Dutch filmmaker Rosanne Pel premiered her latest work, Donkey Days [+lee también:
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Cineuropa: What sparked the idea for the story? Was it something you researched, or did it come from a personal place?
Rosanne Pel: It started with conversations I had with my producer, Floor Onrust. We both felt that most women, at some point, have had a complicated relationship with food in relation to their bodies; it’s so common, yet it’s talked about in a single-layered way. As we kept discussing it, I began to see how these issues often act as a façade for something deeper. It might seem to be about appearance or behaviour, but underneath, it’s really about control. Because this need for control comes from within a social construct that has been shaped over time. The conflict that arises from this, and which is internalised by many women, is both tragic and absurd. The real spark for the film came from a story a friend told me, about a woman on a sailing trip with her family, where the family started dieting without discussing it with her. I found it both unbelievable and completely fascinating. What struck me was the idea that someone could feel entitled to take something away from another person, to decide what they eat or how they live. That, for me, was directly tied to control.

You infuse a surrealist touch into the film’s style. What drew you to introduce these surrealistic aspects into what begins as a grounded drama?
People often describe the film as realistic, but already during the first shoot, I sensed something absurd in how the characters behaved. And absurdity can be serious, even painful, but when heightened, it also becomes comical. That contradiction interested me and led me towards the surreal, shifting the film into something closer to a mental state. The mother figure isn’t just their mother; I wanted her to symbolise certain expectations around how daughters or women should be. In a way, she embodies the social construct. That’s also why I introduced a younger version of her; the daughters aren’t just confronting a parent, but a legacy, a history.

The film, especially in the beginning, reminded me a little of Dogme 95. Is there any connection to the Dogme movement?
I really like that stream of filmmaking, but for me it was more about playing with it. I had a lot of fun adding strange, absurd elements. Somehow, it all felt like it belonged to the world of the house. The idea was to start grounded and gradually shift towards something emotional and internal. We were only four people on set – myself, my assistant, and the camera and sound people – which gave us the freedom to adapt scenes and improvise. Maybe that’s what reminds people of Dogme, limiting technical setups so the performances come through more naturally. The result is raw, but I think there’s beauty in that. Someone once told me, “There’s no beauty in the images,” but I think there absolutely is – it’s just rougher, imperfect and full of poetry.

You’ve mentioned your unconventional process; was there even a script? And what draws you to this way of working?
None of the actors read the script. I had one, but for me, it’s more like a research document, a way to explore what’s beneath the story. Once we’re rehearsing or shooting, I let it go. I write new scenes, edit what we’ve shot, and then rewrite based on what we discover. That’s why we shot in five separate periods, and the original script was eventually thrown out. It’s a difficult way to make a film, especially for production or financing. But I had people around me who believed in the process. I’d worked similarly on Light as Feathers [+lee también:
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ficha de la película], so there was trust. And I think the result is a story that comes from what’s happening in front of the camera. This method helps me get emotionally engaged, convincing performances, which is essential when your characters behave in really ugly ways. If there’s nothing beneath that, the audience can’t connect. But if you reveal what’s underneath, it becomes powerful, and you can relate to them to some extent. It’s also a very collaborative process. I was constantly questioning the material, not just with the actors, but also with Aafke Beernink, the cinematographer. Together, we shape the story as we go.