"The Idea Of Home, Roots And Integration Is An Illusion for Me"
Interview with Urszula Antoniak, director of Nothing Personal and Code Bule, at the 64th Cannes Film Festival
Director of Nothing Personal talks about her latest movie, Code Blue; why Cannes baffles her; and how the themes of individuality, solitude and total freedom figure largely not only in her movies, but in her personal life too.
Are you disappointed that Code Blue did not score a prize at the Directors’ Fortnight?
I wasn’t expecting anything. But prizes definitely help. They are marketing tools distributors use to draw attention to films. So yes, I’m a little bit disappointed. (She laughs.)
How do you feel about Cannes?
It baffles me. Cannes is the centre of arthouse cinema, but the magazines readily available on the premises to serve as guides for the audience as to what to see and what to avoid are Screen International, Hollywood Reporter and Variety. So all these trade magazines judge arthouse cinema. That doesn’t make any sense to me. It also feels like Hollywood: everything revolves around red carpet events, stars and parties. In Cannes, everything is exaggerated. Even the reactions of critics and the audience. If they do not like a movie, they jump up from their seats making harsh noises to hammer home the statement they are making. You do not have this in Berlin or Locarno. Everything is like circus here. It is interesting to be part of it for a while, but sometimes I think what it has all to do with cinema?
Were the reactions about Code Blue exaggerated too?
A critic from the Chicago Sun wrote that extra doors had to be opened after the premiere of Code Blue as people were surging towards the doors in such large numbers. It was not true. There were not more people leaving than after any other screenings. Yes, the critic exaggerated. Also, critics usually leave before the end to get to another screening. They did that after Terrence Malick’s film as well. What the Chicago Sun wrote was vicious.
Then the bloggers and tweeters run with what the critic writes and people slowly start to believe what is spread on social media, and something which has been blown out of proportion starts to prevail. That’s how it works, and people will be put off before they have a chance to see the film.
A film like Code Blue baffles these guys from Hollywood who represent business, distributors and sales agents. These are businessmen who judge the epicentre of arthouse cinema and have no reference points when they see something like Code Blue, so they don’t know how to feel about it. The subject of death is also a taboo, which further confuses people. Also, American mainstream cinema has taught us that characters in films are people with psychology. European arthouse cinema – where my film belongs with – often creates characters which are metaphors and require a different type of mindset while watching them.
The main characters in both your features are estranged, solitary women. Where did the inspiration come from?
It comes from life experience. You experience something and you turn it into a dream. A film is always a dream. And then you let people dream your dream and then they have your experience. That is how film exists.
Tell me about these experiences and the characters they inspire.
Both characters live in solitude. The first character in Nothing Personal chooses solitude to be with herself. It is a very individualistic choice. In Code Blue, there is a woman who does not have her own life since she dedicates herself fully to others. She is almost invisible. And then this guy comes along who finally sees her. That’s the peak moment in the film. When she’s finally seen and comes alive. I want to turn the ideas that excite me most into film experiences. I want people more than just to follow the plot. I want them to be engaged and experience something special. And if it is too intense an experience for some people, then they can still choose to go and see Rin Tin Tin.
How should we interpret the character of the nurse?
Metaphorically, she is someone who administers death to people, and in the last scene she expects this man to give her what she’d been giving to other people: either in the form of an orgasm – that’s why they call orgasm ‘little death’ – or in the form of real death. The guy is rough with her but in the end he does not give her what she wants. They do not have sex, she can’t even touch him, and he refuses to kill her as if saying, ‘If you want to die you should do it to yourself, I will not do that for you.’
If you want to analyse the characters in my films, they are always supposed to be bigger than life because they are vehicles for ideas. If you create such an extreme character, you can either explain where this character comes from, or where she is headed to. You do not really know why she does what she does but she is going into more and more extremes.
Why does she react so self-destructively when she is finally seen?
She is not self-destructive. She lives in a world devoid of sexual desire. Her only intimacy is with the people she cares for. Then, suddenly, her desire awakens, which shakes the very foundations of her life as it destroys her control over it.
Was it a deliberate choice to find an actor for the lead role who looks androgynous?
Yes, definitely. If she was too feminine the last scene would be pornographic. She is crawling about, offering herself to him. But with her androgynous body it takes up a different meaning. She knows only two states – sacrifice and redemption – and she projects them onto this man. Lots of women would use this encounter as a one-night stand. But for her, it is utterly different. She sees him as a redeemer who will punish her. To whom she can sacrifice herself. That is totally different to what people would expect. Maybe that is why some people left the screening room so quickly. (She laughs.)
Is your next film to explore such complex and controversial female characters again?
My next film is about a Moroccan girl who has nothing but her freedom. Then she falls in love with a wealthy Dutch girl who has everything. The Dutch girl is the seducer and the Moroccan girl gives all her freedom to her. When you fall in love you always follow someone. Love is about losing your freedom. You are not yourself any more. But in the end she is rejected, so there was no point in sacrificing her freedom. Offering your freedom to someone else, however, is the highest form of freedom.
Loneliness, individuality and freedom seem to be recurring themes in your films. And if I got it right, the next one will also explore something similar. Do they figure largely in your personal life too?
Yes, they are, as I am an immigrant. It means an enormous freedom, but it also carries a lot of risk. To be an immigrant is a chance to reinvent yourself. To find out who you really are. But there is always a risk. You leave everything that defines you behind: your language, your culture, your family, your network. I’d never been so lonely as when I immigrated. But then you really see how strong you are, what you really want and how far you can go as you experience yourself out of your original cultural context.
The idea of home and roots and integration is an illusion for me. An immigrant never integrates. They always carry two personas within themselves: what they used to be, and what they are now. How do you feel Dutch? Nobody can tell me how the Dutch feel Dutch. I just feel myself no matter where I am.