ISIS and saw a cultural vacuum. The museum was destroyed, artifacts looted or turned to dust. That loss ignited his passion to collect and preserve what he could—not for profit, but for preservation. Fadel, forced into silence for years, finally played his violin again. For him, music is defiance, but also healing. Teaching music is his way of rebuilding minds and spirits.

Zaradasht Ahmed and Thorvald Nilsen, Indie Film

Q: Why is protecting cultural heritage so important in post-conflict societies?
Ahmed: When we talk about war, we count human casualties—dead, injured, displaced. But cultural loss is just as serious, and often ignored. During conflict, cultural heritage is left unprotected. When cities are bombed, centuries of history are erased. International bodies rarely prioritize this. But heritage is what anchors us. It’s what we pass down. Without it, we forget who we are. I remember the Taliban destroying the Buddhas of Bamiyan—it was heartbreaking. If something happened to Norway’s old stave churches, it would be just as devastating. These places belong to the world, not just the countries where they stand. In Gaza, ancient sites have been erased—many older than any modern state. That’s a war crime. And yet it often goes unspoken. Cultural heritage is like our collective memory. Destroying it is like erasing our identity.

Q: How do art and music help in the healing process?
Ahmed: Art and music are food for the soul. They are not material things—they are emotional, spiritual, and imaginative. When you hear music or walk through a historic site, something inside you awakens. Art reminds us that we are human. It connects us to something bigger than ourselves. It gives us hope.

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Thorvald Nilsen, Producer Indie Film, with Zaradasht Ahmed, Dimitra Kouzi, and Eva Hillström, the film editor, after the CPH: DOX 2025 world premiere.

Q: What is the most challenging aspect of rebuilding Mosul’s identity?
Ahmed: The Old City is still a wound—open and raw—even eight years later. Whole neighborhoods were flattened. Bashar’s neighborhood alone lost over 500 buildings. It’s hard to imagine it being rebuilt. Before ISIS, there was Al-Qaida. Then came the U.S. occupation. Mosul was a closed-off city. Real development didn’t start until after 2017. Now, the Old City—especially near the river—is mostly empty land.

People don’t trust the authorities or their plans. There’s no transparency. No one knows if the city will be rebuilt in its traditional style, turned into a museum, or replaced with something else entirely.

Mosul is one of the world’s oldest cities. Like Jerusalem or Aleppo, it has a poetic, almost mystical connection to the Tigris River. There’s potential for so much—craftsmanship, agriculture, tourism. But trust and vision are needed for any of that to be realized.

"Ahmed doesn’t need to include war footage for us to feel its weight and understand its shadow."
Eye for Film

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The Last Expedition, interview with the director Eliza Kubarska

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The director Eliza Kubarska

Pioneering Polish mountain climber Wanda Rutkiewicz disappeared in the Himalayas in 1992. What happened on that final climb? Filmmaker and mountaineer Eliza Kubarska traces Wanda’s footsteps on the world’s highest peaks in a journey into the mystery surrounding the fate of the first woman to summit K2. Could Wanda be still alive, in a monastery in Tibet? Weaving together Wanda’s own, previously unseen diaries, audio and video archives from her Himalayan expeditions, interviews with legendary climbers, Sherpas, Buddhist nuns and monks, this is a riveting account of the emotional struggles and aspirations of a woman who rose above a world that often sought to limit her and charted her own path to freedom.

Dimitra Kouzi: Is Wanda’s (Rutkiewicz's) story still relevant today?

Eliza Kubarska: Of course. Although this story happened 30 years ago, it is still relevant. We made a film about a woman who had vision, passion, and dreams. She wanted to live her own way and at that time most women thought that was impossible.

I think that the situation of women in many countries today, even in Europe, is still not good. A lot of things need to change everywhere – in the film industry, in business, politics, sport, at home – women’s status is not the same as men’s. And I’m not talking about feminism only. To me, it’s about women and men having the same right to decide about themselves, to make their own decisions. Both men and women should have this right equally.

The world of mountain climbing – especially scaling the highest peaks – remains predominantly male-dominated, with a narrative shaped by men.  Naturally, fewer women are involved. If only for biological reasons, a woman's price for being a climber will always be higher, and it will be harder for her to lead a normal life outside of this passion. Therefore, I believe that if a woman wants to climb the highest mountains, the mountain community must support her. It is not a question of whether they like it or not.

Dimitra Kouzi: What elements of this story were most interesting for you?

Eliza Kubarska: This story unfolds in the highest, most challenging mountains, the Himalayas, and is about a woman who wants to make her own choices. For her, personal freedom is what’s most important, to be able to say what she wants and be clearly heard.

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Dimitra Kouzi: In your film, you reveal for the first time Wanda’s incredible personal archive. What was your approach to navigating and exploring this wealth of material?

Eliza Kubarska: We didn't know about this archive, which has several dozen boxes. I received the material from Wanda's sister, Janina Fies. We had no budget to digitise it, no people to work on it. I was alone.  At some point Daria Sieracka joined me to help.

There are more than thirty 16mm film tapes from the 1970s and ’80s, and dozens of video tapes in various formats. There are also a few thousand slides from the Himalayas, including from Everest ’78, or even earlier, from the 1960s. I started from the slides by myself, I went through 5,000 slides, but there are still more. I didn’t complete this work because I saw the possibility to scan all the tapes. Luckily, we got support from the Documentary and Feature Film Studio in Warsaw (WFDiF).

There are private letters, expedition documents, original typescripts of books, articles, and important writings. There is a box of letters to Wanda from her fans, which she never opened because there were simply too many of them.

There were also thirty audio tapes. On two of them I found very strange recordings of trekking in the Himalayas, a kind of Wanda’s personal journal. Here, she asked herself many questions, questioned some of her life choices. She related what she experienced along the way, poor Nepalese villages, local families, to herself. She wondered if she could live there, why she didn't become a mother, even though she had wanted to. She talked about why it was difficult for her to find a life partner and about Kurt Lyncke, the man she loved, who died in the mountains. I don't know what her purpose was in recording these intimate thoughts. I decided to use them in the film.

I know exactly when she recorded this material: in 1991, less than one year before she disappeared. It was during an expedition to Kanchenjunga, the same mountain, but from a different side. She hadn’t succeeded in 1991, and then she went back in 1992. On these audio tapes, she stated that she didn’t belong to any world, that there was no way back for her, that perhaps at a certain moment she changed from the ‘travelling Buddha’ to the ‘settled Buddha’ – but this is not the time to talk about that. 

She was able to give a name to certain feelings, and I think that was the moment when she realised that she had paid a very high price for her choices, and there was no way back for her. She recognised that she had crossed the line. If only there had been someone to point out to her that this was not the end, that it was still possible for her to change her life… I’m not talking about the physical possibility. She experienced a level of depression so high that she could not stand it.

Dimitra Kouzi: What was the high price she paid?

Eliza Kubarska: She was extremely lonely at the end, and she didn’t want to be lonely. She was a woman who wanted to have a life partner, to have a family and children. And I know this from her audio diary and from her sister, who told me that Wanda, who was already an outstanding climber, visited Janina when she gave birth to her daughter and said that she was jealous of her having a child. Wanda also wanted to climb with other people but sadly she was partially excluded from the community.

Dimitra Kouzi: And what was the line that she crossed?

Eliza Kubarska: She couldn't be happy here in the lowlands anymore, but she couldn't stay in the Himalayas all the time, either. When you're a climber, you're often in life-threatening situations, between life and death. That's – as Messner said – one of the most powerful experiences a person can have. And maybe you get addicted to it. When you return to this lowland reality, it becomes very difficult to live normally, especially if you don't have family here who can support you emotionally and help you readjust. If Wanda had survived, if she had come back, she might have become a filmmaker, as she always had a photo camera and a film camera with her. That’s what happened to me. I used to be an alpinist too, I went on mountain expeditions. Now I look for that same chemistry in my brain when I work on film productions. It’s also associated with stress, instability, a lack of security. I’m probably addicted to that as well; that’s why I make documentaries.

Dimitra Kouzi: These experiences as a climber and traveller are very inspiring. What other sources of inspiration do you have in your work as an artist?

Eliza Kubarska: Relationships with other people are very important to me, both those around me and those from other cultures I meet while travelling. Human psychology and nature have always fascinated me. While travel provides an interesting backdrop for my stories, my primary focus is on human relationships. I'm always intrigued by why people behave the way they do. And also nature inspires me. I love being outdoors, but it’s the interaction between humans and nature that is my main interest. I love making films exploring these themes.

Dimitra Kouzi: What role do the personal accounts by these iconic climbers play in the film?

Eliza Kubarska: When I received Wanda’s private archives, I discovered her own perspective. But I wouldn’t have been able to build this topic without other people who knew her. I met over thirty people, including Wanda’s sister and friends. Wanda was friends with some very interesting women. But I also met some men and women from the climbing community who had issues with her. And I wanted to do this film because the narrative about Wanda is controversial. On one hand, you have an amazing woman, who gave us a lot of inspiration. But on the other hand, I heard voices from some in the climbing community, that she was an egoist who was focused only on her own goals at all costs. 

Dimitra Kouzi: And what about Reinhold Messner?

Eliza Kubarska: I needed a strong, informed person to give me a statement. And I knew the only person who could do that was Messner. There is no discussion, he is the most renowned mountaineer and he’s been in the climbing community for more than fifty years. He’s the first person to climb all the highest peaks. Also, he’s a philosopher; he has a way with words; he knew Wanda, and he is from the same generation. They met each other on expeditions many times. They never happened to be on the same expedition, but they were on the same mountain, in the same Base Camp. He knew her from the very beginning: the first time they met was in 1975 in Karakoram.

He refused to be interviewed two or three times but I insisted, and finally he accepted. I didn’t know what he would say, but what he says is right on point. And he gave a beautiful reply to the common question why people climb, why they take such risks.

Carlos Carsolio from Mexico was the last person to see Wanda. He’s also one of the first who completed the eight-thousand-metre peaks. Carlos is the fourth who did it; Krzysztof Wielicki is fifth. Their achievements are at the highest level, yet all of them have different perspectives. Carlos is a very spiritual person. He was 30 and she was 49 at the time when they climbed Kangchenjunga in 1992. His young team called her “Abuela,” which means “Grandmother.” And when I asked him about the relationship between him and her, he said that it was a platonic romantic relationship. Carlos faced a very difficult situation when he passed Wanda at 8,300m. She did not want to come down with him. And he, as he relates, had no right to tell her to.

Krzysztof Wielicki from Poland, first a student of Wanda's and then a mountain friend, was the leader of the Annapurna expedition in 1991, during which Wanda was accused of falsely claiming to have reached the summit. In an official statement, Krzysztof stated that Wanda had conquered the mountain.

Dimitra Kouzi: What were some of the most challenging aspects of filming in the Himalayas, both technically and logistically?

Eliza Kubarska: My film crew were talented filmmakers but not great outdoor adventurers. For instance, while filming “The Wall of Shadows” in 2017–9, a film about Sherpas, with producer Monika Braid, when we were in fact already producing material for “Wanda”! I knew we would not be able to come back to the same places because it’s too far, too high and just too complicated and expensive. We had to stay with our film crew at an altitude of 5,000m on a glacier for over three weeks, in winter in the Himalayas! Monica is such a great producer: she’s brave, she trusts me and she organised such complicated film sets.

Sleeping, filming, and even copying footage on the glacier was extremely difficult, especially with limited access to electricity. As an experienced climber and climbing instructor, I was more comfortable in that environment. But it was a constant challenge to ensure the safety and well-being of our less outdoor-savvy crew. We always have to be very sensitive to that.

Dimitra Kouzi: Were there any parts of the story that were difficult to convey on screen, that you really wanted to show but didn’t know how to tackle?

Eliza Kubarska: When you go to Nepal or Sikkim and you visit Buddhist nunneries and spend time with the women there, which I did and then Monika joined me, after a while we were in a completely different world. I mean, in a spiritual sense. I am a fulfilled person, and I have a reason to come back. But when I was in these nunneries, at one moment I got the feeling – and I love adventures and I’m really bored when I do nothing, you know – but at one moment I was sitting there and thought, “Hey, I could stay here much longer. I feel so good. I would just like to be here.”  And then I realised Wanda might have felt the same and done that. 

Director Eliza Kubarska and producer Monika Braid

Dimitra Kouzi: Are there any moments in the film, or during the entire process, when you felt transformed personally and as a filmmaker?

Eliza Kubarska: Definitely. It holds special meaning for me as a woman climber. If I weren’t a climber, the story would be different. I watched Wanda through my own eyes, through the perspective of a filmmaker and an alpinist.  Initially, when I learned about the price she paid, I felt deep sympathy for her. I thought, “This is how it went for her in this world.” I believe the price she paid was her incredibly painful loneliness. Being excluded from society and feeling like you don’t belong anywhere. I used to think that this was a price she paid. Yet, now I realise that she followed her own path. I came to see that she wasn’t a loser; she was a winner. She remained loyal to herself until the very end. When you look in the mirror at any moment in your life, you should ask yourself if you are being true to yourself and to what you believe is right for you. 

Wanda had strong values. When the events at Annapurna happened – when she was accused of being dishonest – it was devastating for her because honesty was paramount to her as an athlete from the very beginning. That accusation broke her completely. Unfortunately, I have had a similar experience as a climber myself, where I was accused of dishonesty about a climb during my expedition. It almost destroyed me. And then, for many years, I’ve felt ashamed that such a thing happened to me, that I allowed a group of people to hurt me so. Being slandered became one of the hardest experiences of my climbing life. Wanda described her experience of Annapurna in the very same terms. We both felt tainted. When I discovered that very word in her archives, I felt angry that she, too, had to go through this difficult experience. I thought, “No, I’m not ashamed anymore. It is not I who should be ashamed, but the people who unfairly slandered me.” That realisation was transformative for me.

Dimitra Kouzi: Therefore, you believe that Wanda may have had reasons not to want to come back?

Eliza Kubarska: Absolutely, without a doubt. It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not; we have nobody to confirm her fate. You can never be one hundred percent sure that someone is dead if the body has not been found.

The interview has been edited for length and clarity.

The international Premiere of the film is at IDFA 2024, Luminous

Find out more about the film's background, protagonists, creative team in the Press kit

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KinderDocs Industry Event – spotlight on Young audiences – Marije Veenstra, Head of Education at IDFAKinderDocs Industry Event

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This is the documentation of KinderDocs’ first Industry Event, titled ‘Documentaries for children and young people: International Approaches and Perspectives'. With its primary goal of illuminating effective strategies and creative approaches for engaging the coveted young audience, KinderDocs and its founder Dimitra Kouzi joint forces and invited acclaimed film professionals and representatives from prestigious festivals in the Netherlands (IDFA) and Germany (doxs Ruhr). Each presentation offered valuable insights into this multifaceted subject, encompassing filmmaking, content, programming, production, distribution, financing, and partnerships. The event took place in October 2023 at the Goethe-Institut Athen, and the Benaki Museum as part of the 8th KinderDocs International Documentary Festival for Children and Young People.

Marije Veenstra | Head of Education, International Documentary Film Festival Amsterdam (IDFA) (additionally watch her interview here)

Thank you for inviting me, Dimitra. I'm Marije Veenstra, the Head of Education at IDFA, which stands for International Documentary Film Festival Amsterdam. Today, I'll be discussing our approach to and perception of documentaries, particularly focusing on youth documentaries.

First, I would like to provide you with an overview of what we do at IDFA in this regard. In the Netherlands, we produce approximately 20 youth documentaries annually, funded through a pyramid scheme involving broadcasters and producers. Each Sunday evening, there's a dedicated slot on television where a youth documentary is broadcasted by the public broadcaster. Additionally, we have two major festivals for youth documentaries: CineKids and IDFA. As a new development in the Netherlands, we've also put out a call for full-length documentary films, in which Martijn Blekendaal is working as well.

At IDFA, we hold a competition specifically for youth documentaries. This year, aiming to give the youth competition a little bit of a boost, we invited Niki Padidar to be an external programmer. As a filmmaker, Niki brings a truly interesting perspective on youth and documentaries, and I'm very proud of the selection she curated. Among our initiatives are the IDFA-Junior, a family day held during the festival, and the school program, which falls under my responsibility. We also offer training programs for documentary development throughout the year, and we host a forum dedicated to youth documentaries during IDFA.

Our school program reaches approximately 10,000 students who attend IDFA over ten days. We start from 8 years old students and target all educational levels, collaborating closely with numerous theaters across the country. Film selection for the school program involves teachers and students, as we conduct test screenings at schools to get feedback before finalizing our lineup. Furthermore, we complement screenings with educational materials and post-viewing discussions. Additionally, we've launched Doc School Online, a free online tool designed for schools to utilize documentaries in the classroom. We recognize that some students may lack access to theaters or the resources to visit cinemas. The platform offers filters for various topics such as history, climate change, and justice, along with educational material for teachers.

Moreover, we organize activities for professionals, including training and pitching sessions during the forum. So, our focus isn't solely on showcasing documentaries; we also prioritize nurturing the development of youth documentaries, aiming to elevate the genre each year.

Now, what exactly do we mean by a youth documentary? We believe that one of the foremost criteria is that these films are made for children but not exclusively about them. The documentaries we showcase should leave room for imagination and reflection, avoiding fixed endings or solutions to problems. Our aim is to take the genre seriously and select films that also take the audience seriously—that’s why we collaborated with Niki this year. By this, I mean that we are open to all kinds of topics for children; there is no topic we would not screen. However, it's important to be aware of the context and facilitate discussions afterward.

Why do we do all this? Primarily, to cultivate empathy which is a vital necessity in today’s world. To broaden children’s horizons, encourage them to travel mentally and discover new perspectives. Additionally, when it comes to documentaries, an exceptionally important goal is to excite the audience, while also considering the artistic challenge of introducing them to something entirely different.

Two years ago, while already working on education and making my film selections, I was thinking of my starting point and connected it with youth literature, a significant area with ongoing research. So, three key considerations guided my program selection. For children aged 8 and above, youth literature reflects an experimental stage. Thus, we don’t have documentaries for children that are younger, recognizing the expanding worldview of an eight-year-old as an intriguing starting point for a documentary film platform. As children reach 10, individual differences become more prominent, so we aim to challenge them a bit more with the selected films. By the time they're 12, children transition to a more personalized and contemplative perspective, making it a favorable moment to introduce a diverse range of films with varying artistic values. In general, the ability to reflect increases with age, allowing us to experiment and tailor our programming as a festival.

Given my educational background, when facing difficulties, I often turn to Vygotsky, a Russian psychologist from the first half of the 20th century. Vygotsky identified different zones of learning that are well-known in the Dutch educational system. In the yellow zone, people can actually learn something but it’s important to have some guidance or a conversation afterward to reflect on the film. When selecting documentaries for schools, we can focus a bit more on the blue zone, which may offer comfort and enjoyment, but not necessarily contribute to significant learning or offer new experiences. On the other hand, films in the red zone risk leaving audiences frustrated without appropriate context or discussion afterward. As a teacher it is beneficial to focus on the stretch of the yellow zone.

Sometimes, a film initially seems suited to the blue zone. It's comfortable, pleasant, and enjoyable, but why should we actually screen it? What does it have to offer? To truly engage and facilitate learning, we need to strive for the yellow zone, which requires the assistance of a teacher, some guidance or a post-viewing discussion to enable reflection on the film. It's possible to challenge audiences and seek films in the yellow zone, but it's crucial to ensure that screenings are followed by discussions for the experience to be more sustainable. Screening only red zone films without providing the right context or post-viewing conversations can lead to frustration among audiences, who may leave the cinema wondering what they actually saw and feeling like they didn't gain anything meaningful. So, this approach guides my selection process.

Let me share some examples with you. First up is "Our Island," which we initially screened for children aged 8 to 9. However, we later found it might have been quite simplistic for 10-year-olds. While it's a delightful film, many children might find it too gentle for their age group, thus staying in the blue zone. It's perfect for 8-year-olds but lacks the challenge for 10-year-olds.

The next film, “Tungrus” is quite different. When we screened it at IDFA, many children asked, 'Why are you showing this to me, actually?' They enjoyed it and laughed a lot, but they also felt a bit disconnected. Their reaction was, 'It's not about us.' So, this was a film that required a conversation afterward. We started asking who has a pet, what kind of pet they have, how they deal with it when it doesn't behave as expected, and what the possible solutions are. This led to a meaningful discussion, transforming a film that initially fell into the red zone into one that resonated in the yellow zone, making it meaningful for many kids to watch.

Another film I'd like to share was selected by Niki this year. Initially, when we presented “Figure” to adults, particularly a special group funding IDFA, there was skepticism. As an entry for the Youth Competition, they questioned whether it even qualified as a documentary. However, through meaningful dialogue, we saw that it's possible to transition from the red to the yellow zone again. Such conversations are necessary and important for this transition. Even though it might raise questions for some people, I believe perceptions can change when engaging in an interesting dialogue with children afterward.

It would also be beneficial to have both the filmmaker and the programmer responsible for the film present in the screening room, to facilitate a discussion related to questions such as, "Why do you think this is a documentary?” Why do you think it's not?" “Is it important to have a close distinction?” ‘’How flexible can it be?” Through such conversations, we can transition from the frustrating red zone to a more engaging yellow zone. As the Head of Education, it's essential to keep this in mind when developing programs or selecting films. Sometimes, we may step into the red zone, but it's crucial to ensure that we provide educational context so that the experience is meaningful for many children.

  

As mentioned, it's both interesting and important to diversify the selection. Just as teachers approach youth literature in class by ensuring that all children are provided with something interesting to read, the same principle applies when developing an educational film selection for a festival. It's about offering a variety of films—some may be challenging, while others are more easy-going. That's perfectly fine. However, as a teacher or as the head of education, make sure that you add something to the mix, so viewers can stretch their understanding, delve deeper, and learn from the experience. Also, it’s important to note that the more a child reads, the more their ability to reflect grows. This is particularly significant when considering youth documentaries as well; maintaining a consistent presence throughout the year is crucial, rather than just once or twice annually.

So, how do we effectively reach them? In the Netherlands, broadcasters and film promoters discuss strategies for marketing these films, likening it to selling broccoli or sprouts. The notion that “they just have to learn to eat it” is quite disheartening, in my opinion. Similarly, a Danish Film Institute’s report published in May, highlighted as one of its key findings that young audiences prefer edgy narratives, genre play, boundary exploration, over social realism and 'the all-too-nice'. This underscores the importance of not underestimating our audience; they are capable of handling more than we often credit them for.

Another interesting point I'd like to share is related to the promotion of the film “Shabu”. The film also had a theatrical release in the Netherlands. I had a conversation with the person responsible for its sales, discussing her approach to promotion. She mentioned creating a commercial for a public broadcaster where she didn’t explicitly label the film as a documentary; instead, she referred to it as a family film. It's not about a definitive right or wrong approach, but rather an alternative one that may be worth considering. Ultimately, what's more important than just determining whether we’re selling sprouts is how we’re presenting and marketing them to our audience.

I would also like to emphasize the importance of keeping in mind that every child attends school. Thus, in my view, the gateway to reaching children is through schools. While it's advantageous to target families and encourage their participation in festivals, as we do at IDFA, I firmly believe that genuine change occurs through engagement with schools and the educational system.

Furthermore, it’s important for films to align with educational projects, so they are on the same page as the educational fields, enabling their collaboration and intersection. Additionally, new media and different platforms present some challenges too. At IDFA, we're still exploring ways to integrate these technologies, as it can be quite complex. For instance, while we're keen on screening VR projects in schools, it's challenging due to the required materials.

Finding suitable venues and partners interested in youth, especially when focusing on individual experiences, is also intriguing. Dimitra Kouzi asked me about the types of subjects we encounter or search for. While we come across a great amount of stories about children facing social and emotional challenges, which are both important and educational, I believe it would be equally interesting to see more films about art or history. For instance, I am struggling to find a compelling film about the colonial history of the Netherlands, that strikes the right balance between educational value and engaging storytelling—this would be valuable for schools as they are always seeking such quality content. Therefore, I believe youth documentaries should broaden their scope beyond solely focusing on children having problems that we can or can’t solve.

Lastly, empowering stories are particularly significant to me. Given the numerous conflicts in today's world, children are increasingly aware of these issues. Therefore, exposing them to these kinds of stories would be immensely beneficial, inspiring, and hopeful.

The event took place with the support of the The Dutch Embassy in Athens

EN

Dad’s Lullaby, Lesia Diak interviewed by Dimitra Kouzi

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I met Lesia Diak at the Doku Rough Cut Boutique workshop in Cluj in 2023. A young filmmaker, she appeared serious and was an attentive listener. Now, a year later, her film is set to premiere at the Sarajevo Film Festival. I sense it will travel far; I'm confident she'll make it to the European Film Awards. An interview is an opportunity to discuss both publishable and unpublishable matters, to foster mutual understanding. Lesia was generous and trusting. While speaking with her, I felt transported to the intimate moments captured in her film—the honest atmosphere of a small apartment and the intensity of the editing room. Lesia said, 'I need to have eye contact with my protagonist,' even as she operated the camera. Feeling responsible for sharing her subjects' private moments, she decided to reciprocate by revealing aspects of her own life as well.

What inspired you to create ‘Dad’s Lullaby’?

I’m not quite sure that ‘inspiration’ is the best word to use when talking about the reasoning behind the creation of ‘Dad’s Lullaby.’ I was in pain observing my boyfriend during his short rotations, when he was serving in the Ukrainian army in the East of Ukraine in 2017. The pain tripled when he came back to a ‘peaceful reality,’ and we could not reach an understanding; there was such a void in our communication. My words, my silences, other people’s words – everything would trigger and upset him, and I was the closest to deal with his reaction. The easy way would have been to leave the relationship, but I didn’t want to leave; I loved him. I wanted to try to make a film about this issue and to try to understand it deeply.

How did the film address the complex issue of war-related trauma and its impact on family dynamics?

When I started developing the project, I tried to be very gentle and not ask questions that could hurt anyone’s feelings. I consulted with a psychologist on how to approach filming kids. I was witnessing the life of this family but at the same time I tried not to intervene in their lives. I would never bring a big crew into their tiny flat; I was filming by myself. I would only come on the days when they allowed me to come. The characters were living their lives. I think that the fact that we were sharing space, time, and loneliness brought us closer. At some point in the life of the Zinchuk family, I became a family friend. Of course, for documentary filmmaking, it is a tricky path. You start wondering whether you’re compromising your art because you want to be a good friend.

Poster designed by Dasha Podoltseva

How did you prepare yourself mentally and emotionally for the exposure and vulnerability?

For the final year of my work in the communication agency ‘One Health,’ I worked on the communication of a project dedicated to mental health in Ukraine. I learned that speaking out about your issues makes you feel stronger. In 2019, I wrote a column about my depression, and it was published.

I also felt that, from an ethical point of view, I would feel better if I exposed myself as the family was filmed in a very intimate way, and I feel responsible for giving away private moments from their personal life. And I decided to give away my private life, too.

There is nothing to lose. My country suffered so many losses. I believe it is the right thing to do – to expose myself so that other people feel engaged in the Ukrainian story. We are releasing ‘Dad’s Lullaby’ four years after I finished the filming. I am in a safer place because that phase of my life and that break-up is not my present.

How did being part of the film influence your creative decisions during the production process?

Initially, I was not planning to be part of the film. Most of my material was filmed in an observational style. But in documentaries, not everything goes as planned. Towards the very end of production, I changed my approach towards a participatory film; I believed I needed to open up to Serhiy, and I saw that in that moment of sorrow he wasn’t very comfortable being filmed. I gave the camera to him and said that he could film me instead, if this would make him feel more at ease.

How has this unique experience of being both director and participant influenced your growth as a filmmaker?

I would say it pushed me to grow as a person, which is obviously beneficial for filmmaking. At first, it was a challenge to see myself on the screen in an editing room. Probably because I had a wrong image of myself, maybe I thought that I was prettier and smarter in real life. It took me some time to realise that the fragility of a young woman without makeup or things to hide is a beauty in itself.

I wish I could step into 28-year-old Lesia’s shoes again. I believe that both watching and making films have a huge healing potential in the long run, but in the short-term perspective, we can’t expect that from a film. When I think of survivors from Mariupol and the long lines for mental health care in Ukraine nowadays, I know that watching a documentary will be no cure for them.

What emotions did you experience the first time the camera was pointed at you?

I wasn’t really noticing it. I wasn’t concerned with being filmed. Documentary filmmakers should be at peace with being exposed. It’s about exposing people, so you know at some point you need to be documented as well. It’s a natural process. I didn’t really think a lot about it. But I think it was a more difficult moment when I was holding the camera and I was thinking, okay, I need to have eye contact with Serhii when I’m speaking to him. And eye contact was important, yes. Because once he was about to cry and he needed to speak about something really painful, I would rather focus on him instead of holding the camera. And it was a bit awkward.

How did you overcome this?

As you see in the film, he’s not always in the centre of the picture. I would opt for eye contact.

What were some of the most significant challenges you faced while making this film?

When Serhiy separated from the family and moved out of their home, he was feeling very down and didn’t want to socialise. He didn’t pick up the phone for half a year. But I felt that I needed to give more space to his vulnerability, that I needed to portray him with empathy, not just end the film with him leaving. I would formulate the most significant challenge like this: How to approach someone who is in grief after being separated from his family? I needed to have that final conversation, and I just knocked on the door of Serhiy’s parents’ house, where he was living, and he opened.

The other challenge came when we were showing the material during the Docu Rough Cut Boutique sessions. It came out that there are some things which are obvious for Ukrainians and other cultures that were affected by military conflicts, but not so obvious for people who have never experienced war. It was a challenge to make the visual language and the dialogues work for all audiences. However, it is an impossible task to cater to everyone’s needs. Watching a film is a subjective experience.

How about the editing process?

It was quite a journey to find an editor for ‘Dad’s Lullaby.’ During the production phase, I was editing the scene selection with Semen Mozgovyi.

Upon completion of my studies at DocNomads, I already started working with Monica, and she suggested Andrei Gorgan as an editor. We reached understanding with Andrei quite soon. He is very talented and humble. For Andrei, editing is his main craft, and he is truly devoted to it.

I think that in Monica and Andrei I found my allies in including me as a character present both visually and sound-wise. We were on common ground finding this decision organic for the story. The challenge was how to edit these dialogues in order to preserve their authenticity. We stayed with the approach of focusing on the bits where Serhiy talks about his backstory from the war front, and when his understanding of love and relationships collides with mine. Through challenging me, he challenges himself, and we realise that all these questions he asks me, he has asked himself many times before.

In the editing room, it wasn’t easy to look at myself and notice some of the reactions – for example, the expression of anger and frustration. But I managed to come to terms with it. The film needed this female director to be expressive, and I needed the viewers to realise her bitterness. We used the material showing me with facial expressions that I found unpleasant at first glance. Andrei helped me a lot to develop a distance while looking at myself in the editing room.

What impact do you hope ‘Dad’s Lullaby’ has on the current discourse surrounding the war and its consequences?

There are four levels for the impact, if not more: the international, the national, the local community level, and the individual level.

I know that there will be no impact of the film on international politics and on the destiny of Ukraine as a whole. My film will neither stop the war nor motivate the countries which are constantly creating hindrances for the weapon supply to Ukraine to simplify their inner processes. In terms of the community level, the film screenings and the discussions that  follow could give viewers a sense of togetherness, belonging, and sharing the pain. Will the film bring the couples who have similar stories back together? No. But it can create a space for dialogue, or for dialogue between those struggling to maintain relationships. In terms of individuals, I believe that the film can help people to cope with guilt and sadness, to realise that there is an external force – the war – and one single individual can’t cope with it. I do hope that my film could lead people to realise they need to ask for help from the community or mental health professionals.

I remember that once, after pitching my film in Thessaloniki, I overheard two ladies saying about my project, ‘How come he is so mean with the kids?’ I didn’t want to jump into their conversation, or to ask them where they came from. It is kind of simplistic to label people with the word ‘mean,’ though it is an instinctive response. It is much harder to try to understand different behaviour.

Being also the film’s main producer, what challenges did you face in balancing this role with your responsibilities as director?

A director needs to nurture their imagination; it is constant, very intense work, and it requires time for your mind to stay focused, and then time to rest and reinvigorate the capacity for creativity. A director needs time for emptiness, to gaze on the landscape, listen to the silence.

The producer is a business strategist that makes rational decisions. The producer needs lots of energy to drive the project, passion to develop it, to interact with experts in the field, potential partners, to present the project. A director needs a sense of security. They need to understand that things will happen. And the producer gives this feeling of security to the director. That’s a healthy way to make films. But in my case, I worked hard to enhance the film creatively, while at the same time trying to find partners in order to respond to all the needs of the film. I often remember the lyrics from Sinéad O’Connor’s song ‘8 Reasons’:

You know, I love to make music
But my head got wrecked by the business

The good thing is that at some point I had Monica, Elena, and Hrvoje, who could take control over certain areas of the project. This was bliss. Monica has been working as a director and producer of creative documentaries for more than 20 years. She knows the hidden obstacles, and she advised me on how to navigate them.

How many hours of filming did you have?

I filmed 100 hours over three years. 

Have you ever stayed over at the family’s house?

I always returned to my own place, in Kyiv. I aimed to establish a boundary. Observing what was happening in their house was sometimes upsetting, especially involving the kids, when they shared nightmares or missed their parents’ attention, who were busy working. There were different reasons. When their daughter was born, I cried inside with happiness, but didn’t show my tears. It was a complex emotional experience, very therapeutic for me as a filmmaker.

When I was 16, my mom went to work abroad, and I stayed with my father, witnessing his pain and responding to it. For men in Ukraine, it’s not easy when the woman goes abroad to work. He felt abandoned, and it was challenging for my father to raise teenagers, me and my brother. He was struggling a lot. Maybe that’s one of the reasons why I have such deep empathy for male characters in my film – and for men in general, because I witnessed it so closely, and it really broke my heart. When I witnessed similar experiences in the Zinchuk family, for instance why they are not more understanding of each other after this long separation, how they need to learn from scratch how to live their lives together again, it reminded me of many cases of separation, not least the case of my own family.

Are there any upcoming projects you can share?

At the moment, I am working on a short documentary, or docu-fiction, based on my personal analogue archive. I used an old analogue camera I had from my father for years. I participated in a residency in Finland focused on analogue film. I worked in the dark room, developed my own films, working with my hands, and it helped me recover my love for cinema. I’m currently editing this film, which is a story about a female artist who sacrificed personal happiness for the sake of her work, and I need to step out of myself to make this film good. The working title is ‘My days Are Being chopped.’

Are films made by women different?

There is a female perspective in documentary filmmaking, and it’s linked to the limits we have, in comparison with men, limits that family bonds or having a child place on us. We really need to be focused and close with the baby, with the child, if we have a family. And we can’t film in some situations that are accessible to male directors. We can’t film in a super dangerous environment, unless we have very good training. There are cases where female directors went to dangerous places, and it didn’t go well. At the same time, being a woman opens up other possibilities.

Thank you, Lesia, for the very inspiring discussion.

The conversation has been edited and condensed.

MAIN CHARACTERS

Serhiy Zinchuk, Nadiia Zinchuk, Olexandr Zinchuk, Artem Zinchuk, Nikita Zinchuk, Marharyta Zinchuk, Lesia Diak

Serhiy

A 45-year-old war veteran who served in eastern Ukraine for three years, Serhiy was a war commander, responsible for his soldiers’ lives. He is a person of heart, with a sense of dark  army humour and pessimistic views on humanity. He works night shifts at the supermarket to support his family. He is a loving father but the war experience prevents him from fulfilling his dream of living a peaceful life with his family.

Nadiia

Serhiy's wife cared for their three sons while he served in the war. She is a very strong woman, a mother both strict and tender. Raising three boys made her extremely resilient. It's difficult for her to express her emotions and fragility. She doesn't work outside the home and mostly performs parental duties. She rarely has time for herself, or time alone. She gives everything she has to her children.

Sasha (11)

Eleven years old, Sasha is an introverted pre-teen who keeps his emotions to himself. He is going through adolescent insecurities and understands better than his brothers how much their father has changed. The tension between Serhiy and his oldest son, Sasha, grows throughout the film. The more Serhiy demands from Sasha, the more the boy rebels. By the end of the film, Sasha's behaviour will have changed, showing increased aggression towards his youngest brothers. Sasha also takes on more responsibility in caring for his newborn sister.

Artem (8)

Eight-year-old Artem is the most vulnerable child in the family. He is a very reflective boy. He cries and disagrees with his parents and brothers. Artem is fascinated by his father and his stories from the war; he learns war songs written by soldiers of the Russian-Ukrainian conflict. This son of Serhiy's has great empathy for his dad.

Nikita (3)

Three years old, Nikita is the youngest and sunniest child. He is the most open among all the children and the most cherished by his parents. He also becomes affected by his dad and the violence of his older brothers.

Marharyta

The newborn daughter, Marharyta – the only daughter among sons – brings hope to the family.

Lesia

A 29-year-old woman, the film director, is going through a break-up with a war veteran. She is making a film about Serhiy's family to understand the impact of war on love and family relationships.

Producers Lesia Diak (main Producer), Monica Lăzurean-Gorgan, Elena Martin, Co-Producer Hrvoje Osvadić

EN

Young audiences in the spotlight

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Through cinema and creative documentary – an inexhaustible genre – we get fascinating glimpses of the world in which we live, we take distance from what happens to us, and we connect with all that’s happening to others and concerns us.

Guided by this motto, the KinderDocs International Documentary Festival for Children and Young Audiences in Greece celebrated its eighth year, with a fascinating programme of award-winning, thought-provoking documentaries complemented by educational activities, exciting encounters with international guests, and in-depth discussions that push the boundaries. Over the course of seven days, from 16 through 22 October 2023, three different venues welcomed cinephiles, film professionals, and enthusiastic young people, all seeking to delve into the many different facets of reality offered by documentaries designed specifically for young audiences. From a diverse array of perspectives a shared agreement emerged: these films hold importance and relevance.

An exciting and vibrant festival week

This year’s edition of KinderDocs kicked off with a Special Screening centred around the theme In search of our place in the world. Part of our extensive tribute to Germany, the event was held on Tuesday 17 October at the Goethe-Institut Athen.

Premiering in Greece, the desktop documentary Dear Dad and the episodic observational documentary Either Way skillfully capture the diverse concerns and aspirations of today's young generation in Europe through very distinct formats. Coming from Germany, the four promising emerging filmmakers (Karoline Roessler, Eva Louisa Gemmer, Hannah Jandl, and Lea Tama Springer) engaged in a comprehensive discussion on identity politics and other explorations that arise on the cusp of contemporary adulthood. Friedrich Burschel, drawing from his extensive experience as the Director of the Rosa Luxemburg Stiftung Office in Greece, delved into the socio-political dimensions embedded in the films' themes. Moderated by the filmmaker Dimitra Kouzi, KinderDocs director, this enlightening discussion engaged the audience, providing an opportunity to draw parallels with the Greek context.

KinderDocs Industry Event

KinderDocs’ first Industry Event, titled ‘Documentaries for children and young people: International Approaches and Perspectives,’ explored strategies for engaging the coveted young audience on Thursday 19 October, hosted at the Goethe-Institut Athen. 

Acclaimed film professionals and representatives from prestigious festivals in the Netherlands, Germany, and Greece illuminated their approaches in how to make creative documentaries appeal to young viewers. Each presentation provided valuable insights into this multifaceted subject, encompassing filmmaking, content, programming, production, distribution, financing, and partnerships. Crucially, the ensuing discussion prompted insightful questions and generated fresh perspectives on current challenges and future possibilities. After eight years of working with young audiences, KinderDocs posed fundamental questions: 

What issues does documentary deal with? Are there other issues to highlight? What limitations must documentary overcome in order to mature as a film genre? What is the range of budgets in youth documentary production? Why are most documentaries for children shorts? How can you work interdisciplinarily with documentary films? What is the landscape in distribution and European co-productions in the Youth category?


IDFA, the first to feature documentaries for young people in its competition, entrusted this year's programming to award-winning director Niki Padidar (Ninnoc, All you See). She joined the KinderDocs industry event in Athens to present her vision for the future of the genre for the first time in public and posed the question on how we define a film for young people.


Marije Veenstra, IDFA's Head of Education, highlighted psychosocial approaches  and underscored the significance of diversifying genres and themes in a festival's educational programme; Having an enormous experience through her work at IDFA, she especially emphasised the importance of school screenings.

Gudrun Sommer, Director, DOXS RUHR Festival, underlined the genuine effort required at the European level in order to tell stories about specific situations experienced by young people through documentaries. This approach aims to gain a deeper understanding of their concerns, which go beyond mainstream topics and issues.
Drawing on the experience of organising KinderDocs for eight years now, and a decade of international collaborations in audience development for award-winning films such as La Chana, dir. Lucija Stojevic (IDFA Audience Award 2016), Communion, dir. Anna Zamecka, (EFA Best Documentary 2017), Radiograph of a Family, dir. Firouzeh Khosrovani (Best Feature-Length Documentary IDFA 2021) Apolonia, Apolonia, dir. Lea Glob, (EFA Awards 2023), Dimitra Kouzi a filmmaker herself works on, ‘How can we directors/producers/festivals/curators introduce creative documentaries to a wider audience, including  reaching out to young audiences, which are regarded as the most challenging to engage?
Sophia Exarchou, director of internationally acclaimed films Park and Animal, addressed the spreading conservatism in art, extending beyond youth documentaries; she discussed the implicit adjustments and moderations necessary when presenting a film. The spotlight should be on effective methods of educating the audience.
Directors Martijn Blekendaal (The Man Who Looked Beyond The Horizon) and Susanne Kim (Cabinets of Wonder) concluded with a profoundly important message that could only serve as a motivation for the industry: ‘We must take young people seriously’ – this involves not acting on behalf of them, but listening to their needs and engaging them, creating compelling stories.
Finally, director Martijn Blekendaal who starts his inspiring manifesto about youth documentaries sayig: ‘youth documentary has an image problem: it is the most underrated genre. documentary makers don’t take it seriously’ stated, ‘Almost any subject is suitable for a youth documentary; it's about how you tell the story.’ 

KinderDocs Festival Programme for Schools

Throughout the week, schools – both private and public – joined in the festival programme specifically curated for educational screenings at the Benaki Museum.

Elementary school children had the unique opportunity to meet the director Susanne Kim after the screening of her film Cabinets of Wonder. The school children that attended Sustainability: The Present Becomes the Future had an exciting hands-on experience inspired by one of the three short films they watched, Ramboy. The film explores the relationship between a grandson and his grandfather, a farmer in Ireland. The educational activity, titled The Wool Cycle: From Tradition to Today, was crafted in collaboration with The Pokari Project.

Meanwhile, secondary-education pupils attended a special screening of Aurora's Sunrise, a multi-awarded animation documentary recounting the story of a young girl who survived the Armenian genocide. Schoolchildren had a memorable Q&A with filmmaker Martijn Blekendaal (The Man Who Looked Beyond the Horizon), talking about personal fears and the limits we impose on ourselves to avoid the risk of failure. Pupils and teachers alike left the Benaki Museum enthused, inspired, and eager to continue exploring more educational material in the classroom.

The KinderDocs Festival wrapped up with the motto: EVERYBODY KinderDocs!

KinderDocs Family Weekend

The 2023 festival’s edition culminated in a vibrant weekend, inviting audiences of all ages to two days filled with back-to-back screenings at the Benaki Museum/Pireos 138. A total of 17 award-winning documentaries from 10 countries were screened in 8 thematic sections, tackling contemporary issues such as sustainable development, lesser-known aspects of world history, alternative youth pursuits, gender issues, human rights, juvenile delinquency, and the fragility of our digital selves. The films sparked compelling questions and stimulated lively discussions with guests from Greece and other countries, featuring international and Greek filmmakers (Martijn Blekendaal, Tine Kugler, Günther Kurth, Maria Sidiropoulou), historians (Serko Kougioumtzian), psychologists (Elena Koutsopoulou, Eva Spinou, Marilena Spyropoulou), and start-uppers (The Pokari Project). At the same time, participants immersed themselves in the imaginative world of youth in a unique VR experience linked to the film Cabinets of Wonder.


‘Standing in front of the camera was a form of psychotherapy for Kalle (the protagonist of the film Kalle Kosmonaut).’ Günther Kurth, Director/Producer
‘I was confronted with my own insights, because my film (The Man Who Looked Beyond the Horizon) is about being afraid and overcoming the fears that feed you. The end can also be seen as a beginning.’
Martijn Blekendaal, Director

8th KinderDocs Festival:
A genuine celebration for all creative-documentary enthusiasts,
offering a generous glimpse of what's yet to come!

Aurora’s Sunrise (97’), Inna Sahakyan, Armenia, 2022
Cabinets of Wonder (79’), Susanne Kim, Germany, 2020
Colors of Tobi (81’), Alexa Bakony, Hungary, 2021
Dear Dad (17’), Karoline Roessler, Germany, 2021
Either Way (45'), Eva Louisa Gemmer, Hannah Jandl, Lea Tama Springer, Germany, 2021
Herd (37’), Omer Daida, Israel, 2021
Ιnsight (20’), Emma Braun, Austria, 2022
Kalle Kosmonaut (99’), Tine Kugler, Günther Kurth, Germany, 2022
My Family is a Circus (16’), Nina Landau, Belgium, 2020
My Hair (3’), Max Jacoby, Luxembourg, 2021
One in a Million (84’), Joya Thome, Germany, 2022
Ramboy (31’), Matthias Joulaud, Lucien Roux, Switzerland, 2022
See you Tomorrow (20’), Kevin Biele, Germany, 2022
The Man who Looked Beyond the Horizon (26’), Martijn Blekendaal, Netherlands, 2019
The School by the Sea (29’), Solveig Melkeraaen, Norway, 2021
View (5’), Odveig Klyve, Norway, 2021
Water, Wind, Dust, Bread (25’), Mahdi Zamanpoor Kiasari, Iran, 2021    

Watch our interviews with KinderDocs 2023 guests:  

Either Way (So Oder So, Germany, 2021, 45ʹ): Interview with the Filmmakers
KALLE KOSMONAUT interview with the directors, Günther Kurth & Tine Kugler

Stay tuned, there is more coming out of the editing room!

We are always delighted to engage in partnerships with like-minded professionals across Europe who share our vision. If you’d like to collaborate with Kouzi Productions, we would love to hear from you!

Contact

kinderdocs.com

[email protected]
[email protected] 

EN

A Decade with Alice (Alice On & Off)

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Dimitra Kouzi Interviews Isabela von Tent, Alice On & Off before the world premiere in the international competition at Krakow Film Festival 2024

Dimitra Kouzi: What made you stay with Alice and film her story for more than ten years?

Isabela von Tent: The story goes back to 2014. I was in film school and, for an exam, I needed to make a documentary portrait of someone interesting. I had just moved to Bucharest a year before and barely knew anyone outside of school. Back in my tiny hometown in Transylvania, things were different. So, I asked my classmates for suggestions on interesting subjects. One of them, who also happens to be the sound guy on the film, knew Dorian and thought he could be a good subject. I found out he had a very young wife, and that's how I met Alice.

DK: How did that first encounter go?

IT: We were both shy. At the first shoot, I was super polite, asking formal questions, and Dorian gave these long-winded replies. Alice was mostly taking care of their child. After a few days of filming with them, I finally built up the courage to ask Alice if she wanted to talk. She said yes, but only after asking Dorian's permission, which he casually gave.

DK: And what kept you coming back?

IT: In the beginning, it was the exoticness of their lifestyle that drew me in, something completely unfamiliar to me. It took me a while to realize that we had similar pasts. I was raised by grandparents too, and my childhood wasn't easy, not like hers, but I understood her feelings – that longing for love and guidance while growing up.

DK: What exactly made you curious about them?

IT: It was the first time I wasn't being told what to do. My grandparents were very strict, and here I had this chance to explore and find out who I really connected with. Meeting Alice was a special experience. It was a feeling in my gut, a strong instinct that told me I had to stick with her. After finishing the short film for school, I thanked them and moved on. Funny how things turned out, but I randomly ran into Dorian on the street later and asked him about Alice. He told me the sad story of their breakup and how Alice had to give up her studies at the Fine Arts University to focus on taking care of the family. This news coincided with needing another documentary project for my next school year. Slowly, the idea of making a feature film about their messy but captivating life together started to form.

DK: So, how much footage did you end up with after ten years?

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IT: Not so much – around 70 hours.

DK: And did the story come together in the editing room then?

IT: Exactly. A big turning point came when my short film about Alice won a National Film Academy Award. Irina (Malcea, Luna Film) is a member of the Academy, saw the film, and someone connected us. It was a lucky break because at 23, I wasn't prepared to approach producers on my own.

DK: How much did these ten years of involvement influence your own life and decisions? What kind of mark did that involvement leave on you?

IT: A lot. I think the biggest thing that happened to me during this process was that it helped me understand why I was acting the way I was. I mean, why I just wasn't myself. For a long time, I was very very upset with how my parents and grandparents treated me. Of course, therapy is an option, but this was my process, through Alice, through our developing relationship. She wasn't very forthcoming about her past. Letting her tell her story helped me understand my own. That's why I agreed to share a bit of my personal journey in the film. Training my patience was a challenge for me as well. Throughout this process, I was constantly honing my patience while surrounded by colleagues who were actively working on various projects and films.

DK: You made the brave decision to become part of the film.

IT: Yes, but that decision came later, I guess. It was made in the editing room, because that's when a lot of things became clear. Over these ten years, I think the awakening moment, the moment I truly understood what the film was about, came during editing.

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DK: How did the producer, Irina Malcea, help you get to that point?

IT: Irina fulfilled many roles for me. She was a mentor, a sister, and a very caring and loving friend.

DK: Did you ever feel like putting the camera down?

IT: No, I never felt like quitting. However, I was always very careful about how I filmed them. We have a lot of raw footage that's more aggressive, or grounded in reality, but I didn't include it because I didn't think it was essential.

DK: How about the scene where Aristo shuts his ears while they're fighting?

IT:  When I went home afterwards, I questioned myself a lot. Why didn't I put the camera down? Why didn't I call the police? The answer is, I think I was more scared than he was. For him, this was a kind of reality, and somehow, he knew how to cope with it. If I'd stopped filming, I would have chosen not to show a very important part of this child's life. Even though it's difficult to watch, and many people will criticize me for continuing to film, I'm more than happy to answer their questions and explain that I couldn't ignore this significant aspect of Aristo's life.

DK: How much responsibility do you feel towards Aristo in general? You've followed him from birth until now, when he's a young boy aged 11.

IT: I actually feel a lot of responsibility. I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing. I've heard many opinions on how to act or behave with your characters after filming is complete. But I choose to behave like a human. It's important to me to be part of his development, as much as he allows me to be, especially now that Dorian has just been diagnosed with cancer. We found out two weeks ago [April 2024]. So now I'm quite involved in what's happening with Aristo.

DK: That is very sad to hear. So what's happening with Aristo now?

IT: He's actually doing okay. He's continuing his martial-arts training, which has helped him develop a lot. He's changed a lot. He's a teenager, of course, a young teenager just starting his journey through those rough teenage years, but he's changed significantly. He looks healthier and more energetic. This sport has really helped him. I connected him with his trainer and helped him start training. It's been very beneficial for him. That's one way I'm helping him. Also, after his mother disappeared, I never stopped searching for her. We searched for her a lot.

DK: What other ethical challenges did you have to overcome? How did you manage to balance being an artist with making your film?

IT: It wasn't an easy journey to overcome the ethical questions. But most of the time, when I faced ethical dilemmas, I tried to imagine how I would feel if I were the character being filmed. I did this a lot and asked myself, 'Would I be comfortable with this?' We participated in many workshops where I shared my thoughts and fears with others, especially at Ex-Oriente and the Doku-Rough Cut Boutique. Those discussions helped us solidify the understanding that respecting the characters was the right approach. The rule, I think, was always to respect your character – respect Alice as a friend, respect her as a woman, and keep that in mind at all times.

DK: Would you say that your protagonists also learned something through this process?

IT: I want to believe that, after seeing the film, something changed within Alice. It was an hour and a half of roller-coaster emotions because it was the first time they were together in the same room, watching their lives unfold. I saw a shift in her, a sense that change might be coming. I don't know if it will happen in two months or three, but for the first time, she said to me, 'Thank you.' Just hearing her say 'Thank you' – it was very deep and heartfelt. She looked me in the eyes and said it, and that was very emotional for me.

DK: In general, Alice was very self-reflective in the film. I was very impressed by that. Do you think that's just how she is, or was it the filming process and your questions that brought that out?

IT: I think it was a combination of both her personality and her needs. The documentary process, the filming itself, became a way for her to be heard. She felt trapped in a family dynamic where she was solely responsible for providing – for the child, for Dorian – and her own needs were left behind. Talking to me, and having most of our conversations focus on her, I believe, created a balance that allowed her to be heard and to talk about herself.

DK: So, how would you describe Alice now that the film is finished? Now that you have some distance and perspective.

IT: I think Alice is an unloved girl, an unloved child trapped in a young woman's life. There's a lot of beauty within her that often goes unseen. She has a lot to offer. I saw the hope and the spark of joy within her. I truly wish that it will come back and that she will find the strength to overcome this very dark period in her life. She's vulnerable, but at the same time, she's powerful. Somehow, through her craziness and her courage to express her feelings authentically, she's grown. I saw the light in her paintings, a place where she felt safe. I saw the light when she played with her son.

DK: Can you reflect on the film's logline: 'How can you be loved if nobody has taught you how?'

IT:  It just emerged instantly. Mirroring myself through Alice's story, when I asked myself what I was missing in my personal development and what Alice was missing, the word 'love' came to mind.

DK: You refer to Dorian as an anti-hero.

IT: I appreciate him a lot for what he did for the child and how he helped Alice. When they met, she was in a very dark place, full of drugs and alcohol. He gave her hope. He had the emotional space to listen to her and encourage her to find a better path. He also gave her the space she needed to do that. But at some point, his darker side emerged – perhaps selfishness. He can be selfish when he wants to be, when his own interests take priority over their common ground. Interestingly, he was very aware of the camera.

DK: In what sense?

IT: In terms of his behavior. For example, remember the scenes where they were fighting? He was very quiet, uncharacteristically silent. I think, because he knew I was there, he put some limits on himself to avoid looking bad. During workshops, many people felt that Dorian wasn't all right, that he didn't always make good choices. On the other hand, you can't entirely blame him. We have beautiful footage of him caring for the child and taking care of Alice when she was younger. And after she left, he continued to care for the child. It's difficult to solely blame him for not always being honest.

DK: Where is Alice today? What's she doing?

IT: She has a new boyfriend, and from what I understand, he also struggles with drug addiction. She still visits her son often. I was surprised to see her at Dorian's place when I went to show them the film. She doesn't have a phone or internet access now, so I had no idea she would be there. I found her to be in a much better state than the last time I saw her, which was after an overdose. She was in a very bad shape then.

DK: Do you think there's a chance she can be saved or escape this path?

IT: She can escape it if she wants to. I can try to help her in a million different ways, but if she doesn't want, she won't be saved. 

DK: What emotions do you hope the audience experiences when they watch your film?

IT: I want them to question themselves. I've learned that uncomfortable feelings can reveal a very beautiful truth.

DK: Thank you, Isabela. It was a pleasure. I feel like I know you a bit better now. 

IT: Thank you for giving me this opportunity.

WORKSHOPS

BIOS

Isabela Von Tent, Director, DoP

Isabela's filmmaking journey began after she studied film directing and journalism.  She initially served as an assistant director on both national and international productions, collaborating with renowned Romanian filmmakers like Radu Jude and Tudor Giurgiu. These experiences provided invaluable training, but it was Isabela's unique perspective on reality and her passion for storytelling that drew her to documentary filmmaking.

Her debut in this genre, a short documentary, garnered the prestigious Romanian National Film Award. Driven by a desire to explore non-classical approaches to documentary storytelling, Isabela embarked on her first feature film. Shot over a span of ten years, this ambitious project led Isabela to participate in influential international training programs like Docu Rough Cut Boutique, ExOriente, and ZagrebDox Pro.

FILMOGRAPHY

All the Names that Start with C (2016), 14 min

short fiction

  • Festivals: Anonimul IFF, Romania 2016; STIFF Student International Film Festival, Croatia 2016

Chat with Alice (2015)

short documentary, 20 min

  • Cinemaiubit ISFF 2015 Awards: Best Short Documentary
  • Gopo Awards 2016: Best Short Documentary Film
  • Visegrad Film Forum: Case Study
  • Alter-Native 24, Tg Mures: Official Selection
  • STIFF International Student Film Festival, Croatia: Official Selection
  • Toamna La Voronet International Film Festival: Special Mention
  • Astra Film, Sibiu, Romania, 2016: Official Selection
  • DocuArt Fest, Bucharest, Romania 2016: Official Selection

Alice (2014)

Short documentary, 7 min

  • Cinemaiubit ISFF 2014, Victor Iliu Prize for Best Director of Short Documentary Film
  • Premiile Gopo 2015: Nominated for Best Short Documentary Film
EN

Girl’s Stories, Girlhood Magic

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Interview

Director Aga Borzym talking with Dimitra Kouzi

DIMITRA KOUZI: You introduce yourself as a director (once), animator (in-between), editor (usually), mother (by choice), engineer (by accident), and girl (from the beginning). How did this interesting combination influence the creative process for ‘Girls’ Stories’?

AGA BORZYM: I wrote it as a joke, but it’s true. That directing is the first time I’m doing this in this project. I’ve been an editor for a long, long time, but I was editing shorter things. But my dream was to edit a documentary movie because I thought the editor has a lot to say in the creative process. I came across this documentary, I was really interested in it. And for a Polish person, it was something really new, because we don’t have such films. And it’s not so popular to have a documentary where the protagonists are kids. Generally, Polish documentaries like to show really tough topics.

It is true. Like Communion, for instance.

It’s a great movie, of course.

People often reduce the film to just one story, about the first menstruation. Which it is not.

Menstruation was something with which I really connected, with this body thinking, and I realised I wasn’t doing that when I was a young girl. And nobody talked with me about a lot of stuff. And the body was somehow like a taboo. Even my mother, who wasn’t a person who didn’t want to talk, yet I think she didn’t know how to do this.

In the beginning, a lot of people were like, are you crazy? What do you want to show? And what do you want to talk about? And I thought, yes, these subjects are very fragile. And it’s a taboo in Poland. So maybe we should see animation, not faces. And I was in really nice workshops, where there were documentary-based people, and they like animation, but they want to see people, they want to see faces. They were like pushing me, come on, just try to show protagonists, try differently. They were challenging me, so I started to shoot different girls with my friend, Karla Baraniewicz, the DOP, and we did three groups of girls. I thought the best idea would be to shoot friends or sisters of similar ages. I was looking for that. I was also looking for girls who were before their first menstruation, who were maybe during this (this was the hardest), and who were a few years after. So we did it.

Did you cast them?

Yes. I even did a post on Facebook. It was more like to show other people, my friends, that I was doing this project. Sometimes it was nice because I was talking on Facebook. Facebook is from 13 years old. So, of course, the girls who wanted to talk with me, because I also did some interviews on the phone, looking for the protagonists, they were more like 16, 17, 18. They were older but they were saying some nice, interesting stuff. It was more like this project could be showing those really different aspects of this special moment in your life. But, of course, these girls which we have in our film in the end, they were the first girls we shot.

So we had this luck somehow that the first girls, even though I kept looking afterwards, the first girls were, I don’t know how to say it – brilliant. And this first scene we have in the film, it was just happening in front of our eyes, and we were amazed with Kachna (the DOP). I just wanted to talk with them. And this boy just came!

This first scene, where he asks, ‘What are you talking about?’.

Yes. We don’t see it, but it’s Zuzia’s brother, because he was a little bit jealous; he wanted to play with them as normal. But they told him, no, no, we are making a movie. Sorry, you can’t join us. So he dressed up, ninja style. And the girls were so in the movie and that we are shooting a documentary about girl stuff. They didn’t know at the start that this was Janek. This was really funny.

I think that the important thing is that you manage to connect with them. This is the key. This is why this film is also for adults. How did you win their trust and not just become a kind of ambassador for grown-ups?

I think with Jakota at first it was quite easy because I knew her. Maybe I wasn’t a really close person to her because I was closer to her mother. But of course I knew her from when she was born, and she knew me and she felt quite safe. Maybe it was also this age that she was really joyful, she really liked it when we were there with the camera, she really enjoyed it. She was excited. At the start it was quite easy, and she was very open. I didn’t push her to any subject.

How involved were the girls in the storytelling?

I was really calm and just looked very quiet. What Jakota wanted, maybe, what it can be, I was talking with her, of course, and then having an idea: OK, you have this friend and maybe we can film with her. OK, she’s coming to you for a sleepover. So, of course, there was the material, we were looking for some friends of hers, boys, girls, because she’s this girl who has a lot of friends. In the film, we see a few of them, but she’s a really social person. And she’s also a person who does a lot of stuff, sports stuff. At the start, in the script, even, she had this idea that she would make a football team, a girl football team, in her school, because at that time she was into football. She’s a person who does a lot but also changes very quickly.

How did you crystallise the issues and how did you write the script?

The script was quite challenging because a lot of people were asking me, OK, what is the goal? I was also a little bit not sure, of course, they are kids and then they become teenagers. But what does this transition mean? The subject was the two young girls, kids, changing to adults, I mean to teenagers. And the subject was what is changing in their life when they are becoming more visible as a woman? So, yes, that was the idea which I was looking for.

I was looking for the stories of Jagoda and Zuzia alone and thinking, OK, we will have their stories because they are friends, but they are not always together and they have different lives and their schools and they have different friends. They are more like those friends from the neighbourhood and they are not together all the time, they can talk about that. And, of course, those subjects sometimes were subjects which I asked them or just provoked somehow the idea that they can talk. It was good with them that they really like to talk together. They were unique in that, because even when we were shooting Jagoda with her friends from school, it was totally different. They didn’t talk so much. They didn’t complement each other. They were more childish because Jagoda is younger. But with Zuzia, you don’t feel this because she really likes that Zuzia probably challenged her somehow. So, I couldn’t imagine what they would say because they were saying so much stuff, sometimes so mature that I was really amazed myself. There were simple subjects which I just wanted to ask them about menstruation, their body changing, but I didn’t want to push them. I was really waiting for what they would say. And maybe I was provoking those subjects. But sometimes, of course, they were just talking by themselves.

What was the process of you directing them?

I was looking for situations. It could be that something could happen, Jagoda with her friends, with boys. I knew that they spent time with another girl, whom we don’t see a lot in the film. I knew that they were doing this stuff, more doing, not talking, stuff like skateboarding, going to the river, all this which we feel we all did somehow, maybe not everyone, but it’s very connected to this moment of life. And there is some freedom and some childish feeling still. And with Zuzia, I was just looking more for the places we could go and talk. I had notes, which subjects we could discuss. And I was looking for what’s going on there, what they are talking about now. Sometimes we did sleepovers, we would just meet at Zuzia’s place or Jagoda’s place. And of course, a lot of time we met in the playground. We did some walks in the neighbourhood, going for ice cream. 

In the script, sometimes the stories didn’t work out somehow, this football thing. OK, with Zuzia, I had the school, she had exams, she was overwhelmed – a lot of stuff was on her shoulders. And she’s in this nunnery school. I knew we had to do some mornings, when she’s waking very, very early with her brother. And it was more like to get the make up, the invisible makeup to go. Of course, I was interviewing them a lot also.And some interviews I also did after the whole shooting, I knew that I needed more story to be set, because at the start I thought it would be more observational. But then it came out that maybe we need more voice off. It was a kind of collage, I would say. There was this idea that she goes asking questions to adults, and we thought there would be more of that. But I wanted those questions to come from her. After, I don’t know, one year, she told me like, oh, no, this is so childish. I don’t want to do it anymore. I thought, OK, we will start to do this and make a different situation like the talk with her father. I had some questions, but what she asked him, I mean, what she said, I didn’t know, I didn’t expect. I really had this great protagonist, I knew that when I put something in their head somehow they will manage to transform it somehow.

What were you like at that same age?

Oh, I was very, very shy. I was more childish for sure. Of course, there was no social media like today. Yeah, I think I was really shy with boys, for example. And with Jagoda I love that she’s so spontaneous with all the people she meets. And with Zuzia I love that she talks about the world in a very funny way, but very wise also.That you are laughing and you’re also reflecting. They are so special.

Do you think that Jagoda and Zuzia are representative of the average Polish teenage girl?

No, no, no. I think it would be a lie if I would try to say yes. No, they aren’t. Of course, maybe they are average girls from big cities and from those good, like typical good families somehow. But maybe on the other hand they are special together, because of how they talk and what reflections they have. Sometimes 30-year-old women say, hey, come on, they are thinking like me. How come? Of course, probably they are reflecting some parents’ ideas, or they read a lot, Zuzia reads a lot. They aren’t average.

Is this why it also works for adults?

Maybe that’s why sometimes adults like to watch it because they have those ideas, and they are teenagers and you’re amazed, like, oh, my God, I’m thinking the same. They were like, maybe it’s not only for young people; maybe it can also be for adults. 

But did you feel, because it was your first film, insecure by many different opinions and many different people who said this and that?

Yes, it was like that. Actually, I’m an editor and I’ve been one for a long time, but I’d never edited a feature film before. From the start I said I want to edit this, and everyone was saying, no, it’s not professional. Don’t do this. Please don’t do this to yourself. And I was like, what are you talking about? No, I want to edit my own film at last. But then I understood it’s really hard to forget…

To have distance?

Yes, to have this distance. And of course, and now I understand it. And I got some really nice consultants. But one of my consultants was a really good editor and really well-known person. And at the start, it was really hard when we did something because we had this three-day consultation. And after all, we had like a…

… rough cut?

Yes. Of course, it was still during filming. We didn’t have the ending and other stuff. But I really needed time to understand that I want to change some stuff. Because I was like, oh, my God, he’s such a great editor.And maybe I should leave it because he said it.

But of course, it took time for me to understand I want it different, and I want to change some stuff. It was like I had to…

… follow your instinct.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

I’m sure that your relationship also evolved during the course of shooting the film and it affected also the final project, not only the shooting. Can you elaborate a bit on how your relationship evolved?

With Jakoda, it was really, really easy to just be with her. She loved the camera, and she could spend time with me and Kachna (the DOP), just walking around, doing things, and talking. But when she started to become more of a teenage girl in her eyes, I began to be more like a mother’s friend, an adult. Also, I think she started to feel insecure about the subject of menstruation. At the start, she was very open and didn’t care. For her, it was a normal subject. But then, someone at school said, ‘oh, really, you’re doing this movie, and there is this menstruation subject. So, she became influenced by others. It’s that phase when you start listening more to your friends than your parents and stop caring about what your parents say, becoming more concerned with what your friends and people your age think. 

So, I had to step back a bit and give her time. I was waiting for her to come around, and during that time, I was also more focused on Zuzia’s story. After a few months, Jakoda changed again and wanted to be more involved in the process. It was a continuous cycle. So, it was sinusoid, somehow. And, of course, I made some mistakes sometimes. For example, I asked some boys about menstruation. It wasn’t necessarily a mistake, but it turned out to be because they were so shy about the subject. One of the boys, who happened to be a close friend of Jakoda, didn’t want to be in front of the camera for half a year. I thought maybe I shouldn’t do this so quickly at the start. We needed time for him to forget about it. With boys, we relied more on observation. And they’re different, aren’t they? 

Would you say that boys, in general, approach this subject differently?

Yes, I think it’s not easy for them either. In school, they often segregate into groups, boys and girls, and talk about gender-specific topics. While segregating might help due to shyness, perhaps they should also discuss what girls go through during this time or what they feel. The same applies to girls; they should know what’s going on with boys. It’s a challenge in Poland; people often forget that it’s okay to address these subjects with boys. 

I believe this is a universal issue, not unique to Poland. How did you deal with the possibility that Jakoda and Zuzia might dislike the film in a few years or be embarrassed by it?

I was quite apprehensive about that. But on the other hand, it made me more cautious not to push them. While making a documentary, there’s a temptation to condense the subject.

It’s my first film, and it was really like stepping back and looking at them. But I felt that sometimes you may need to step back and give them space to express themselves. I believed they should be the first ones to decide how they wanted to present the film, after the shooting. We watched the film together, the three of us –me, Jakoda, and Zuzia, at Jakoda’s house. It was crucial for them to see if there was anything they didn’t want to share with their parents. I wanted them to feel that I was with them first and foremost. Of course, their parents were involved, but the focus was on the girls.

Is this the main difference when making a film for young people, that they become the primary decision-makers on the content and the final film?

In the end, they really loved everything, and we only removed one scene because Jakoda’s mother wasn’t sure about it. I understood that it might make someone feel uncomfortable, not the girls themselves, but someone they talked about in that scene.

Tell me about the animation. Did you create it yourself? Why did you incorporate these animation clips between scenes?

No, the animations were created by Monika Kuczyniecka, an animator with years of experience, specialising in clay animation. I love her work. The ideas were mine, and we had a script, but we collaborated closely, and sometimes, we made changes based on Monika’s suggestions. It was a wonderful collaboration.

The initial idea was that the animations would serve as metaphors and sometimes lighten the subject. They could also address topics that were challenging to discuss directly, like changes in the body. At times, they would convey emotions. It was more about conveying feelings than telling a story. Clay was something that I was dreaming about because it’s malleable, it’s childish work, and also has structure, like the human body. There’s a connection with the body. At the beginning, while I was making a trailer and we had a few days of shooting, I made a few suggestions for animations from the internet, just to show the feeling. I felt that it was really nice, clay added depth to the scenes and served as metaphors, nightmares, they often show us the subject of the scene before or after. It was like colour, sometimes. Editing this is sometimes quite hard… It’s like a moment from life. 

And what about the song, ‘Essa, Essa’? Was it written especially for the film?

Yes, it was, it was my dream to have a song written specifically for the film. Initially, I wanted a pop, empowering song for girls. The girls often used the word ‘Essa’ during their conversations. It became a sort of teenage word in Poland. It was interesting because when we first used it in the film, it became the teenage word of the year in Poland. It’s typical for teenagers to have such trends. Some people were concerned that we used it in the movie. However, this word was already being used by the girls themselves, especially as they transitioned into teenagehood. I think it’s associated with joy, relaxing, being cool. It’s hard to translate it into a single word. The word existed before; it wasn’t invented for the film. Basia Wrońska, a Polish songwriter and musician, crafted the lyrics based on what she heard from the girls while watching the movie. The song is also about friendship, which I adore.

Girls’ Stories has already seen success in Poland. What are your hopes for the film’s future?

I’m thrilled that the film will be available for educational projects, which makes it watchable in schools. It’s great to see it in that context. I’ve noticed that when children watch it in class, it offers a different experience compared to watching it with their parents. They become more reserved during discussions afterward. Maybe it can make a difference, encouraging them to open up.
The reactions have been varied. Some boys asked when we’d make a film for them, like a second part for boys. Some girls felt empowered by the film. In Poland, it’s not common to openly discuss such topics, especially in films. It’s a blend of conservatism and Catholicism, exacerbated by the current very right-wing government. Women’s rights are underrepresented, and young people are becoming aware of it. One girl told me she was amazed it was a Polish movie and that a boy was discussing women’s rights in it, giving her hope. Jagoda’s school may not be typical, but there are many young people who want to bring about change.

Did making this film change you?

It was quite a journey for me. When I was starting, I was really feeling insecure. That’s probably why I thought that I would make a short documentary for kids. And at the start, I thought it would be a docu-animation, because I’ve been doing animation for a few years now.

For sure, making this film has changed me. I feel more confident that I’m capable of making films now, more secure to create documentary films. I hope it was not just this one. It’s a growing experience, I feel more sure of my ideas. I feel more like a filmmaker.

I’m sure you’ll go on to make more great films. You are a great storyteller.

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