For her first fiction feature, Alison Kuhn invites us to a rave, where contemporary theatre and the Catholic Church meet in an exceptionally disruptive way. Holy Meat [+lee también:
entrevista: Alison Kuhn
ficha de la película] is released in German cinemas on 1 January, courtesy of Camino Filmverleih. We talked to the director about her take on the topics that the film broaches as well as her cast.

Cineuropa: This is an intense, full-on film. Where did you begin with it?
Alison Kuhn: Originally, the material revolved mainly around the theme of rural exodus. There was already this absurd stage play, but at the centre was the contrast between urban and rural life. That was also inspired by my own background because I’m a village kid myself – I basically grew up among cows. As a director, I always look for material with friction, not smooth stories. And since I had already planned to do something about the Catholic Church, also for biographical reasons, the idea arose to combine the two themes. That’s how this idiosyncratic construct of a butcher shop, the Catholic Church and art came about.

You say you always wanted to make something about religion or the Catholic Church. What kind of relationship do you have with it?
I grew up in a very small, very Catholic village and attended a monastic school. That exposed me early on to various aspects of the Church – positive ones, like a sense of community and charitable work, but also to the abuse of power, sexism and outdated structures. At times even to cases of child abuse. I only fully took stock of these experiences when I left the village and broadened my horizons – through my studies, working in film and exchanging ideas with other people. The topic stayed with me for a long time, but I didn’t want to tell it as a social drama or documentary. I was drawn to the challenge of exploring it in a comedic way. That often reaches more people because they don’t feel lectured, but entertained – and maybe they still walk away with something to think about.

You talk about the shift in perspective that comes from leaving your own environment. This is reflected in the film as well, when the characters say: “We’re not clueless just because we live out in the country.” How did you shape this city-country contrast?
I believe that the countryside holds an incredible amount of potential – stories, talents and creative people who simply lack infrastructure. If you want to make art in Germany, you usually have to move to the big cities. That’s why I also see the film as a plea for more cultural funding in rural areas. Many rural cinemas are closing; you often have to travel far just to find one. I find that sad because it makes the cultural landscape more monotonous. If stories are told only from within the urban bubble, you lose diversity. That’s why it was important to me to make a film that doesn’t only take place in Berlin.

The film also deals with theatre and contemporary art, which you portray in a rather parodic way. Can such art forms be introduced to the provinces, and what does it take for people to access them?
I believe every form of art – including theatre – has its legitimacy. But when art becomes too self-referential, when it distances itself from the audience and becomes an end in itself, it loses something. I think art can be niche, but it should address universal themes that make people feel seen. Of course, in the film, we show mainly the most provocative and absurd forms of contemporary theatre – that was a lot of fun to research and to recreate. For the village community in the film, it was also a kind of free pass to completely let go. This abstraction gives the characters permission to break out of their shells. That was important to us.

What can you tell us about casting the three main characters – the pastor, Mia and Roberto?
Our wonderful casting director, Stephanie Maile, and I love this cast. Jens Albinus as the pastor was a stroke of luck. We were looking for someone who could embody ambivalence – comedy and drama at the same time, likeable despite his moral failings. We also wanted someone who wasn’t from Germany, to emphasise this “fish out of water” perspective. It was similar with Pit Bukowski as Roberto. He played the role perfectly – charming, sensitive, a little lost. I liked the idea of portraying a director who doesn’t fit the typical director cliché at all, but who is directionless, longing for love, and only finds something like belonging through the village community. The dynamic with the remarkable Homa Faghiri, alias Mia, who is more impulsive and strong, was also exciting – a refreshing reversal of classic romantic roles.

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