With two of his best-known novels already adapted for the screen as Problemski Hotel [+leggi anche:
trailer
scheda film] and The Misfortunates [+leggi anche:
recensione
trailer
intervista: Felix van Groeningen
scheda film], Dimitri Verhulst has sat himself in the director’s chair to deliver the dark comedy of family secrets The Weeping Walk [+leggi anche:
recensione
trailer
intervista: Dimitri Verhulst
scheda film], which has just been presented in the Transilvania International Film Festival’s Main Competition. He speaks about his zest to portray Belgium’s “funny ugliness”, but also to revive the surreal touch in art. 

Cineuropa: Let’s start from the title, which, in the original version, literally means “Why Wettelen?”. So, indeed, why Wettelen? Why did you send your characters to a non-existent place?
Dimitri Verhulst: The idea was to prompt a journey. The mother who dies in the film knows that if the family is together for a few days, they will start talking. So, she invents a place to be buried, just to bring them together.

And what about this peculiar location with weirdly designed concrete buildings that turns out to be Wettelen?
It is real; nothing was built for the film. These are existing buildings in Belgium, near Mons. The place is called Le Grand-Hornu, a former mining complex that was originally meant for unemployed people. I wanted to show how ugly – in a funny way – Belgium can be. My country is a character in the film. The way we build houses and roads – our architecture – can be quite absurd. That fascinates me, and I wanted to incorporate that feeling.

You have spoken openly about your difficult childhood, growing up in foster homes. To what extent is the film autobiographical?
It’s not autobiographical, but I know that world very well. I've lived in foster homes and orphanages – I know that environment deeply, so I feel like I’m allowed to talk about it. The only character I can compare to myself to is the dancer Dillan [Lukas Bulteel], who has been chased away from his foster home. He came from nothing but still became the artist he wanted to be. That mirrors my own journey – from a tough start to becoming a writer and now a filmmaker.

Having only a background in literature so far, how did you come to direct the film yourself?
A Dutch director once asked me if I had a script, and I said yes. I wrote it, and when it was done, I loved it too much to hand it over. I knew I’d be furious if someone messed it up, so I decided to direct it myself, despite having no experience. It was brave, maybe, but it felt like the right thing to do.

Was it difficult for you to make the film without any directing background, and how did you fund it?
Surprisingly, it felt easy. After writing 25 novels, which is equal to 25 years of solitude, I suddenly found myself working with a team of over 70 people. It was such a joy. I discovered I’m more social than I thought. As for the funding, it came through the producer, with support from the Belgian government, a bank and a beer brand – very Belgian-style. But there was no product placement, as we did not want that kind of advertising.

Going back to the story of the film, how did you develop the character of Bas, who is at the core of the plot? Was he inspired by someone you know?
Bas is a complete invention. I first considered making him gay, but it felt too obvious, so I made him asexual instead – something we hear more about today. That choice allowed me to explore why he would want a foster child. His relationship with his late wife is complex, and their family is modern: she had kids with other men, and that’s fine. It’s never explained, which makes it stronger. Same with the lesbian wedding – no fuss, just normal. That’s something Belgium can be proud of.

Among the side characters, I loved the woman who has abandoned dating apps and goes to funerals to flirt with widowed men instead. How did that character come about?
I like mystery in characters. She doesn’t speak for 40 minutes, and you keep wondering who she is. I wanted the audience to slowly get to know her and grow fond of her. Also, I wanted to slow things down. Modern cinema moves too fast, whereas I wanted to take the time to show an image and to let the actors truly perform. The actors were happy, too: they could finally act.

Your novels are known for their dark humour and absurdism, and The Weeping Walk is in the same vein. How did you adopt this style of expression?
Humour has always been my way of surviving. I have always been able to laugh at misery, especially my own. That’s what jokes are for – not just to laugh at one’s daily life, but to show our problems and to address what’s wrong in the world.

Is there something specifically Belgian that foreign audiences might miss?
Perhaps the surrealism. Belgium has a long history of surrealist art – Magritte, Delvaux... But surrealism disappeared from our arts and settled into our politics and administration instead. I wanted to bring it back into art.