Amin Motallebzadeh • Director of Conference of the Birds
“I like to think of film as a scene one observes from a park bench”
- The German-Iranian director reveals a few key aspects of his debut feature, as well as how he conceives of filmmaking, pain and even football
German-Iranian filmmaker Amin Motallebzadeh won the Award for Best Film at the 15th Lanzarote Film Festival (20-30 November – see the news) with his debut feature, Conference of the Birds [+see also:
film review
interview: Amin Motallebzadeh
film profile], in which, with the help of cinematographer Tom Otte, he successfully hypnotises the viewer while introducing a world of enigmas.
Cineuropa: Someone at the festival defined your film as a visual poem: would this be correct?
Amin Motallebzadeh: I would say that the movie does not have an awareness of itself, as such. One could say, though, that it works less like prose and more like a poem. The scenes, protagonists, movements and words rhyme without suggesting a meaning.
How did the movie originate?
It was my graduation film from the University of Fine Arts in Hamburg. As there was barely any budget, we shot in five shooting blocks over the course of one-and-a-half years. In Tamtam Film I found a co-producer that supported the movie early on and invested in the post-production. Given how limited the resources were, one could say that the film would never have found its final form within the usual funding systems. And with the very limited means we had, I like to think that engaging with this elite world of professional football in our own way was, in itself, a political gesture.
What conference does its title allude to?
The title refers to a Persian poem by Attar, which tells of the birds of the world searching for their sovereign, the Simorgh. After passing through seven valleys, they realise that they themselves are the Simorgh. For me, this resonated with the narrative of the film: after the head coach’s death, the club’s staff tries to fill the gap. We get a sense of people searching for their place and raising the question of where they belong.
The film demands a great deal of attention from the viewer: why is it so mysterious?
When you take the choreography of a football exercise as seriously as that of a Muslim prayer, you create this inexplicable tension between the two. Not being given an explanation but being left with a feeling, rather than a meaning, can leave you standing before a closed door. There are several scenes that resemble our idea of a press conference, a secret meeting in a Chinese restaurant, or an Arab club owner paying his players a visit. But the film follows these traces and gradually drifts into moments that fall out of preconceived patterns. I like to think of film as a scene one observes from a park bench: it unfolds in front of you without addressing you or trying to tell you something. And yet there are moments that speak to you in their own way.
The images are enveloped in loss and a certain melancholy.
The mourning for the dead coach gives the film a way to enter the backrooms of a football club and sets the tone of grief that lasts for the entire running time, as we explore this universe from its margins. You never see a ball or a football game. The football pitch never appears, and the absence of the dead head coach can be felt everywhere.
In the editing process, with Maja Tennstedt, we looked for a certain grammar that would reflect people appearing and disappearing. It created a feeling that the film moves more in circles than by following lines. This back and forth generated a kind of temporal disorientation or the sense that everything is up in the air. It was about trusting that the film would reveal itself in its own way and give the viewer just enough of a framework to enable them to follow it.
How do you work with sound and music to help create that atmosphere and conjure a certain mental state?
Composer Nima Khaste and I saw the music more as a protagonist in the film. It is not there to create an atmosphere, but rather to live its own life. The score is nestled between the melodies of Schubert’s Der Leiermann and Gol-e Sangam by Sattar, shifting between tones and rhythms. Both have simple melodies, almost like children’s songs. With sound designer Jakob Spengemann, it was about creating not only a rhythm involving loud catacombs and silent whispers, but also an off-screen sound that would contrast with the image.
The movie uses football as its pretext, but are grief, sadness and absence its central themes?
In a way, working within fiction and exploring this distant world allowed me to approach it more personally – in the dialogue, motifs and relationships. By taking a slow-paced approach to a supposed sports film and looking at men through the lens of grief, I feel that elements we associate with this patriarchal, capitalistic system fall apart and allow us to encounter them in a more fragile, sensual way.
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