For My Own Healing: Lieke Bezemer On Her Short "ECHO"
Lieke Bezemer is a director and cinematographer who focuses on telling poetic, personal narratives. Combining experimental, still photography, and nature documentary elements with non-fiction, Bezemer creates unique and powerful portraits that generate a visceral response. Her latest short, ECHO, focuses on the her own personal trauma which arose from her experience with sexual abuse.
ECHO is the embodiment of the hidden world within a damaged mind. A cinematic essay that exposes the invisible processes of trauma - visualized solely by natural phenomena, set against the snowy backdrops of Hokkaido, North Japan.
This powerful short recently screened at Manchester Film Festival. We had the pleasure of chatting with Lieke about her film, its origins, art as therapy, finding the right location, and much much more!
With this being such a personal and intimate film, I imagine it must have been as nerve-racking as it was liberating to share your story, since it required you to be very vulnerable. Has the film’s release been cathartic for you?
Well, you’re absolutely right! I started working on the film about four years after my sexual abuse. My abuse is something that I used to not talk about, at all. And I wasn’t planning on changing that.
Vulnerability is incredibly scary but I had to make this film for my own healing. The making of the film was so intense but, honestly, it was the best therapy ever! It provided me with so much knowledge on my inner processes and survival mechanisms, enabling me to finally understand myself. To finally start healing. You’d think that that was the scary part right? Making the film? Well you’re wrong. Once the film was done, I had to start showing it to people — which was even more dreadful than facing my own ‘demons.’ However, it has been incredible. My relationships flourished, and I now realize what a burden it has been to keep this secret to myself for all of those years. It kept me trapped. The fact that everybody now knows can still be frightening, but it set me free.
How were you able to overcome the fear about discussing your past?
I didn’t want a stage to display my struggles. In fact, I didn’t even really want to acknowledge my past — I just wanted to ‘fix’ the consequences of it. It took a lot of guts to even start on a film with trauma as the central theme, and making it more personal wasn’t really my intention.
However, through the process, I had to start opening up anyways: to my crew. They needed to know what we were making a film about. Through all that sharing, the research that went into the film, and the visuals we created, I finally had the tools to tell my story. I was still hesitant though. At this point (in the post-production) the process had already been so long and tough that I decided that the potential of the film was of greater importance than my own fears. I wasn’t going to back out now. If my personal story was going to make the film stronger, then that’s what had to be done.
The film has a striking look. Tell us how you and cinematographer Nick Tucker created the film’s aesthetics?
Over the years, I have specialized in photography and cinematography, which is also reflected in my work as a director. In my process, conception and research for a film almost revolves around camerawork. My visions for the cinematography were very clear, so Nick had to work with a meddlesome director. The cool part is, we were actually always on the same page. Nick and I go way back and have a very strong bond through our shared love for wildlife and environmental filmmaking. This comes with a deep and mutual trust, thorough communication and most of all: being each other’s biggest fans. Our workflow on location was simple yet effective: while Nick was preparing all of the gear and shooting the first shots, I would be running around with my photo camera. Those stills were great visual tool for discussing what the final shot should look like, where Nick could work his magic and turn it into moving image.
The snow-covered setting of Hokkaido plays a big role in the film. Can you talk about how you found this beautiful location and tell us about your experience filming there?
The decision to use nature to tell this story happened at the exact same time as deciding on Hokkaido as the shooting location. Early on in the process, I decided that I wasn’t going to use people to tell this story of trauma. I was looking for a more abstract, poetic and interpretive narrative. Using nature made more sense to me, given my specialization in nature films. However, I wasn’t quite sure yet. When I randomly found a photo of Hokkaido by Jefflin Ling on instagram, I was completely convinced. The photo, consisting of a few trees in a minimalistic and eerie snow landscape, touched me more than any piece of art on trauma that I had come across. I couldn’t explain why just yet, but this was the embodiment of trauma for me. This is what it felt like. Later on I discovered that the landscapes perfectly symbolized the dissociation I experienced with my PTSD, where you go into a state of numbness by pushing everything away: emotions, memories, passions, friends – anything that makes you feel at all. All that makes you feel alive. A very common survival mechanism where, on the outside, I started to stare into the distance for hours on end. On the inside, I was burying everything that could remind me of my traumas under a thick blanket of snow, and my mind just went completely blank. This was our starting point for ECHO.
Filming there was quite an experience! It was just the three of us there: me, our producer Elyse de Waard, and cinematographer Nick Tucker. We drove all around the island for about 2.5 weeks, a route that was planned beforehand based on our research, but left plenty of room for the unexpected. And unexpected it was, surreal even. Everyone found our plan to film my graduation film in Hokkaido too ambitious. Yet here we were, making it happen. On the snowiest, most rugged island of Japan. The landscapes were unlike any we’d seen before. Accompanied by the best, and tiniest, crew we could imagine. Finally shooting the film we were working on for so long already. The film I was dying to make. Dreading to make. Going to make, against all odds. But we were completely in our elements doing it.
What drew you to the visual arts? How did you get into directing?
Oh, good question! I think I have always been a storyteller — especially a voice coming from a sense of justice. This definitely wasn’t appreciated by my teachers in high school though, haha! I spoke my mind when I felt like it was the right thing to do, not when I had permission to do so. I wasn’t afraid to disobey rules I didn’t believe in, and choose passion over a predictable life path. I discovered photography relatively young and, looking back now, always had this ‘eye’ for image. Together with that urge to tell stories for change, especially from nature, art school seemed like the perfect fit for me. Here, I wasn’t told to shut up and listen to the teachers. Here, they appreciated and nurtured that voice. I’ve always been aware of how images can touch people, influence them even. Art can bring real change. Where would this society be without the artists telling its stories?
Speaking of artists telling stories, what films or filmmakers have inspired you, your style, or your approach to telling a story?
I actually get my inspiration from various sources and disciplines. Film isn’t necessarily the first source I turn to when making a film. It’s often a mix of things. For ECHO in particular, as I couldn’t find a live-action film on trauma that I could really relate to. All the more reason to make one myself. Obviously, my work is deeply influenced by the all of the nature films I studied over the years. With other documentary genres, Dutch director Marina Meijer inspired me in many ways. She often works with small crews, sometimes even doing the cinematography herself. She taught me how to choose a fitting ‘micro cosmos’ to tell a story, how every shot in the film should serve that story, and to not rush the process: take the time to do your story justice. So in short: the story is top priority, and every decision should serve this. Her comment on how a language barrier creates the opportunity to tell the story even more visual resonated with ECHO. Not only with filming in Japan, but also with being unable to find the words to speak about trauma.
Another film that inspired me while making ECHO was the animation film My Father’s Room on domestic abuse by Nari Jang. A narrative fueled by images rather than a script. The metaphorical approach enabled by the animation process is without limits and inspired me adapt this way of thinking too. In both ECHO and My Father’s Room, there is little to no use of color, and negative space is just as important as filled space. There is strength in simplicity, modesty even. But what impressed me most is that it gave me, the audience, the unique opportunity to enter the mind of this specific abused girl – which from then on was the goal for ECHO too.
What do you hope audiences take away from the film?
If you do not understand (your) trauma, it is easier to just deny it. With ECHO, we wanted to confront, without being destructive. We wanted for it to do all of those emotions justice, but focusing on the natural process rather than those demons we often see in art. It takes confrontation to acknowledge trauma, in order to then heal. This is what the film did for me, and I know this is what it can do for others as well.
Do you have any future projects in the works that you can share with us?
I am currently working on two bigger projects. The first is another short, which will almost be a sequel to ECHO. Where ECHO embodied the experience of trauma in terms of confrontation and survival, my new film NOWHERE (working title) will focus more on healing and letting go. Nature, again, will play a big role here. It is the connection felt with nature that will heal more than any shrink ever will. And it is that connection with nature, needed for us to feel responsible to take care of her, too.
The other project I am working on is an editorial-style photo series that is directed by a friend of mine from art school, Jelka Waalewijn. In her graduation project, ‘World Destruction But Make It Fashion’ (WDBMIF for short), we display models wearing costumes made out of deconstructed clothes from various fast fashion trends, while posing as absolute goddesses and carelessly destroying scale models of specific areas of the world that are heavily affected by our consumerism. This way we create visually pleasing images, that confront and appeal at the same time. This is crucial to reach our audience: instagram influencers. Working consciously is our top priority: with the project’s environmental footprint but also through the style of photography. This is why I, as the photographer of WDBMIF, decided that we are going to shoot everything on analog medium format cameras. One of my favorite ways to shoot and a message I truly believe in, what more can I ask for?!
What do you think? We want to know. Share your thoughts and feelings in the comments section below, and as always, remember to viddy well!