With a background in documentary, Geneviève Dulude-de Celles made sure to choose actors whose life trajectories closely mirror those of their characters for the sake of authenticity. We spoke about the emergence of the idea, the birth of the script, and the emblematic songs in her film Nina Roza [+lire aussi :
critique
bande-annonce
interview : Geneviève Dulude-de Celles
fiche film], which just celebrated its world premiere in competition at the Berlinale.

Cineuropa: Immigration in Nina Roza is depicted not only as an escape from trauma, but also as a trauma in itself. Does this stem from your own experience?
Geneviève Dulude-de Celles: It’s not my story. I was born and raised in Quebec, but I’ve always been surrounded by immigrants. The idea came to me when I was 21 and spent six months in Eastern Europe, mainly in Romania and Bulgaria. At the time, I was working with Romanians who were about to migrate to Canada, and I became very aware of everything they had to leave behind in order to start a new life.

Back in Canada, I got close to a man who had migrated there himself 30 years ago, and had chosen never to return. What struck me was that, for him, erasing this part of his life was less painful than trying to keep a bond with what he had left behind. I kept wondering what would happen if he were forced to go back. That was the starting point of the story, and I was less interested in the initial hardship of migration than in the aftermath, 20 or 30 years later. The wounds and the struggle between two identities are still there.

You mentioned working with Romanians, so why did you ultimately choose Bulgaria as the setting?
I was indeed closer to Romania, but the trajectory of the film brought me to Bulgaria. I met people who became essential to the project, especially the Bulgarian producer Nikolay Mutavchisky and co-producer Lubomira Piperova, who helped with the scriptwriting. Then I met Galin Stoev, and I felt I had found my character through him.

As a non-Bulgarian, it was important to me that the story would still feel authentic and relevant for Bulgarian audiences. That’s why I worked very closely with Lubomira and Galin, as well as with Michelle Tzontchev, who plays Mikhail’s daughter and is herself a second-generation Bulgarian immigrant living in Montreal, to make sure everything sounded coherent and truthful. The script continued to evolve, as I’m always open to making changes - even during the shoot - if it brings greater accuracy.

Galin Stoev is himself an immigrant living in a francophone context. How much did he contribute to shaping his character?
A lot. I’m very conscious of the danger of telling a story that isn’t my own experience. I also come from a documentary background, so research and accuracy are essential to me. Galin has lived outside Bulgaria for more than 20 years, and we talked extensively while reading and correcting the script. And he brought in his own experience in the character. Apart from an actor, he is also a stage director, creator, and intellectual, so our discussions were very rich. The film definitely benefits from his presence.

In a world where mobility is taken for granted, the film also focuses on the experience of children who are moved across borders by their parents. Why was this perspective important to you?
It was essential. When Mikhail returns to Bulgaria, he also has to confront what his decision caused for his child. Through his encounter with Nina, the young painter, he is finally able to listen to his daughter’s point of view. When he left Bulgaria as a single parent, he had to be strong and efficient in order to survive, so he did not acknowledge what his daughter was experiencing, while for a child, it’s hard to understand adult arguments.

On a different scale, my parents divorced when I was young, and I remember that feeling of having no control over my own destiny. Nina expresses something similar: she is fine where she lives, it’s her territory, her world. I am not saying migration is bad, but it comes at a price.

Pasha Christova’s songs play a symbolic role in the film. How did you find them?
I discovered “Edna Balgarska Roza” [listen here] myself and loved it. Being a well-known song in Bulgaria, it made sense that people would sing it together spontaneously, like in the party scene. Galin was hesitant - he likes it, but also finds it cheesy.

Well, his character says it’s a propaganda song of the communist Bulgarian tourist agency.
Yes, some of his lines came directly from our conversations. With the other song, “Povey, vetre” [listen here], we realised how strongly the lyrics echoed the film’s symbolism. The wind, for instance, became a metaphor for the spirit of Mikhail’s late wife, and we added the scene where the music becomes the trigger for his decision to return to Bulgaria.