Looking to the past allows you to breathe life into stories that are otherwise largely lost. Is there any significance to the specific point in time your footage is situated in (the 60s/70s)?
Yes, absolutely. I wanted to create a found footage film to explore the impact of borders. One key reason for making this film is the increasing dehumanization of borders today. Technology is gradually replacing the people who once guarded these boundaries. Initially, I considered using contemporary found footage. However, I quickly realized that such material is scarce because human presence has been pushed further away. Modern borders are surrounded by vast buffer zones filled with cameras, drones, and detection systems, making it nearly impossible to capture footage, even for journalists. This led me to focus on a period in time when borders were being filmed more often: the 1960s and 70s. At the same time, I realized the story needed a deeply human element, which today’s distant, detached footage cannot convey. I’m also attracted to the aesthetic quality of 8mm film from that era; it naturally evokes a sense of memory.

The story became one about borders, between an ‘us’ and ‘them’, both personal and political. What inspired this narrative?
The scenario I wrote with Marleen van der Werf aims to show that borders primarily exist in our minds—they are constructed concepts. Yet, these constructs have real, tangible effects. As soon as a border is created, a system of legal rules and new vocabulary follows in its tracks. Before I became a filmmaker, I worked in the domain of refugee law. I experienced firsthand how borders shape our language and perception. We see this today with terms like "country of first entry" or "Schengen zone." These borders are not just lines on a map; they become lines drawn in our minds. Once established, these constructs tend to expand rather than being questioned. In contemporary Europe, we see borders causing countless deaths, yet the borders themselves are rarely up for debate.

How similar or different was the ‘directing’ process to more conventional filmmaking? Was it frustrating to not have the ability to change the angle, extend a scene, etc. — or did the constraint encourage new, exciting solutions?
The main difference is that when making a found footage film, the material itself determines what’s possible. It can be frustrating because you don’t have full control over a scene. You might want the narrative to go a certain way, but if the footage isn’t there, you have to adapt. On the other hand, the footage can surprise you and lead to unexpected ideas. I find that amateur footage often communicates more directly with the audience compared to scenes shot with a professional crew. A smile at the camera is an authentic smile, a loving glance is genuine. There’s no filter between the moment and the viewer, no director shaping the scene. This is why the montage can feel so lyrical—it conveys a raw, immediate emotion. Additionally, we wanted to give the impression of a first-person perspective at times. This was challenging with old 8mm footage, as it was often shot more static than people film nowadays. Finally, the original footage had no sound, so we had to create all the audio ourselves.

Film still from The Insides of Our Lives (d.: Misja Pekel, 2024)

What was the order to your creative process - did you interpret the story from the found image, or find the images to fit your story? Or a combination of both?
This project evolved in collaboration with writer Kapka Kassabova. She grew up in Bulgaria during the Cold War and authored a book about borders (Border: A Journey to the Edge of Europe). The process was very organic. I would send her segments of the montage I created with editor Menno Otten, and she would respond to them. However, there were moments when Kassabova’s text was so compelling that I went to great lengths to find matching footage. We had an archive containing thousands of hours of material, all tagged with keywords, so eventually, we were able to work with it effectively.

What are your thoughts on the ethical dilemma that arises from reshaping stories that do not belong to you into something that is your own?
I believe it’s important to be transparent with the audience. At the beginning of the film, I state that it’s a fictional story. This acknowledgment gives me the freedom to use archival footage creatively for the narrative. However, there are still boundaries. The rights to the footage need to be managed properly, and I always try to contact the people who own the material. Unfortunately, this isn’t always possible. But I also think the combination of different materials can be a strength. It reflects a collective memory, making the film feel like it belongs to everyone. You could argue that I’m not taking something away, but rather giving something back—a story that is also about the audience.

The title and narrative themes are somewhat self-referential. Just as the characters struggle with understanding one another’s inner worlds, we similarly do not know the insides of their ‘real’ lives. In fact, they are nobody; they are not the same person in any two shots. And yet, through the art of cinema, you make it so they are. How do you find the filmmaking process itself reflects on general issues of human connection?
What fascinates me is how this process reveals that we are more connected than we think. We tend to film similar moments—weddings, visits to the zoo, vacations. When you juxtapose these scenes from amateur footage, you see how alike our lives are. I previously worked together with the Syrian diaspora to make a found footage film using contemporary material from Syrian refugees. It was set in a different context, but the same types of scenes appeared. Here too, I saw the same images of children, birthdays, and family outings in nature. Often, we highlight the differences, but I don’t see those in amateur footage. In my new film, The Insides of our Lives, there are clips from a range of countries, including East Germany, Bulgaria, Poland, France, and the Netherlands. This fascinates me: it’s a film about borders, yet the footage often feels borderless. This reinforces the idea that borders are constructs, allowing the material to blend together seamlessly.

Interview by Mia Breuer

The Insides of Our Lives is available in the program of the Online Verzió until 24 November: 
https://festival.verzio.org/en/film/az-eletunk-belulrol-the-insides-of-our-lives/