Divine Order/Petra Volpe

Where did women not have the right to vote until 1971? Where did they still need their husbands’ permission to work in 1988?  Where do political parties still advocate no punishment for rape in marriage? The Middle East? Africa? Central Asia? No: It’s Switzerland, where the church says that women who vote violate the divine order. In Divine Order, Petra Volpe tells this historically bizarre story with a good deal of insight and a great deal of charm. Switzerland’s submission for the Academy Awards Best Foreign-Language Film. •Availability: Opens October 27 in New York City, Film Forum. Click here for trailer and theater listings near you. Thanks to Jessica Uzzan, Hook Publicity, for arranging this interview.

 

DT: When Americans think of Switzerland, we think of mountains. We rarely think of the people or the social history. Is Switzerland such an enigma to other countries as well?

PV: Switzerland was very good at pushing a very particular image. After 1945 there was a very conscious process of the Swiss creating a very positive image of the country. There are a lot of positive things like the Red Cross and the chocolate, but there was a big scandal in the 1990s when the banks were sued because they had hidden all this Jewish money—that was the first time Switzerland got a little black mark. But I think in general Switzerland was very successful at consciously building a very positive image. Every country tries to do that, but Switzerland was really very successful.

DT: It almost feels like a world apart from Europe.

PV: It is, actually. Switzerland is not in the EU. It always kept to itself. It has always had a very special position within Europe: It wasn’t harmed by the wars, not the First World War or the Second. In the Second World War all of Europe was in ashes, burned to the ground, and Switzerland was like a little oasis.

I believe that contributed to the conservatism in the country. There’s very much a notion in Switzerland that we must be doing something right. Our little system must be OK as it is, let’s not change anything. A woman’s right to a vote would change things in our society and we don’t want that. We want to maintain the old traditional Switzerland because it’s good for everybody. So there was also a very nationalistic idea why Swiss women shouldn’t vote. It was considered anti-Swiss to be for the right to vote.

 

DT: Can you talk about the real suffragette movement the film was based on.

PV: As I found out in my research—I didn’t learn any of this in school, because it doesn’t exist in schoolbooks in Switzerland—

DT: Still?

PV: I think there are certain chapters in the schoolbooks now, but when I went to school there was absolutely nothing. Of course I knew that women didn’t get the right to vote until 1971, but we didn’t read or learn anything about the hundred-year history of women fighting for the right to vote, about this very, very rich women’s movement. These women in Switzerland were internationally connected, they were networking, they were going to international congresses, they were doing political work, but it was like a parallel society of women doing very important social and political work but not being allowed to vote.

DT: They were doing this work in Switzerland?

 

PV: And also internationally, supporting other women. They petitioned, they put forward a lot of motions, for a hundred years they constantly said we need the right to vote, you can’t deny it to us. In 1959, the first time men went to the ballots with this— Switzerland is a direct democracy, so the men voted on it—it was struck down. It’s the only direct democracy where it happened like this. Sixty percent of the men were against women’s right to vote. 1959 was already so late. Here [in the US] they had it in 1920. In Germany, all of the surrounding countries, women had the right to vote already for twenty years, but in 1959 in Switzerland the men struck it down. It was a huge humiliation for the women in Switzerland and also for all the organizations that worked so hard to bring it to the ballot. It took another twelve years until they voted on it again.

But it wasn’t a case of the women sitting back and waiting submissively until they were given the right to vote. They were fighting for it, but they were ignored by politics. It wasn’t just the population that was against it. The politicians and the churches didn’t support the idea either. In 1971 they were about to sign a human rights treaty in Europe [Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms], but they wanted to sign it with a special chapter saying “but in our country the women can’t vote.” That gave the last push to the women’s movement, which said, There’s no way you’re signing this without us having the vote. Internationally it was so embarrassing for the Swiss that they just couldn’t keep it up anymore. So they supported the women’s right to vote because they were embarrassed internationally—not because they thought it’s so unfair towards our women.

 

DT: Divine Order is very dark in some ways, but it’s also very humorous.  How much did you veer from the reality of the real-life right-to-vote movement?

PV: What I tried to do was really capture the atmosphere of 1971. I wanted to make a very sensual story. I didn’t want to make a school lesson. I wanted to really look at the times and what it meant for women to live in these times; to make it almost a physical experience, how they were treated like objects, how they were treated like little children who couldn’t make their own decisions, who couldn’t go to work if they didn’t have their husbands’ permission. So it wasn’t really about depicting this whole movement but depicting this moment in time, showing how women were treated, and how realizing that the private is political, which is a very, very universal topic that can bring this person, this Nora, a very simple wife and mother who was a little bit like my mother, into motion. I felt that it was also very timeless. She’s definitely a woman of her times, but the process she goes through is also very timeless. We see it in the media today, happening now with all these women coming forward to talk about how they’ve been sexually harassed and abused. this whole thing was brought into motion by one woman speaking up. She made the first step, somebody wrote about it, and now all these women come out in solidarity. I think there is power in that.

 

DT: Switzelrand has four language groups. The one depicted in Divine Order is Swiss German. It was an extremely oppressive culture, not only to the women but also to the men—the grandfather in the film absolutely destroyed his sons. Can you talk about that specific culture.

PV: It’s very Swiss. The grandfather is modeled a little bit on my Swiss grandmother. The French part of Switzerland is a little bit more progressive, and they’re always very angry with the German-speaking part because they’re politically more conservative. They vote more conservatively, and the French don’t like that. The Italian part of Switzerland is also more conservative. The French part is really the most progressive and the most leftist.

The village in the film is like a metaphor for Switzerland. It’s a deeply conservative society, and it was not good for men and women. There was a lot of social control and a lot of ideas about what is a true man and what is a true woman. All these ideas were supported by the church, who said, This is the divine order. This is what a man is, this is what a woman is, and if we start to disrupt this order there will be apocalypse. That was really still an argument in 1971—they said it’s against divine order that women go into politics. God didn’t intend for women to be political. So the women in 1971 weren’t just up against the men; they were up against the divine.

DT: That’s a tall order! Are you speaking about the Lutheran Church?

PV: Switzerland is very Protestant and Catholic; it’s a mixture. The most conservative areas of Switzerland are Catholic, so the Catholics believed that if women vote, it will disrupt the peace in the family, the couple will fight, politics is dirty, women shouldn’t do dirty work. All of the arguments used by the antagonist in the movie—who is a woman—are all original quotes from their propaganda. I didn’t invent them. They would actually say that emancipation is bad for women. It’s a great gift that you can work for your family only. It’s against the divine order. I took that title from original material.

DT: Did the Protestant and Catholic churches work together?

PV: When it came to the women’s right to vote, they were pretty much on the same page. They wanted to maintain a traditional family, and for that they needed the women at home. They also had this image that if women go to vote, they don’t do the housework anymore, they don’t cook. It was very exaggerated, really propaganda. They also had these shows on television where professors would explain why women shouldn’t do politics. They created a science around it, how women are more for the inside and for the family, their brains weren’t wired for politics. They had a science proving that…even in 1971.

I really love one of their posters. You see a cradle and a baby falling out of the cradle. The window is open and a black cat sits in the window, and it reads, “Mother went to the ballots.” One of my favorite arguments is, “Look what happened in Germany when the women were allowed to vote. They voted for Hitler.” That was one of the arguments why women shouldn’t vote in Switzerland—they could vote for a potential new Hitler!

DT: Where are the mountains? Where’s the edelweiss?

PV: Unfortunately I’m ruining the nice image.

 

DT: That’s OK. How much has the country changed since women got the vote?

PV: Of course it’s changed, like it’s  changed here. I grew up with more liberties and freedom than my mother and grandmothers, and laws have changed. Marital law changed in 1988 so that a woman didn’t have to ask her husband for permission to work or open her own bank account. It took another many more years for marital law to be changed. Only thirteen years ago they voted on whether rape in marriage is punishable. There was still one party that was against the punishment.

DT: This is the image we have of Saudi Arabia.

PV: Exactly, and it’s not so long ago. We were always pointing a finger at them and saying, Look how primitive they are. I have a very good quote. One of our politicians was speaking to the Chinese minister, talking about human rights, and he said, “When did you women get the right to vote in Switzerland?” i thought that was a really good answer. We always think it’s so far away, and what they’re doing is so cruel and horrible. No question; women’s rights is a huge issue there, but we have enough shit in front of our own doors.

We can see the whole thing happening right in front of our eyes right now with the Harvey Weinstein scandal. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. So you ask if Switzerland has changed. Yes, it did change, the law changed, women are studying, a lot of young women feel they’re free to do what they want, but if you talk to them after they’ve become mothers, you can still say that a woman’s life after she gets married and has children goes back to the 1950s. That’s a bit exaggerated, but it’s true. Switzerland is still very conservative. It doesn’t encourage mothers to work—I I think Switzerland rates very, very low when it comes to support for mothers who want to work. Underneath all these changes there’s still the very traditional idea that a mother stays home with the kids and the husband brings home the money. We don’t have pay equality.

DT: We don’t have it here either.

PV: Yeah, it’s like here. We don’t have enough women in politics, we don’t have enough women in high positions in all kinds of industries and work environments. There’s a deeply rooted gender bias, and it’s as rampant as it is here [in the US] and everywhere else.

 

DT: Did you have trouble making the film?

PV: Actually, no. Because everybody was a little bit ashamed, they were like, Oh my God this is such a horrible part of our history we should support this film because maybe we can redeem ourselves. I had quite a hard time to get money for my previous film, about human trafficking in Switzerland. Then I wrote Heidi, which was very, very successful, so I already had a little bit of a track record. For this movie we got all the federal funds we needed. We got a lot of support, because these cultural organizations really saw the necessity for the movie and its timeliness also, so that’s a good thing.

 

DT: Can you talk abut the Swiss film industry? The only thing most Americans know about it is Alain Tanner.

PV: That was a long time ago.

DT: Exactly.

PV: The Swiss film industry is not really an industry. It’s extremely small. We have federal funding and state funding, so all our films are funded. There’s hardly any private money in our films, which is a good thing and a bad thing. The good thing is you can get screenplay funds and treatment funds, so if you have a good producer and you write stuff that people want to see, you get paid for writing. I haven’t written a single word in the last fifteen years without getting paid. That doesn’t happen for writers here, because you first write, then you might get paid or not.

Of course it doesn’t work like this for everybody. The funding system also has a dark side, because it’s sometimes very random. When they didn’t give me the money for my human trafficking film, we couldn’t have done the film if my producer hadn’t stepped in. Then you don’t know: Is it a political decision? It’s always dependent on who the people  are on these juries. You may be unlucky, or they’re people who have a beef with your producer or are biased against you for some reason. It’s such a small scene, where  everybody knows everybody, and on these juries are all the people from this business. They’re not objective, and that’s a huge problem with the funding system in Switzerland.

DT: What about international coproductions? Can you look for money outside Switzerland?

PV: You can, but it’s not so easy. You can look for money in Germany, but of course the Germans also have a funding system, and usually they want to give the money to their people. There are also coproduction possibilities with France, but that doesn’t apply to every movie. This movie, for example, is such a Swiss topic that we knew we weren’t likely to get money. We thought we’d be able to  sell it internationally once it was made and it will be easier once it’s clear that it appeals to an international audience, but on the paper, people woulf say, “Why should we fund this movie? It’s completely Swiss, it’s about Swiss history.” So for this movie we really had to find the money within the country. That’s why we had a really small budget for a historical film, and it was only possible because I had the most amazing crew: a lot of women. Director of photography: woman. Composer: woman. Set designer: woman. Costume designer: woman. A lot of other positions: women.

 

DT: Good for you!  How’s the film dong in Switzerland?

PV: It’s a huge box office success. We can say it’s the Wonder Woman of Switzerland.

 

Copyright © Director Talk 2017

Extraordinary Ordinary People/Alan Govenar

For over thirty-five years, filmmaker, author, and radio show host Alan Govenar has been documenting the National Heritage Fellowship, an extraordinary program that honors the artists who keep folk traditions alive in the US. From Native American musicians to African basket makers, from circus performers to Korean dancers, these men and women honor their cultures through practice, performance, teaching, and community work. Extraordinary Ordinary People is a journey through their lives, their art, and their enormous contributions to the vitality of this great land. Availability: Opens September 15, New York City, Cinema Village. A First Run Features release. Thanks to Kelly Hargraves, First Run Features, for arranging this interview.

DT: Talk about the National Heritage Fellowship. What’s it for? Who started it?

AG: When Bess Lomax Hawes became the director of the Folk and Traditional Arts program at the National Endowment for the Arts, she saw the need to recognize folk and traditional artists nationally. She wanted to recognize folk and traditional artists, but not simply give lifetime achievement awards. Of course the awards do celebrate careers and many years of work that different individuals have undertaken and the way in which they passed on these traditions from one generation to the next, but Bess thought it was necessary to recognize traditions as well as individuals. She didn’t want to just give one award to a fiddler. She wanted to show the diversity of fiddling as it existed in the US. So there would be many folk fiddlers and many blues musicians, many conjunto musicians, different people who made traditional crafts forms like basket making and bobbin lace making. It was difficult for her to get the endowment to start this program, and when it started in 1982, there was lots of discussion within the field of folk and traditional arts: Was this a good thing, or would it have negative effects on these traditions? Would valorizing people help or hurt? I think as it’s played out over the last thirty-five years it’s been quite an extraordinary program.

DT: Why would it hurt?

AG: Singling out an individual who’s part of a group that’s been unrecognized sometimes creates tensions within the group. Initially the award was $5,000. Over the years it went to $10,000, and now its $25,000.

 

DT: Let’s talk about the values inherent in the award, beginning with the concept of America as a melting pot.

AG: What I realized in doing this was that for me, the metaphor for America was kind of a crazy quilt of the cultures of the world. Within that quilt there were these traditions that were structured but also improvised. Some were radical, some were conservative. It was this uncanny juxtaposition of everything I thought I knew but found I didn’t understand.

 

DT: How about the value of tradition?

AG: Traditions define who we are. At the core of culture is tradition. Traditions help us clarify our sense of right and wrong, and imbue the world with meaning. In this way traditions shape the people who carry them on and the communities in which we live, work, and play. These National Heritage Fellows are exemplars, they’re ordinary people doing extraordinary things. They’re leaders, they’re teachers, they’re community workers, they’re people who are committed to not only preserving cultural traditions but also perpetuating them and embarking on new innovations to make them more vital and relevant to the world in which they live.

People have a mistaken image of folk art and folklore as being static and dead, when it’s very much alive. That’s not to say that some traditions haven’t passed on or vanished because they’re no longer relevant, but every tradition in this movie is still very vital. And it’s because people are not only carrying on what they learned, they’re adding something new. They’re always becoming new. They’re adding new verses to songs, they’re creating new stitches, they’re designing new quilt patterns, they’re innovating, creating. They’re artists.

 

DT: Some of the artists adhered to strictly traditional forms, like the Korean dancer, while others like the African basket maker introduced modern elements into the tradition, while still others began their own traditions, like Sidiki Conde and the gentleman who claimed to have started Zydeco. Introducing innovations into a tradition always begs the question of what are the tradition’s forms and what dangers does that present to the traditional forms?

AG: I think the parameters of what’s acceptable is determined by the individual and relationship to his or her family or community. The level of interaction determines that. From my point of view, people see a need and they’re creators, they’re artists in the bigger sense. A person who was a big influence on my thinking was Marcia Tucker, who founded the New Museum in New York. Some of the early shows that Marcia did in the ’80s exhibited people who might be called folk artists side by side with people who would be called contemporary artists. Marcia saw these distinctions between folk and fine art as being artificial. It’s a hierarchy, a social hierarchy, because the education process is different. Fine artists go to art schools, and folk artists learn from their grandparents. But in the end they’re both creators. They’re both driven by the artistic impulse. That’s the bigger point here.

In the movie, Bill Monroe says, “I wanted to invent my own music,” and that’s bluegrass. To think that this individual did that! He took mountain music, hillbilly music that he’d heard on records and live performance, and made it into something completely new. Earl Scruggs introduced the idea of playing the banjo in a different kind of way. Like Sheila Adams says, “This is where bluegrass banjo was born.”

I think each and every performer brings something new. Even the Korean dancer, who’s in New York City, is not only influential to the perpetuation of Korean dance but she’s also featured in programs at the Joyce Theater. She’s a contemporary dancer, and within that world she is bringing something new. Her gestural identification with the tradition brings it to a new level.

 

DT: What is the function of art in preserving identity?

AG: I think that the soul of our identity is our language and our use of language, and that’s where these traditions become the most fragile, because without the language—particularly of immigrant cultures—the traditions will wither. The languages are part of the cultural wetlands. D.L. Menard [Cajun] makes the comment in the movie, “We were a poor people and they didn’t want us to speak French in the schools because we didn’t speak correct French.” Ironically, linguists are tremendously fascinated by people like D.L. Menard or Canray Fontenot [Creole]. My wife and I brought Canray to Paris. Our friend Michel Fabre, who was a professor at the Sorbonne, had devoted himself to writing about African Americans in France. He was a biographer for Richard Wright, among others, and translated works of the Harlem renaissance into French. He wanted Canray to come to his graduate seminar because he wanted people to hear the French that he spoke. Michel would listen to Canray and say, “I don’t know how he does this, but he’s speaking medieval French. He’s singing songs from the medieval era.” So it’s language at the core of identity, I think, and tradition is a way in which language gives life to tradition.

We live in a world where immigrant cultures are constantly being pressed to assimilate. What’s amazing to me about the people in the movie, and part of what kept me documenting them for so many years, is that they understand this. They understand this delicate balance between carrying on traditions and assimilating. It’s like when Charles Carrillo says, “We’re not famous. We just do this because it matters.” That’s what it’s all about. It’s striking that very delicate balance between the pressures of assimilation with cultural preservation and at the same time trying to maintain a good life. To do well. To have a good family, to be prosperous and to flourish. To make a living. Not everyone can do that. There are people in the movie who struggle to make a living, and we can’t overly romanticize this process, because individuals like Sidiki Conde are struggling. There’s Alex Moore, who died in poverty.

 

DT: The film included an amazing array of people, ideas, and formats, yet you achieved a remarkable unity of feeling. Did you have a clear idea that you wanted to communicate? What was your organizing principle?

AG: The organizing principle revealed itself to me. I’ve been documenting the Heritage Fellows for so many years, and I had been on the committees that selected them. On our website, mastersoftraditionalarts.org, which was developed before the film but goes with it, there are over five hundred little movies, and you’ll see little bits and pieces of things that we edited. So over the years I’ve worked with a number of different editors. On this film, editor Jason Johnson-Spinos and I worked really closely together. We wrote the script together. He jokes with me that he was born the year I started Documentary Arts, but he’s very sensitive to what I’m thinking, and he’s very sensitive to how to piece all of this together. I wanted to have a narrative and at the same time to bring into it as many different people as I could without it just seeming like mishmash, so there were certain threads that I developed.

When I met Sheila Kay Adams, she became a principal for me, because she’s a storyteller in addition to being a wonderful banjo player and flat-foot dancer and ballad singer. She’s also a writer, who’s written a couple of novels that have been successful. She had a voice that for me was totally unexpected—to hear an Appalachian woman telling you this story! For me there are not enough women in media, and there are not enough women narrators and voices on the radio, even public radio. I wanted there to be someone who would catch you a little bit by surprise but who would tell it like a story. I wrote the script, but Sheila joked with me that she had to Sheila-fy it. And that was great. I wanted that. So the threads became the stories, and I wanted to have more in-depth stories balanced with more sweeping overview. I wanted the viewing of the movie to be both an emotional kind of visceral experience but at the same time an intellectual journey. A lot of my work is focused on the tension and balance between art and ideas.

 

DT: You spoke earlier about documenting these people for so many years. What is your history with this project?

AG: My work on this began in the ’70s, with my BA, which had an emphasis on folklore studies. I had grown up in the inner city of Boston in a world that was Jewish and Black. There was tension between cultures, and I was very much interested in cultural understanding as a vehicle to make a better world. I didn’t know quite how or didn’t really understand this process, and that got me interested in folklore.

I did a paper for a class on a hunchback dwarf tattoo artist in a wheelchair, who later became the subject of my first book, Stoney Knows How, and my first film, Stoney Knows How, which was shot by Les Blank and premiered in New York in 1981 at Film Forum. During that period there was the idea that there needed to be public folklore, meaning that folklorists needed to work in communities but it had to be validated within the government. A man by the name of Archie Green worked and pushed and lobbied, and in 1976 there was a passage of the Folk Life Preservation Act, which created the American Folklore Center at the Library of Congress.

In the ’30s, Alan Lomax and his father, John Lomax, had done work with the Library of Congress, but there was not a formal program within that entity. That led to the creation of this Folk and Traditional Arts program at the NEA. In the ’70s I started organizing little folk festivals and documenting people. In Columbus, there was this old woodcarver, Elijah Pierce, who had a barbershop and did these amazing wood carvings. I was part of a group of people who nominated him for one of the first National Heritage Fellowships, which he received in 1982.

As the years went on, I moved to Texas to get a doctorate at the University of Texas Dallas in 1980, and that’s where Bess Lomax Hawes and the Lomax family lived. There hadn’t been much activity related to folklore studies since the ’30s, and the Lomax family had kind of moved away, but Bess was very interested in seeing more work being done. As I started doing research in Texas, I realized the immensity of what was there that wasn’t being documented, so in the ’80s I organized folk festivals and did radio shows on Texas traditional music for the regional NPR. That grew into a bigger interest in radio, and in the late ’80s I did a 52-part radio series called Masters of Traditional Music, which was funded by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting. It enabled me to travel around the country documenting National Heritage Fellows. That was the beginning of my journey and it continued over the years. I’ve  probably interviewed 350 or more National Heritage Fellows.

 

DT: How do people get nominated for the fellowship?

AG: Anyone in the US can nominate anyone for a Heritage Fellowship, professional or not. The panel meets every year, and they’re very diligent at what they do. They’re constantly looking at balance; they want a balance between men and women, they want a balance in terms of cultural diversity. With that as a kind of guiding principle, they’re open to anyone who is extraordinary at what they do and is a master of a traditional artform.

[To learn more about the National Heritage Fellowship program or to make a nomination, click here.]

 

Copyright © Director Talk 2017

Glory/Kristina Grozeva and Petar Valchanov

The second of a trilogy of films based on Bulgarian news stories, Glory features a poor railroad worker who finds a motherlode of cash spilled across the train tracks. When he dutifully reports his find to the police, the glory that should have been his is replaced by mockery and spite. A black comedy that couldn’t get any darker, Glory features outstanding performances from Bulgaria’s leading actors. • Availability: April 12, New York City, Film Forum, and select theaters nationwide. Also available on DVD or streaming from Film Movement . • Thanks to Adam Walker, Film Forum, for arranging this email interview. • 

 

DT: Glory is based on a news story. In what ways did you change the original story to arrive at the final screenplay?

PV: A railway linesman did find a huge pile of cash spilled on the rails, he did return it to the police, and the transport ministry did award him for it with a new watch, which stopped working a few days later. Those are pretty much all of the “real” elements in the film. Everything else—the characters, the conflict, the resolution—is fictional.

 

DT: Both of your lead actors, Margita Gosheva amd Stefan Denolyubov, have extensive backgrounds in theater as well as film. As directors, how did you take advantage of their experience in the theater?

PV: Stefan and Margita are wonderful actors, very organic, intuitive and most of all self-critical. They put a lot of analysis into everything they do and never cease to explore new territory. Whether they gained these skills from theater or cinema, we don’t really know.

 

DT: Glory is the second film in a trilogy. Can you talk about the trilogy as a whole and how this fits into it?

PV: The word “trilogy” has a certain weight about it that really makes the whole idea sound much more conceptual than it is. Our basic idea was that these films are inspired by headlines in Bulgarian newspapers that have caught our attention over the years. That’s the unifying principle…plus the theme about the reversal of values and the absurdity of the reality we live in.

 

DT: This film reverses the roles that Gosheva and Denolyubov played in The Lesson [the first film in the trilogy], where he’s the bad guy and she’s the harrassed worker. Did they intentionally use that while working on this film?

PV: This idea came at a later stage of development. Initially [in Glory] it was supposed to be a male antagonist, but it all sounded quite bland, and then we had one of those “what if” moments when we imagined just how intriguing it would be if we used Stefan and Margita again, but with reversed polarities.

 

DT: I’m interested in your use of extreme close-ups throughout the film. Was that an aesthetic decision, or did it have a deeper motivation?

PV: We love the close-up because it gives a different scale even to the finest nuances in an actor’s expression. Although it’s mostly typical of the dramatic genre, the use of close-ups in a comic situation gives the scene a more special feel—the combination of drama and comedy.

 

DT: Denolyubov’s transformation at the end of the film was so radical that I sucked in my breath. How did you go about achieving the power of that moment?

PV: Makeup and camera angle.

KG: We are very grateful to our makeup artist Bistra Ketchedjieva for doing a great job for the scene. About how we got there: we discussed the transformation at length with Stefan. It was very important for us that it’s logical and not just there for the shocker effect. One of the things we did, however, was to keep it secret from Margita, so his transformation was a real surprise for her.

 

DT: What are the pitfalls and advantages of codirecting?

PV: We’ve been working together since long before Glory, so by now it’s become as natural as breathing. We started to help each other out while we were still students at the National Academy for Theatre and Film Arts in Sofia. We found it to be so productive that we kept using the formula after graduating. We did a TV film, a documentary and then the short film Jump, which was successful enough to enable us to shoot our feature debut, The Lesson. When we work together, we’re much more confident and brave, and it’s also much more fun. It’s very important to have somebody next to you that both supports and provokes you.

 

DT: Glory is getting lots of notice internationally, but how was it received in Bulgaria?

PV: The reactions in Bulgaria are overwhelmingly positive—it seems like we managed to strike a chord. However, we still haven’t received feedback from any officials or institutions that might have potentially felt offended by the film.

KG: For better or worse though, this time we decided to distribute the film ourselves and you could say that we did that also on a low budget, just like the production itself. For a number of reasons we’re showing it only in small art-house cinemas, which means that not so many people have seen the film.

 

 

Copyright © Director Talk 2017