Breakfast with Lion in Helsinki
An interview with Robert Ly, director of Lion in Helsinki
Why did you decide to set your new film in Finland? Do you have a particular affinity for the country?
Actually, this is my fourth short film set in Finland. The first was selected for the National Competition in Clermont-Ferrand in 2012 (City of Silence – Editor’s note), and making that film gave me the opportunity to meet one of the most talented actresses I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with – Milla Piiroinen. (She also plays the youngest of the cousins in Lion in Helsinki). I also visited the north of the Finland and Lapland in the summer, when the endless daylight creates a very peculiar atmosphere, and colors that are a delight to film. I was also amused by the upstandingness and properness of the Fins. All in all, it’s quite easy for me to find inspiration in Finland. I think I’ll return before long to make another film.
How did you come up with the idea to create such a peculiar couple?
I’ve recently been trying to work on parallel shots, so that I can talk about two characters at the same time without necessarily having to choose one or the other as the main character. In this film, I just wanted to create two people who desperately attempt to establish their point of view. And I already knew the actors before the film; I knew what type of characters they needed to make them interesting. Especially Hannaleena, who is really funny when she goes crazy or gets upset.
In Lion in Helsinki, you look at our relationship to foreignness. Have you travelled much? Do you tend to reach out to the Other?
Being born of immigrant parents and living in France is a journey in itself. Even if it’s set in Finland, the film is basically my response to the absurd claim we hear often: “France, love it or leave it.” I’m sorry, but things just aren’t that simple. Imagine your boss telling you the same thing: “It’s your job: love it or leave it.” If people took this assertion seriously, it would be an unprecedented economic disaster. Anarchy in the streets, anarchy at the Employment Office. Really, you have to be rather daft to think there’s something to that phrase and to believe it. But, yes, the last few years I’ve travelled a lot in Europe, particularly to make short films with very tight filming and editing schedules, followed directly by screenings for local audiences. I began to hone my filmmaking on those trips, attempting to go beyond what I’d learned in school.
All the women in your films have substance, and they do not shy away from making their voices heard. Do you think they should be a role model for women in general? And what sorts of emotions or issues do you think go with this type of depiction?
Generally speaking, I try to avoid the stereotype of the weak, sensitive woman and the strong, manly man, unless it’s to make crude humor, or to underscore a related idea. Many of my characters could be either men or women, pretty much interchangeably. For example, the main character’s “strong” cousin was originally meant to be an uncle. I made the change the day before shooting began because I had an actress at hand whom I already knew and whom I got a kick out of working with.
Your characters let themselves be completely carried away by their personal fantasies and seem as uninhibited as children. Are you fascinated by childhood? By its sponeity and need for socializing, by its demand that we transform ourselves through play, and so on?
Childhood and children are recurring themes in my work. I think I remember a professor of film analysis who used to say that all stories are about a child trying to become an adult. And my sense of humor is closely tied to innocence, the subconscious, the abscene (or excess) of logic that many children have. I think I also seem pretty young – or at least, a lot younger than my actual age – and I sometimes play on the fact that in certain cirucmstances, people don’t really take me for an adult.
In Lion in Helsinki, the beginning of the love story is about it trying to exist, and it continues by trying to keep on going. Do you think human relations can only exist through effort? And in the effort of filmmaking?
Actually, the love story in Lion in Helsinki doesn’t interest me all that much. For me, the heroine is not really in love with the hero, but she convinces herself that she is because she’s looking for someone who will stay with her for awhile. In this case, it’s more about having a relationship of any kind. Each character makes a little effort to understand the other, whether or not they succeed. It’s kind of weird for me to compare that to the effort of filmmaking. One could say that learning to make an effort is a necessary step to living among people, and to do so as a human being. By going through this stage, we end up with more things to talk about, and that necessarily makes for better filmmaking.
Lion in Helsinki was produced in France. In your opinion, what do French production companies offer that others don’t, as far as short films are concerned?
French production companies have nothing to offer the others. For me, it’s become pretentious to say that French companies offer things that others don’t, because the majority of French films are, in my opinion, a total disaster. I find it unbelievable that we more or less force young filmmakers to think that they’re lucky to exist in our cinematic environment, with the system of subsidies that we have. They keep telling us that we’re privileged. For me, that’s not the case. Maybe we have access to more money than in other countries. Maybe it’s easier to make a film in France. Maybe we can get more assistance. But assistance to do what? To make the same crappy films that will surely make it on to television ? Yes, I know, movies are a business. Yes, “no-risk” films will always exist and will always be the ones that get all the press. But still and all, where is the minority of independent, brillant, risky, insolent films? With our French system 10%, 15%, 20% of our films should be like that. And yet I have the impression that we’re talking about something more like 1% of French films. Maybe less. How can we be proud of that?
And it’s even more exasperating when it comes to short films. How can people ask us to make short films that are “about twelve minutes, since that’s better for tv”? “Stories about relationships are bigger sellers”. “Talk about a current event; it’s less risky”. “Choose this topic, it’ll play better on tv “. Seriously, the short film programs are on at midnight if not later. If we dare not take risks during even those time slots, what’s to become of us? The worst is that I get this type of advice from distributors and producers. Even from other filmmakers. It’s actually the few broadcasters that I’ve managed to meet who’ve been the most passionant and the least like, “I want to sell Coca-cola between two shorts”.
I sincerely think that right now, from an artistic standpoint, French productions offer more ill than good.
Programme for viewing Lion in Helsinki: National Competition F11.
