DOK Leipzig
October 24, 2011
"My home is many places, but at the same time it has nothing to do with the place," says Berlin filmmaker Antje Engelmann in her latest personal documentary, "A Manual to Change the Past," which screened this week in competition at DOK Leipzig, an international festival for documentary and animated film.
As the largest festival of its kind in Germany, DOK Leipzig, which came to a close on Sunday, has brought stories from all breeds and broods since the Club for Filmmakers of the German Democratic Republic founded it in 1955. This year's edition followed its tradition of high quality programming and industry networking events that represented the cunning and cutting edge of factual filmmaking.
Home is an act
Antje Engelmann's film, along with several selections at the festival, explores the notion of identity, whether individual, cultural or national. In "A Manual to Change the Past," a cinematic collage of found footage and archival materials mixed with a stylistic road movie narrative and a folk music soundtrack, Engelmann returns to her past and the tradition-conscious culture of the Danube-Swabians.
Often behind the camera growing up, Engelmann says in voiceover, "I shot films to understand life and therefore myself. But it's the image archive of my family, the pictures of my life up until now, that is defining my memory."
Born in Ulm with German-Hungarian great-grandparents who fled their home after World War II, Engelmann concludes that 'home' is more of an act than a place. It's also a concept that she rejects.
"I am smothered by the thought of building my own house," she narrates in her film. "Building a house is like building a coffin."
In the film, Engelmann and her aunt travel by bicycle to Ulm to trace the Danube-Swabian idea of home. What results is the director's balancing of customs, values and memory, as she is both attracted to and repulsed by her heritage.
At one point donning her great-grandmother's traditional costume, Engelmann remains critical of the culture's significance today. "The Danube-Swabian desire is not about a specific place; instead it's a yearning for an over-stylized idea of a German culture and tradition which doesn't exist in Germany anymore."
What it means to be German
But what is typical German culture today? The question is raised in Britt Beyer's documentary "Becoming German," which made its world premiere in competition at DOK Leipzig to a sold-out audience.
Humorous and poignant, the film comments on assimilation in Germany through the process of integration courses. Offered since 2005, these courses aim to teach the foreigner how to better transition into the country.
In answer to the heated public debate concerning the integration of a rising number of Muslims into German society, Beyer's film presents the many faces of the foreigner, who is anybody and everybody outside of Germany. Yet how they make their way inside the country is a complex issue, one that Beyer tackles with comedy and careful consideration.
"I like to approach problems with humor," Beyer told Deutsche Welle. "If you have too many stereotypes about each other then integration will not work. Otherwise, a possible approach is to laugh about ourselves, and let them laugh about themselves too."
Indeed, this is one of those rare documentary comedies as we watch the students struggle with audio exercises and role plays, and offer tips about Germany to anybody who is planning to live there: always be on time, always pay your fines, be quiet after 8 pm, and always apologize and accept German humor. At this point in the film the students sit in silence and scratch their heads, trying to define what constitutes German humor.
The German Certificate was designed to offer immigrants a better future with job security and permanent residency. But as Beyer is quick to comment, "You can speak German like a German, but you still have the stigma of your appearance and your name attached to you."
The face of Europe
The opening film, "Special Flight" by Fernand Melgar, looks at assimilation and identity in Switzerland by observing a deportation center in Geneva where dozens of male asylum seekers, from countries like Kosovo, Nigeria and Congo, live in purgatory while waiting for a 'special flight' (police escort in handcuffs) to take them back home.
Defining 'back home' is the central question of the film. Ragip, from Kosovo, has been living in Switzerland for 22 years and no longer identifies with his country of origin. Likewise, the men we meet in the film are not criminals. They speak fluent French, hold down jobs and have families. But according to Swiss courts, it's time for them to go.
Devoid of expert interviews or statistics about Swiss immigration law, the camera stays within the facility while delicately observing men who commiserate with each other, laugh, cry, and wait. "Special Flight" reveals how bureaucratic structures can squeeze the hope from individuals, and just how little cultural assimilation can stretch when it comes to 'status.'
Over decades, DOK Leipzig has developed into a dynamic celebration of documentary and animation, mixing art house, narrative, critical issues and subtle observation. Tracing history while scrutinizing the ideals of identity have helped shape the Leipzig Festival's character in its 54th year.
Author: Melanie Sevcenko
Editor: Kate Bowen