There remains room for the unadapted film at IFFR

Last May, I expressed my concerns about the restructuring at IFFR and wondered whether the festival would remain as quirky as it always was. The dismissal of a number of programmers and the departure of other staff members laid a grey veil over the past edition beforehand. Was that justified? Had the festival lost its luster? Or did it manage to retain its own face? Yes, I can happily say. Of course, there were fewer films due to budget cuts. But even with a less full programme, it was far from possible to see everything, AND I discovered gems.

India as forerunner of dangerous nationalism

Much to my relief, I saw vulnerable films, weird things that people walked away from, tricky films, politically urgent films. The "The Shape of things to come?" programme was solid with films and documentaries about today's India with Modi's religious-nationalist trajectory, where we don't have to go to great lengths to draw parallels with European and other countries. I saw films there that cannot be shown in India. Or films whose name is already a political statement, such as Sameer from the man who is listed in the catalogue as Dakxinkumar Bajranges but prefers to be announced as Dakxin Charra.

Among the British, the name Charra became synonymous with thieves and scoundrels, and after decolonisation, that stigma stuck. As an act of defiance, the director prefers to be called by his real family name. The spelling of Sameer is an Islamic or a Hindu name depending on the vowels. Charra plays with that too. Next, the film deals with terrorism, espionage, and counter-espionage against the backdrop of the serious riots in Gujarat in 2002. In the form of a Bollywood story with chases and a lot of movement, we see how terrorists operate, but more importantly how the police and the political powers-that-be tell that story frame and use it for their own gain.

Charra uses the slick form to ask questions that are as important as they are controversial. The reactions in the Indian press did not lie: it is not his right to tell this story and it is an irresponsible film.
At another Indian film at IFFR, the director and programmer were attacked (only verbally, fortunately) because the film was said to be propaganda and it was inappropriate to screen it.

Vulnerable films

The vulnerable film was also there. Take for instance Night Walk by Sohn Koo-Yong. For an hour, we see Seoul by night, with no sound, no dramatic action, quite dark and not very accessible. But oh how beautiful. In the stillness of the night, you start observing. The moving branches, the positions of the moon, the lurking eyes of nearby cats. Sohn superimposed drawings and a poem he made based on ancient Korean poetry over the images. A small, hushed film about watching. For this, I go to a festival!

Or take Mannvirki, Gustav Geir Bollason's Icelandic Tiger film. A film about, well, moss? Landscape art? A deserted island with people performing small acts that are not entirely clear. But enchanting it is, the beauty of mosses and weeds, the almost ritualistic scraping of mosses. Small acts that give no answers, but raise questions and prompt musings. This film was not for everyone, a quarter of the audience walked out, which is above average for a film from the Tiger competition. And it is to the festival's credit that it included such a vulnerable film in the main competition.

Solidarity

Like the other moderators, I said a slightly less obvious 'yes' to being asked to participate again. We all pondered whether we thought that was fair to the fired programmers. But email contact between some moderators and sacked programmers cleared that air. We had their blessing. Indeed, I was instructed to enjoy it. And so I did. Of the full theatres, the film, the meetings with directors and moderating. Because that really is one of the most enjoyable things you can do.

Something else I became aware of during the festival is that my solidarity should also concern current programmers. I remembered the reorganisation of my other work in the bookstore. In that, after a plenary session, some of my colleagues were told by e-mail that their contracts were being dissolved. We were all in shock, whether we kept our contract or not. Anger, incomprehension, dejection, insecurity, we all felt it.

It matters whether the carpet is pulled out from under your own feet, or from a colleague's, but the shock waves were felt unanimously.
That some regulars left us out of solidarity with laid-off colleagues, I understood rationally, but I also found it painful and awkward. Not only because a boycott brings closer the dismissal of even more people, but also because I felt that we no longer mattered, in the (justified) greater pain of the dismissed colleagues.

That feeling will -certainly- be no less at the film festival. In the entire cultural sector (which I also include a good bookshop), we work heart and soul on and for something we believe in.We all work extremely hard for often very mediocre salaries. We are all part of the same precariat. Solidarity should be there for everyone across the industry.

The International Film Festival Rotterdam has proved resilient for 52 editions. It has weathered multiple storms. Some editions have been stronger than others and that makes sense. I hope the festival will have a bright future. Not only for my own cinephilia, but especially because it plays an important role in Dutch film culture. Because just as a writer only gets really good by reading a lot, a filmmaker gets good by seeing a lot. And you only learn to watch films that colour outside the lines.

Is it all cake and egg then? If only it were. From the festival bubble, it seemed almost like old times. But the pain of the reorganisation is deeply felt, by staff who no longer walk around, and who still do. As a moderator, you are fairly outside the organisation anyway and only experience the ten days of intense cinephilia, the intoxication of hard work, coffee and hugs. And that intoxication is wonderful. But eventually you wake up from that and wonder how those seventy people are doing who are no longer there. So for me, a boycott of the festival has never been an issue. A boycott is a means to destroy something, you shouldn't want that. That many people skip a year I can understand.

To conclude: all my bookshop colleagues have landed on their feet. Some are colleagues again, some have gone on to do something else or work in another bookstore. And after this traumatic period, they and we are doing well. I hope and wish everyone at and formerly of IFFR that the same happens as soon as possible. It will take time, for sure. But I continue to believe in this safe haven for vulnerable film. Let it also become a haven for workers again.