I fully understand if someone feels the urge to come to grips with the “documentary”concept. Oddly enough, the same word is used for a wide variety of productions ranging from the meditations of Jørgen Leth to “Temptation Island”. And one is tempted to think that a beautiful system can be devised which once and for all separates the wheat from the chaff, the documentary films from the television programmes, the art from the speculation. I willingly offer to participate in this debate and start mulling it over-and I get hopelessly bogged down straight away. Where is the dividing line between a journalistic and an artistic documentary, for instance? Although this is a simple, reasonable question, it puts me and my own films in great difficulty.
For years, I was hard pressed to give a good answer when asked whether I was a journalist or a film director. I have always envied my British and American colleagues who are encompassed by the simple concept of ‘filmmaker’. In these places, they are simply makers of films-end of discussion. But for some reason things are not that simple here in Denmark. Here you are expected to profess your adherence to one tribe or the other. And the dividing line runs deep…
On the one hand, there are journalists who attend editorial meetings at a television station ever morning where they cold-bloodedly assess the issues at hand, do the research, make the analyses, discuss potential viewer ratings and end up making a 45-minute documentary about this or that objectionable condition of our society. On the other, you have the film directors -the great auteur wandering about like a free spirit, delving into his/her soul, senses and feelings -who ultimately gives birth (in a spasm of inspiration) to a sacred, inviolable filmic work, which, although it may include a variety of participating characters, is basically -of course- about the film director himself or herself. We expect no less!
I have never really felt comfortable with either role, at least not in its pure form. There was something about being a journalist in the classic sense of the word -and I tried being one for many years at both DR and TV2 [Danish public service television stations -ed.], that was too cynical, sanctimonious and oddly destructive for my taste. I ended up denouncing everything and everyone without risking anything. Everything was always a question of moral fallibility, of businesspeople who cheated, of public authorities who failed. And the person with whom the viewers should identify was always the man or woman on the street, the victimised, unresisting ghost of a moral figure devoid of responsibility. As a TV journalist, my role was to populate the world with big, bad wolves on the one hand and weak-willed, poor souls on the other. If the characters did not fit into either role during the interviews- if the evil man suddenly made you laugh, or if the tormented victim suddenly showed signs of personal egotism -then this would be cut out by the Big Scissors. Nothing was allowed to distort the picture of the world where black is black and white is white and where the only impassioned hero/heroine -quite implicitly, of course -is the journalist. Afterwards, I would leave work to return to my own complicated personal life where I was fully aware that nothing was unequivocally good and evil. Personally, at any rate, I was rarely a moral role model for anyone at all.
In reality, however, the worst thing was not the perpetual moralising. To me, the worst part was the fact that it was my job at the TV station to systematically demolish the world. I was constantly creating pictures of things that didn’t work and people who were incompetent -either because they were evil or because they were weak. I began to wonder whether it was possible to make documentaries that were dramatic somehow-and at the same time make them in a way so they would also be gratifying, devoted to life-even edifying.
As a result, I was genuinely delighted when, in the 1990s, I started to make films outside the confines of television, films dealing with music and animation and other things I was enthusiastic about. Now I could call myself a filmmaker -or artist, if need be-and finally renounce my journalistic heritage. The only thing is, I never have-and never will. Even if my current projects are ever so artistically ambitious, my journalistic heritage disciplines my work in a manner I could never do without. Perhaps I am like the lad who grows up in a nice, middle-class home only to rebel and immerse himself in a totally different lifestyle. But who, deep down, is glad that, in spite of it all, he has learned to cut his fingernails, politely introduce himself to strangers and not talk with food in his mouth. That at least he learned a little refinement before leaving home.