05/02/2025 - We sat down with the German director to delve into his story of a therapist who’s forced to balance the demands of her professional life with those of her ageing parents and older brother

Spiritual healer Holle (Jenny Schily) has to take care of her ailing parents – but also of her older brother Sven, who suffers from schizophrenia. She’s trying her best but she’s struggling, and her own life, and her relationship, takes a back seat. We spoke to Tim Ellrich about his IFFR Tiger Competition entry In My Parents’ House [+see also:
film review
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interview: Tim Ellrich
film profile].

Cineuropa: You show such a universal experience and universal fear. Once we – and our parents – reach a certain age, we start to think: “What’s the right thing to do?”
Tim Ellrich: I’ve experienced that situation. My uncle lived in my grandparents’ house, too. Whenever I would visit them, he just sat there. Later, he became even more secluded: you’d rarely see him. I always had this feeling that one day, I would like to make a film about it. It’s about caregiving and helping, but also about family dynamics. When I was doing my research, I reached out to my own family, but also to those whose family members are mentally ill. It’s a topic many have to face. I never wanted to make something that would just be autobiographical. Also, it’s very important to show things we’re all afraid of. We have to confront them because so many friends of mine put these issues aside, and then it was too late.

That’s what we do: we put things aside. There’s a scene where people sit around the table and wonder if they are helping their parents because they want to. One of them asks: “Do you even like them?”
“Would you like your parents if they weren’t your parents?” It’s such a disturbing question. You go: “I do this because I love them, right? But do I love who they are, or is it about some kind of dependency?” The scene you just mentioned is such a mundane situation, but I like questions that keep me awake at night. I don’t know if anyone can really answer it honestly, but it’s an interesting thing to recognise.

Your film is very realistic, and then we find out what Holle’s job is. Which is… What exactly? From a social drama, you veer into unexpected territory.
It’s called energy healing; my mother does it as well. There is some kind of poetic connection between that job, her brother and everything else. It symbolises the very idea of helping and the inability to do so. There are so many things here that are hidden. She heals from a distance: bodies she’s trying to fix are not actually here. When you see her relationship with a woman who has cancer, she can’t do much. She can’t cure her, but she can help her accept death.

She helps others, but she can’t help herself. She can’t open up either; she can just scream inside of her car. Was it tricky to have a protagonist that keeps it all in?
It’s so interesting that we can see through other people, but when it comes to ourselves, we have all these blind spots. It’s a difficult protagonist, because Holle can be so passive, but Jenny Schily works miracles here: you can see all this conflict already in her face. You see the exhaustion. People help others, and it pushes them to extremes. She deserved to be shown as a real, complex person.

There’s a lot of loneliness in the story. Did you want to make sure it wouldn’t be too difficult to watch?
I tried to be as honest as possible, but I come from a comedy background – my first shorts were comedies. Then I made a documentary, which was also about death and being alone, and people laughed a lot [laughs]. Maybe there’s hope in the fact that people still care for each other. They are trying to help, and this effort is a positive thing in itself. She doesn’t do everything right, but she doesn’t give up. We talk about “good intentions” not being enough, but what if it’s not true? It’s important to mean well.

I’m happy you’re asking about this because although I like films that take on serious topics, I don’t want to drown people in devastation. Holle and her brother do get that moment when he really sees her. Maybe it’s enough to know somebody really cared about you?

With a film like yours, the conversations you’re going to have will inevitably get personal. Is it something you welcome?
This is the reason why I do it. When a film is good, that’s what people notice. If it’s bad, they talk about the cinematography [laughs]. I want to have these discussions because cinema allows people to share an emotional moment and access something inside of them. I believe audiences want to be challenged, but you can’t forget about them. If you are empathetic, you can reach them.

Every character in this film refers to a relative, to someone I’ve known all my life. It’s hard because you feel responsible: you don’t want to hurt anybody. When I was writing the script, my uncle was still alive. Then he died, and reality met fiction. You look at two actors, playing “your” parents, and go: “Oh my God.” It was a surreal moment of reenacting something I saw, but I was transforming it, too. You have to let go at some point – if you keep things too personal, others won’t understand them. But they appreciate it when you really put yourself on the line.