Karl Friis Forchhammer’s Christiania [+leggi anche:
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intervista: Karl Friis Forchhammer
scheda film] is premiering in the main competition of this year’s CPH:DOX. Revisiting Copenhagen’s legendary freetown and drawing on personal family ties to the commune, the helmer explores five decades of radical democracy, utopian dreams and harsh realities, from hippie idealism to gang violence and the closure of Pusher Street. Using archival material, animation and contemporary footage, the film paints a vivid portrait of a community still fighting to remain unique.

Cineuropa: What drew you to explore Christiania as a subject, and what challenged your preconceptions about the commune?
Karl Friis Forchhammer: My parents moved to Christiania on the day I was born and lived there for ten years. Growing up, they told me incredible stories about the place – about an alcoholic black bear that broke into their collective, or a man escaping the police by breathing through a straw underwater. These stories sounded almost too crazy to be true, and I always thought there must be a great film there. Later, when some of my parents’ old friends started passing away, I realised that if I wanted to tell this story while the people were still alive, I had to do it now.

How did you approach the research and writing process for such a huge subject, spanning decades?
I knew I wanted a framework based on my parents’ love story and my own sense of having missed out on a childhood there – was I cheated or saved? So much has been written about Christiania, but it’s often reduced to selling weed. I wanted to get to the core: what does Christiania say about society? It’s about trying to tolerate everything – good and bad. But people who aren’t tolerated elsewhere aren’t always easy to tolerate, and not all ideas are good. How do you build a tolerant society that still works? That became the film’s thesis, together with the idea of consensus democracy.

What aspects of decision-making inside Christiania surprised you the most?
I was surprised by how alive those democratic processes still are. Everything is still decided upon by meetings among residents, much like it was in the 1970s. It’s messy and imperfect but sometimes beautiful. People who disagree on almost everything still have to decide together. At a time when democracies are under pressure, that felt very relevant.

How did you source the archival footage, and why combine it with animation?
I gained access to a huge archive in Christiania that no one had used before, comprising photos, radio recordings and other amazing material. It became like a treasure hunt, and as people trusted me more, more doors opened. I didn’t just want talking-head interviews with elderly people; I wanted immediacy. Archive footage lets you feel the past as present, and animation filled in the gaps where no footage existed. I wanted the film to feel alive.

The shutdown of Pusher Street is central to Christiania’s history. What does that episode reveal about the generational struggle inside Christiania?
It wasn’t really about generational conflict; it was about people making money from Pusher Street versus people tired of being exploited. Some anarchists also wanted to keep it because it kept the police and mainstream society away. Now that it’s gone, Christiania may face new pressure to normalise because more resourceful outsiders might try to move in. Closing Pusher Street was positive but also part of a broader normalisation.

How long did post-production take, and how did you handle so much material?
We had huge amounts of footage and archive material. The editing happened in stages – cutting for months, then filming more, then cutting again. It was like solving a puzzle. The long process helped because, for example, we could include the closure of Pusher Street. My editor, Michael Aaglund, was focused on making the archive feel alive.

How did you pitch and finance the project?
People either thought it was very uninteresting or extremely interesting. Many had tried to make a film about Christiania before. A Danish TV commissioner told me she was pitched such a project every year and always said no – but she said yes to mine partly because of a previous film I’d made. When Christiania turned 50 and the Pusher Street events happened, interest grew. But it took time for people to trust that we could make the definitive film.

What resistance did you face while filming?
Christiania is a closed community that has often been portrayed negatively, so people were cautious. They don’t mind criticism but dislike simplistic criticism. I had to spend time there so they knew I wanted nuance. Time is the currency in Christiania. Eventually, they trusted me enough to film a meeting where they decided to close Pusher Street, which is normally impossible.

What debates do you hope the movie will spark?
I hope it encourages a debate about tolerance. Sometimes it’s good to live with people you disagree with. Democracy is hard but necessary. Christiania emerged in a very tolerant Danish welfare state, which allowed people to create a parallel society. Hyper-idealism may be imperfect, but it can still be valuable.