Alec (Caolán O’Gorman) is a teenager, but porn doesn’t really do it for him – probably because it’s his dad’s bread and butter. Filming and editing his father’s exploits, he’s looking for more, and Nina (Safiya Benaddi) might just be the answer. We spoke to US-Dutch director Muriel d’Ansembourg about her feature debut, Truly Naked [+lee también:
crítica
entrevista: Muriel d’Ansembourg
ficha de la película], which has just screened in the Berlinale’s Perspectives strand.

Cineuropa: Many films are so relentless and dark these days, also when it comes to depicting people. It’s shocking how sweet this one is – especially given that beginning.
Muriel d’Ansembourg: I thought it was interesting to immediately show this explicit world: this is what this boy has in front of his camera every day. I did the same thing with my short Fuck-a-Fan: it also starts with a porn scene. You are shocked, but then surprised by the warmth of this family that has a lot of problems, but which is also caring and fun. I couldn’t shy away from what they do, though, because that would have been hypocritical.

Why did you even want to look at the backstage of pornography? Nina sort of spells it out – she says to Alec: “If you talk about it, nobody will watch porn the same way again.”
What I’ve found myself exploring, also in my shorts, is that I put a character in a setting where you would never expect them to find intimacy or a genuine connection with another person. Still, you can feel how much they need it, and eventually, we see them making steps towards it.

The thing is, no matter your surroundings or the family you were brought up in, we all long for connection. Alec grew up in a world where you get to see a lot of explicit sexuality that lacks sensuality – through Nina, he gets to explore true intimacy. Intimacy is beautiful, but it also makes us feel vulnerable. I also worked with teenagers and preteens in my short films, and a lot of them get their sexual education from the internet and porn, which is pretty hardcore these days. You see these images before your first kiss – how does that inform your sexuality or the way you look at yourself and others? I read that for some girls, “good sex” is when it doesn’t hurt. That’s very far from what I would hope for them.

We still have way too much shame around sexuality, and that’s a real problem. It would be nice if, online, “sex” wasn’t just equal to “porn”. There are different approaches to porn, and it’s important to underline that, but mainstream porn is an industry meant to create dopamine hits. Which is why this film is not simply about porn, and the adult entertainers in it are very human. We don’t objectify them; we get to understand who they are.

I’d agree with that – it’s not about porn; it’s about intimacy. And that is so much scarier.
It’s so scary. To actually be with another person and really look at them, really feel what they are feeling, is more rewarding but also more complicated. Sometimes, I’m worried that everyone’s going to focus on the porn in this film because it’s so loud, and the other side is more like a whisper. But that whisper is the interesting part.

When people talk about porn, they worry about the younger generations. Here, it’s the younger generation that says: “Enough.” It inspires hope.
This film is very much about feeling instead of looking. It’s about what you feel when you kiss or make love to another person. Can he really see this girl? Can she see him? What Alec is filming when he’s with his father has nothing to do with what he feels when he’s with Nina. Towards the end, what they’re trying to say – or what I’m trying to say – is that they have this intimate experience together, something that exists only between the two of them. And the camera can’t capture that.

Alec’s father, a fading porn star, could be a terrible character, but he’s not.
He’s funny.

He is. And so out of touch.
There’s one scene that everyone will find shocking, but when he films with a young mother, it’s even more painful. That’s the first time Alec thinks: “This doesn’t feel right any more.” He’s very dependent on his father and very loyal, but his dad is a performer whose life is passing him by. He’s not relevant any more, and he’s struggling. This has been his entire life; this is what he’s good at. He’s pushing himself, but also his son.

Still, you have empathy for everyone here. Was that important? And how did you work with the younger actors?
These were wonderful characters to write. They are fun to hang out with – at least on screen. When I talk to my actors, I really talk about everything. I ask them to be vulnerable, and it goes both ways. There are two things that are important to me: to have enough shooting days and to have enough days to rehearse. That’s how we get to know each other, and I can also see what feels natural to them to do and what doesn’t.

We worked with an intimacy coordinator, and it was my first time. It took some adjusting, as it’s so meticulous and so detailed. I’m very much what you’d call an actors’ director, but it’s still a position of power, and they want to do a good job. All that pressure can make people go: “I will do it even though it doesn’t feel right.” With an intimacy coordinator, they can be honest. There’s quite a bit of nudity in the film, but all the actors have been incredibly open to understanding why we are showing certain things. It isn’t to shock people; to this boy, nudity is his day-to-day life. You want people to be comfortable, especially if it’s their first experience on set, but it’s a delicate dance. Everyone needed to feel safe.