Alex van Warmerdam (born August 14, 1952) is a cult Dutch film director, screenwriter, actor, producer, and composer. He started his career in theater, and is still working in it. In the film industry he has been around for over 30 years. He won the prestigious “Award of Prince Bernhard” for his contribution to the Kingdom’s culture.
Warmerdam’s style can be recognized instantly. His movies are full of irony and black (up to absurd) humor, and yet they are visually perfect. These bizarre stories feature eccentric or simply crazy characters, which are often played by Alex himself.
Recently, the team of Molodist festival has shown all Warmerdam’s full-meter movies in Ukraine: debut Abel (1986), legendary The Northerners (1992, won the prize of European Film Academy as the best young director) and The Dress (1996, FIPRESCI prize at Venice Film Festival), Little Tony (1998), Waiter (2006), The Last Days of Emma Blank (2009), Borgman (2013), and the latest work – a tragicomedy about a writer and a hitman Schneider vs. Bax (2015). The director has personally attended the opening of the retrospective and answered The Day’s questions.
FOOTLIGHT AND CAMERA
Alex, what were the starting points in your film career?
“Well, I never went to film school, but in the 1970s, me and nine other guys, we had a group, a theater musical group, conventional theater and music, and at a certain moment, we made with a Dutch director two films, two short films, based on something we did in the theater. It was my first meeting with film – how to make a film, be on the set, that guy taught me to draw a story board. Before that I thought when you are making a movie as a director that you have to know everything about lights, about camera, about how to direct this film, but then I found out that you have to know nothing, you only have to know what you want, because the cameraman knows about the camera, and the lightman knows about lights, etc. So, as long as you know what you want you can tell those people ‘I like it this way, that way,’ you can make a movie.”
Theatre and film are very different forms of art. What is theater for you now, when you have this cinematic legacy?
“I have just finished my fifteenth play, and it was quite a task, so I am a little bit floating away from theater, and I like to do some more movies. I have always done it with a lot of pleasure, but the last time I figured out I had enough of it. So, I want now to concentrate on film, but that doesn’t mean that maybe, in the future, I do a small film in theater. So, the big difference is that when you make a movie, and the actor does take one, take two, and to do it right, you have it forever, and in theater, you never have it forever, because one night, it’s a brilliant evening, and everybody takes stars from the sky, and the next day it’s gone. So, my theory is, when you have played a hundred times, there are maybe six-seven evenings which were really good. Now I’m getting older and it takes me too long. I want to go on.”
You are acting director. Is it difficult to control everything?
“I was raised in theater, it was a collective, and we were all acting. So for me it was quite normal the first time to act in my own film. So, I continued that, but a few films ago, I did smaller part, so I was already downscaling. This is also the last time I played in a film. This is the last time for many things. In fact, I didn’t mean to act in Schneider vs. Bax. We did several auditions with actors, but we couldn’t find somebody. You know what the big problem was? In Holland, most of the actors, they work all summer, so when you want them in film, they can this way, they can do this way, and for a role like that, it’s not workable. So in the end, I decided to do it myself. Yeah, I was fed up.”
How do you step into the role – through “alienation” by Brecht or through reincarnation by Stanislavsky?
“The character comes to life by playing the scene, so the main thing is the scene, not the actor itself. The scene has its structure and emotion – anger, or laid-back, or aggressive, and that’s how I direct the scene. So, when actor says ‘I have a mind to do this,’ I tell him ‘That’s not a scene; you’re inventing now things for yourself, to give yourself a sort of depth.’ The scene is important, bringing the scene to life. So I think it’s more of Brecht approach, sort of comment on your own character. Possibly a little bit, maybe now and then, but I don’t think of Brecht, and I don’t think of methods.
“The casting is the most important. When you did the casting right, you don’t have to direct that much anymore. That fails sometimes, because sometimes, people can do a very good audition, and then on the set, they are certainly worse than you expected. Then you have to start over again, and work on what he or she has to play. But the casting is in fact the start.”
PAIN AND LAUGHTER
Characters of your films are often heroes who look funny, even when they commit terrible things. Do you agree that your films are close to comedy?
“To start with, I think I have always made comedies, despite how black they may be. But when I see my film for the first time with the audience, I’m always surprised by many laughs in the audience, I didn’t expect it at all. Sometimes I don’t even understand why they are laughing. While writing, sometimes I know ‘Oh, yeah, this is funny,’ but maybe for 80 percent I’m not aware of it. I’m only aware it’s possibly there, but it’s not literally written as jokes.”
Thus, can we call your characters eccentric? Eccentric is not necessarily funny.
“Yes, why not? They are also archetypes, they are not really characters, they are more like sort of puppets, puppets with a soul.”
As for the tragedy and comedy, I sometimes think that comedy is in a way more painful than tragedy.
“Yes, yes, it’s true.”
Speaking of pain, your recent films have become more violent. How much is violence required by cinema?
“When you start writing and you know someone has to die, it gives you sort of direction, sort of flow, because when I start writing, I don’t know the story, I only know some ingredients, and something develops during the writing. And when you have in mind that he or she has to die in the end, then you at least have something to write to. You understand? That’s all. And I think my violence is quite friendly in relation to other violence in many movies – more tough, more hard, more disgusting.”
NORTH AND PROVIDENCE
There is one bright moment in The Northerners, in which one of the characters literally becomes holy. Where does this episode come from?
“Well, I was looking for entertainment, in fact. This was also based off my youth, not literally, but a lot of elements of my film were. We were living in the first street of a new-built living area. You live in the first street, and the rest have to come yet. I have a Catholic education. But what it tells about religion, I am not thinking about that, I’m just trying to invent interesting scenes. So I had the idea that one lady wants to have a child of someone, who is impotent; and the other lady has a very sexual husband and she is withdrawing herself into religion. Maybe she is not religious really, but she uses the religion as a sort of defense.”
Tell me, is that kind of isolation – the people of the North – your personal thing or is it something generally Dutch?
“In a way, Holland is divided in two parts by big rivers through the middle, the Rhine and the Maas. South of the rivers, it’s mainly Catholic, originally, and north is mainly Protestant, with both very different in mentality. Religion became less important in the last thirty-forty years, but still, you can feel the difference between the North and the South. I was born in the northern part of Holland. So, it’s based on my experiences and what I saw in my youth. Open courtyards, and people were watching each other, it’s typical Dutch. In a Dutch street, you can look into every house, you can see everything, when you walk through the city you can follow the television show, people are watching the same television show. When neighbors close curtains, they say ‘they have something to hide.’ That’s sort of mentality in a big part of Holland.”
And speaking of ideals in general, not necessarily spiritual – do you have any?
“No, I don’t have personal ideals. Well, not in the writing. I have my limits, of course. Sometimes I notice that I have a mind to ‘kill’ someone, and when the moment comes I can’t do it. I remember it when I come to that point, because I had the idea that he has to die, and I can’t do it – if I ‘kill’ him it’s not good, it goes too far, the audience would not understand it. That is more artistic morality.”
I’ll try to get to the answer from the other side: are you a perfectionist?
“Until now, I always said ‘No’ but I think I have to say ‘Yes.’ It’s a little bit obsessed, goes too far sometimes. Especially with film, you can be very narrow-minded, look for something which is not there. Some other people, my brother or my wife, say: ‘Stop! You are doing bullshit, you are looking for something which is not there.’ So, perfectionism is sometimes very good, and sometimes is also foolish.”
GARDEN AND SINK
For the last question something simple. Do you have any time for hobbies outside of art?
“Yes. As an amateur doing things in the garden.”
I have a similar hobby, though not in the garden, but at an abandoned site near my house: I take care of the trees which were forgotten by the municipal services.
“There is something else – doing the dishes.”
It’s a good hobby.
“I also like to clean something which is very dirty, for example a sink, but only when it’s very dirty, then I make it shine.”
