Lucile Desamory, Gustave Fundi and Glodie Mubikay, Télé Réalité (2020)

Lucile Desamory (1977, Brussels) is a Berlin-based artist, filmmaker, musician and actor. Working across a diverse range of media, including film, video, installation, performance and visual art, Desamory brings overlooked narratives into focus, exploring phenomena in transition and creating works that blur the lines between fact and fiction, science and speculation. The film Télé Réalité (2020), a collaboration between Desamory, Gustave Fundi and Glodie Mubikay, examines the complexities of mediated reality, blending experimental storytelling with critical commentary on the interplay of image, representation and identity. Through a deconstructed media landscape, the film reflects on the manipulation of truth and the performative nature of identity in the digital age. As part of Blue Screen #13, we are delighted to present the film Télé Réalité (2020), which will be available to view online during the month of February.

^{Lucile Desamory, Glodie Mubikay and Gustave Fundi, Télé Réalité, 2020, 87 min, © Lucile Desamory, Glodie Mubikay and Gustave Fundi}

BS: (Blue Screen) You work with a wide range of materials – painting, collage, photography, film and your own voice. You’ve mentioned that these different techniques often intertwine to form larger works, like installations, films, radio plays and live performances. To start, could you tell us how you came to make films?

LD: (Lucile Desamory) When I was a teenager – around 13 or so – I knew that making films was what I wanted to do. I’d spend my days at the Film Museum (now Cinematek in Brussels, ed.), watching multiple films, and it was there that I really learned what film is and what it could be. I remember seeing Wavelength (1967) by Michael Snow and thinking, ‘Oh! This is also filmmaking!’. I would watch a lot of silent films – like films by Fritz Lang – and everything in between, from early cinema to contemporary films. Later on, I discovered Chantal Akerman’s work, and I really connected with how she used the camera and the way she told stories, particularly in Je, tu, il, elle (1974).

Then I started making films with an 8 mm camera – that I still own and film with today. At the time, it was cheap to work with film. I started making silent films, trying to replicate what I had seen – copying their structure, pacing, and the way the actors were on screen. It started with copying, until I found my own way of working. Filming with analogue, everything was planned in advance and I would edit in camera. I’d always been drawn to this way of working, where mistakes and imperfections naturally come up. I was particularly interested in genre films, like horror and B movies, because for me they felt more interesting – more subversive – than conventional cinema, and were full of ‘mistakes’. Eventually I found myself hitchhiking around Europe with one suitcase for a camera and another for a projector, and as I met people, I would propose making films with them.

BS: How would you develop the films you shot?

LD: At the time, it was the golden age of Super8. Once you had a roll, development was included, so you could take it to any lab and get it processed. This meant I could travel and make films simultaneously.

Learning filmmaking through working with analogue taught me a lot – lessons that are still part of my practice today, even though I now work with digital for my feature films. Inevitably, when you work with analogue, there is a different economy, you learn to be more precious with the image. When I transitioned from making shorts to feature films, I kept that same economy of approach. I typically only take one or two shots, and we rarely have much footage left over when we edit.

BS: During the Blue Screen in-person event, we will focus on a selection of your earlier 8 mm short films. For the GLEAN Screening Room, however, we are fortunate to be able to share one of your feature films, Télé Réalité. Was it an easy transition to start making feature films? And do you feel attached to this mode of filmmaking now?

LD: It makes me think of something a friend of mine, Panos H. Koutras, a great Greek filmmaker, once said. I was very nervous while making my first feature film and he told me: ‘You’ll see, it’s the same amount of work to make a short as to make a feature, so… better you make a feature!’ I had never thought of that, but I think he is completely right. The amount of preparation needed for both is pretty much the same, and they both occupy the same headspace. So, why not make a feature? Now I don’t feel I can work in short films anymore – they don’t give me the space or time to tell the stories I want to tell.

BS Can you tell us what Télé Réalité is about?

LD: The film follows three women in Kinshasa who producing a reality TV show set in Belgium. The show will challenge Belgian contestants during Carnival, who are ‘tested’ in different ways.

One of the producers, Hawaly, a showrunner from Burundi, is in Belgium preparing for the shoot, working closely with the costume designer. The costumes are central to the show, as the contestants will be stuck in elaborate outfits that are difficult to move in. As they collaborate, the showrunner begins to realise that the costume designer has a deep connection to the supernatural – and that she might also have an interesting role to play in the show itself.

BS: As you mentioned about your early work, you often filmed with friends. Even in your more recent films, you continue to collaborate with people close to you. For example, in Télé Réalité, your brother wrote the script, and you co-directed with Gustave Fundi and Glodie Mubikay. Why is this mode of working important to you?

LD: Making a film is always a collaboration – it starts as a collaboration from the very beginning. For me, filmmaking is an opportunity to meet people and create a space where all kinds of unexpected and weird things can happen. Like with Télé Réalité. First, my brother Damien Desamory writes the script, and then it goes through my brain. From there, it’s shaped by the DOP, the actors, and everyone we meet along the way during shooting.

In addition to this, the film was co-directed by Gustave and Glodie. I met Gustave and Glodie through the then director of Mu.ZEE, Phillip Van den Bossche, who had met them in Lubumbashi when they were making horror films. I saw their films and thought they were great. I also shared my work with them, and when Damien started working on a script for a film set in Kinshasa, I asked whether they wanted to co-direct the film with me. At the time, we had very little money, so things were being shot in Kinshasa without me. And vice versa, things were being filmed in Belgium without them. This is part of why the film is called Télé Réalité – it’s about not being physically present in the same place, but still working on the same project.

Of course, the idea for the project initially came from me, but in the end, I wasn’t trying to control anything, and neither were they. We were all speaking French, but often didn’t fully understand each other. This became part of the process – the misunderstandings became an opportunity to push things further.

BS: We started by talking about your love for cinema and how you grew up watching both classic and more experimental films. Despite that, you’ve taken a more unorthodox path – working with Super8, filming with friends in a DIY, guerilla style and embracing imperfections. This approach still seems to influence your feature films, even though the style and aesthetic might differ from film to film. Can you imagine making a film with a big budget, or in a more mainstream way? Or would that feel counterproductive to your way of working?

LD: I think I’d really like to do a big production. If the opportunity comes up, I’d definitely say yes. But of course, I carry my background and past experiences with me. For me, personal vision isn’t the most important thing in filmmaking – it’s about setting things in motion and seeing what comes out in the end. I like to let go of ownership and control over the film.

I could make more films if I had more money for them. It’s a simple equation: with a budget of €25,000, €100,000 or €500,000, what you can do changes completely. But it doesn’t change the intention behind the film – it just means people are better paid and there’s more time to work. As for the question of working more mainstream, I’ve thought about it a lot. Yes, I would love to reach a larger audience, but then it comes back to the issue of making compromises. There’s a point where you can bend to a format, and then there’s a point when you just stop.

But I go with whatever comes. If they give me a million, then I’ll make it with a million. I just want to make films, tell stories and see where they take us.

BS: It seems you’re drawn to overlooked, peripheral and often spurned narratives. What we find interesting is that this extends beyond your subjects to the spaces where you present your work. For example, your most recent feature, De Wervelende Wiwar – The Swirling Tangle, will be released on an TV network for elderly people called Eclipse TV.

LD: For me, these spaces, which are often undervalued compared to traditional cinema, are actually really interesting and full of potential. When the opportunity came up, I immediately felt it was a poetic and perfect space for me to create work within. So we made De Wervelende Wiwar – The Swirling Tangle, a series composed of 12 chapters that will play on the network as short 5–10 minute episodes. The title of the film reflects the concept of memory loss as a way to recreate something new – a chance to approach life from a different perspective and step into the supernatural.

Horror, UFOs, ghosts, special effects – these are things that aren’t often taken seriously, but for me they are transformative spaces. I was born in the industrial area around Brussels and grew up in an abandoned factory, so have always been interested in the peripheries, or overlooked spaces. Dealing with wastelands and questioning what ‘normality’ is became very personal to me. I didn’t study film at film school; I taught myself through watching, making and learning from friends. Maybe that’s why I’ve always been drawn to this search for something that’s hidden in the corner, not in the main spotlight, away from what’s expected in terms of behavior or the ‘proper’ way to create.

BS: As you mentioned, it feels like with every film you make, you’re not just learning about filmmaking but also discovering what can evolve through collaborations with others. It seems like it’s about embracing those more unconventional opportunities, letting go of the control that’s often associated with filmmaking and seeing where it takes you.

LD: For me, filmmaking has to be about the unknown. I never take for granted how much there is to discover in the process of making, nor would I start a film if I knew what the exact outcome would be.