Swiss editor-turned-director Eleonora Camizzi debuted her first foray into feature-length documentary filmmaking, Pictures in Mind [+lee también:
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entrevista: Eleonora Camizzi
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Cineuropa: What was it about filmmaking that made it the perfect art form for this particular project?
Eleonora Camizzi: I’ve been an editor for a while, and I studied film. So, I consider it my language: that’s how I can talk about things. But the idea [for Pictures in Mind] came up about four-and-a-half years ago. I started realising that there were so many different layers to this process [of mutual understanding] I was in with my father, that they could become a movie. At first, the focus was on his story and life, but I quickly understood [the film] was not about him; it was more about how I reacted, how I dealt with all of this. It was quite a journey from a more classical documentary [approach], where I went to his place with a camera, but somehow it wasn’t working out the way I wanted it to. Then, the image of a white room came up in my mind, a neutral space. I thought: “We are in a film, so we can just build it!”

Moving on to the camera and its role, the film was shot with three different cameras, so how would you describe that relationship between tool and subject?
At first, I was using the camera as a shield. It helped me stay strong and not take it all too personally. But when I got in front of the camera myself, it was what kept me going, when it became hard. I had told everybody that I was making a film, so I had to do it; I couldn’t run away. So, it started as a safety net-like tool, but then the stakes became higher, [and its presence] motivated me.

The white, minimal set design and costumes must also have played a big role in this regard. Would you say that role was more related to safety or danger?
We needed to get rid of all of these stories we carry around and start anew: white walls, white clothes. But in that white room, there was nowhere to hide; it was very brutal, but in a good way. I remember that it felt very heavy the first time we stepped into that room: I cried because it was too much for me. We didn’t even have to talk at first, because I already felt that this set-up could help us have real conversations, where we could really listen to each other.

How did you make sure that the weight of the film was distributed between you and your father, so that it becomes more about the relationship that you have?
That’s a big question. But I’ve always been aware that my father is the perfect figure for a documentary, as he’s such a good storyteller and you can listen to him all day. But I also knew that I didn’t want to make it about the stories. With the crew, we had a lot of talks beforehand, and with my father as well. There was a schedule: every [shooting] day, we had a topic we would be discussing in front of the camera. It was all very clear to everyone involved.

Your father’s availability and condition must also have been important for the shooting schedule.
Yes, we shot for [a total of] three weeks, but always with time in between. I was always aware, though, in the planning and the shooting schedule, that my father would need more rest than my film crew, who are used to a more intense kind of schedule. But everybody was so emotionally involved in the project that, yeah, it took a lot of energy, but I think we did it quite well: it was lovely to see everybody taking care of one other and being very tolerant. There was neither anger nor misunderstandings, just a lot of love!