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If I Want to Whistle I Whistle
Romanian director Florin Serban speaks about his new film.
If I Want to Whistle I Whistle
Florin Serban may be one of the latest additions to the Romanian New Wave of cinema, even though he challenges the movement’s very existence. His film If I Want to Whistle, I Whistle—a family drama cloaked by its prison setting—has already picked up the Jury Grand Prix at the Berlin International Film Festival and is Romania’s official entry at the forthcoming Academy Awards. Keeping up with the realism that so often colors this New Wave, Serban cast actual inmates for the adaptation of Andreea Valean’s theater play of the same name. Encore got a chance to sit down with the director.
Tyler Wilson: What made you want to film the theater play of If I Want to Whistle I Whistle?
Florin Serban: The play was written some years ago, and it was not me who actually picked the play. It was the co-writer and co-producer of the film (Catalin Mitulescu) who came to me with one draft of his work based on the play, and we started from there. I took things from the play. I didn’t see or read it until very late in the process because; I didn’t want to be influenced.
The whole play is very beautiful. Very dreamlike. But I didn’t want that to go into the film because the film is very much about sweat and skin—desires. Dreams, in terms of form, were something I wanted to stay away from.
TW: Why?
FS: Because I have this story of a teenager who’s in prison. For me, I just had an image of a young horse, and if he would be free and out in the open, he would run the lands. But he’s caged between four walls. There’s a lot of steam and a lot of hormones that keep him there. Although this is not in the film, that image helped me a lot to get underneath the surface. The surface is the story of a kid inmate who kidnapped a social worker, but underneath there’s something boiling. For me, the fire that boiled it was this image of the horse. That’s why the kids are not in a classical prison with grey walls and metal bars—they’re in a blossoming orchard.
TW: Adapting the script and working with non-professional actors, were you ever concerned that the finished product would be too different than your initial expectation?
FS: Actually there were no alterations [with the actors] or improvisations. I spent some months with the kids in the prison working and having an acting workshop that enabled me to know their world better. It also enabled me to help them. After being there, I re-wrote the script not because of them, but because of what I found there. The story of the mother, for example, was never in the script before meeting them. They all had something with their mother somehow, so it had to be there.
In terms of casting, I had, say, ten kids that are talented so I’d cast them. But would I improvise with them on the set, or let them go free? Absolutely not! They didn’t have the script, but every day on the set I would give them the lines. For example, it there was a scene between me and you, and I’d have to ask you for cigarettes in four lines. The first line would be like, ‘Do you have some cigarettes?’ And you say, ‘No, I don’t.’ My second line is ‘Yes, I know you do.’ The kids knew all of this; they knew they had to say a certain number of lines, but they had to say it with their own words. This was the only thing that was improvised.
TW: When you were adapting the screenplay—especially when you were adding things like the character of the mother—was there anything that you were really hesitant about changing?
FS: This is a strange question. I think, when I wrote, not really. When I’m writing, even more than directing and being on the set, I really have to think and argue to help my vision. You really have to believe in the changes that you’re making. If you’re hesitant, it doesn’t really bring anything good to the table. I think you can be hesitant on the set because you get a lot of help there. You see the actors, the camera that can help the actors, and so on. You can find your way there.
When you’re writing, you have to be sure that you’re telling the most amazing story in the world. Otherwise, I don’t think you can even finish a sentence. It was also helpful that I didn’t write alone. I wrote with Catalin so that helped.
TW: Was the writing process between you and Catalin fairly fluid, or did you frequently find yourselves in disagreement?
FS: Oh, we had a lot of disagreements. We both brought our arguments, but above all, there was this play between us. It was never a matter of pride or whose idea would end up in the film. Right now, some parts are mine and some parts are his, but I don’t remember for sure, and he doesn’t either.
TW: I understand that you graduated from Columbia University’s graduate program, and even taught film theory and history while you were there—is that correct?
FS: Yes. I graduated from Columbia’s School of the Arts; I received a master’s degree in directing.
TW: When it comes down to the actual filmmaking process, to what extent does your academic understanding of film inform your work?
FS: Well I think there are people—like Orson Welles—who go out and want to make the best movie ever. I’m not like that. I went to school a lot, and it helped me a lot. I went to philosophy school for five years before going to film school in Romania. Then I went to film school in Columbia. For me when I’m writing, it helps me a lot; it’s good that I’m aware of everything that’s happened. When I’m on the set, there are things that I have to forget about though. On the set, filmmaking is a very raw, organic and personal process.
TW: You’ve cited filmmakers like Robert Bresson and Pedro Almodóvar as your influences. Are there others—perhaps even outside the film medium—who’ve had an impact on you?
FS: Well I wouldn’t say he’s an influence, but I like David Lynch a lot. I would love to make movies like Lynch, but I don’t know if I’m able to. I don’t think I should try.
TW: What attracts you to Lynch’s films?
FS: I mean this guy’s a master. Well not a master; I think Kurosawa’s the master. Lynch is a wizard, and you can never help but fall in love with the wizard. With him, it’s more than just simply telling a story. Telling a story well is good enough, but telling a story and reaching places like the human soul is rare.
But I mean with influences, you like some things, and somehow without even noticing, they become a part of your work.
TW: What are your thoughts on this current new wave of films coming from Romania?
FS: If everybody tells you that you’re drunk, it means that you should definitely go to sleep. I don’t think that there is a New Romanian Wave, but if everybody says so, there must be one. But I think there are several filmmakers who make very good movies right now.
TW: But you don’t detect anything unifying in their work?
FS: No, I don’t think there are many things in common between these filmmakers. Like for example you take Cristi Puiu, Cristian Mungiu and probably [Corneliui] Porumboiu. I think there are things in common. Most of them have very good acting. All of them have very good film language, but they are very different from each other. Take Puiu’s The Death of Mr. Lazarescu (2005) and Mungiu’s 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days (2007). Put them together, in terms of form, and they’re definitely different. There’s a different theme. There’s good acting. I don’t see any similarities. So I don’t know.
TW: Can you tell me about your future projects?
FS: My nearest project is my acting school I just opened. I’m working with that on a daily basis. I’m also writing a script, and I’ve finished a third draft of it. I know it’s a love story, but that’s about it. The three drafts I wrote are all very different from each other. It’ll definitely be a love story in Romania though.