From Reykjavík to Helsinki and Tromsø to Copenhagen, from Dogme to Deconstruction and wide-screen to digital, you’d think the Scandinavian Film Festival L.A. had covered it all in the last decade, but this year it celebrates its 10th anniversary with far more to come at the Writers Guild Theater in Beverly Hills on January 10th-11th and 17th-18th.
James Koenig is Founder and Director of the Scandinavian Film Festival L.A. (SFFLA), yet his voice can be heard in various arts arenas. A graduate of Northwestern University with a Bachelor’s and a Master’s degree, he wrote poetry while there, published by the University of Chicago Press. He continued writing: song texts, theatrical pieces, journalism, articles on classical music, and even a novel —
The Meter Is Running. He has been decorated as a Knight of the Order of the Finnish Lion for his musical activities and cultural work for Finland and his work with the American Scandinavian Foundation of Los Angeles. Yet there is one last talent — perhaps his foremost — Koenig is a classical singer, a baritone who has performed in opera, concerts, and recitals in the United States, Italy, and Scandinavia. He enjoys teaching and coaching vocal students, and in the summer he teaches at the Bel Canto Institute in Firenze.
I interviewed James Koenig for some reflection on the scope of the SFFLA and its unique approach to sharing Nordic cinema in California’s southland.
Diane Sippl: Given that part of the festival’s mission is to screen the submissions from each of the five Nordic countries for the Best Foreign-Language Film Award bestowed by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, have any of these fifty films in the last decade won the nomination for that “Oscar”? Have any won the award?
James Koenig: Ah, yes — King Oscar! Let’s open that can of sardines right away! Oscar is everything for some, scoffed at by others. But having one’s film chosen as the Oscar entry from one’s country for a given year is a big deal! It’s also not always an altogether apolitical deal! Committees choose, and committees are human. That’s why we always put Oscar films in the context of other current feature films from each of the five countries. More than once, audiences have left a non-Oscar film saying, “THAT one should have been the Oscar entry!” Oscar nods can also prove a great platform for a political statement! Earthy and iconic Finnish director Ake Kaurismäki, after receiving a nomination for his 2002 film,
Man without a Past, declined attendance at the 75th Annual Academy Awards in 2003, refusing to come to “a nation that is in a state of war.” All in all, in the first nine years of the festival we’ve seen six Best Foreign Film nominations and around five for short films and one for a documentary.
DS: I’ve attended your festival from the beginning, and I’ve seen an endless entourage of directors, producers, writers, and screen artists visiting over the years. Have any of them found either work or North American representation through the SFFLA?
JK: It’s interesting: although each Nordic country has a definite interdependent film industry, a lot of on- and off-screen talent crosses over Nordic national boundaries. This year’s Swedish Oscar entry (Jan Troell’s
Everlasting Moments) was a co-production with Denmark. We’ve had both Swedish and Finnish Oscar offerings from the same director, Klaus Härö — a Finn who works a good bit of the time in Sweden (
Elina, Sweden;
Mother of Mine, Finland). But somehow, mythical Hollywood is still the “film capital of the world” and success in Hollywood is a much sought-after commodity. Norwegian Director Harald Swart (
Long Flat Balls I &
II) applies his talents to both Norwegian and American films. There are certainly significant careers that happen with or without Hollywood — but it’s definitely desirable to work in Tinsel Town. Our
festival’s immersion offers an informational and networking opportunity for film professionals to co-mingle not only with Nordic visitors but also with Nordics working in Hollywood. A Norwegian cinematographer who was working here met Billie August at our festival and ended up working with him. Norwegian director Erik Poppe, at the festival with his film,
Hawaii Oslo, connected with both an agent and North American management via introductions at the festival. I’ve kept the thank you note from the agent. Films have found distributors for theatrical and later DVD release. And there are many Nordic film pros who call Hollywood home. A festival regular is Danish Benni Korzen, who produced the Oscar-winning classic,
Babette’s Feast.
Certainly there are festivals — big ones — that include Nordic films. But the focus of our festival — immersion and networking — offers unique opportunities for devotees of international cinema, European cinema, and Nordic film.DS: With very pleasurable hindsight, I’m noting that at least a dozen directors (from all five of the Nordic countries) have made return visits to the SFFLA with their work, and at least half a dozen actors have re-appeared on the screen from year to year. Have you noticed the development of any individual careers — either in Los Angeles or in the home countries — during this decade? Do the films you’ve presented reflect the enrichment or expanded expertise of any rising talents?
JK: We have screened first features and the works of veterans. One reality of Nordic film is that after a while one tends to see familiar faces both on- and off-screen.
Mads Mikkelsen — “suddenly” known to American audiences in
Casino Royale — was a long-time favorite of our audience through his work in many Danish films. In the first years of the festival we screened wonderful shorts by Anders Tomas Jensen. His
Election Night won an Oscar for Best Short. He has gone on to be a prolific writer/director/producer. We screened his feature film,
Flickering Lights and he wrote Oscar-nominated
After the Wedding with Susanne Bier. He was introduced to us by Kim Magnusson, who worked with his father, Tivi Magnusson, at M & M Films. Kim is now head of Nordisk Film. Paprika Steen was seen in last year’s delicious sci-fi “teacher-from-outer-space” fun-fest,
The Substitute, and previously in
Open Hearts and
Mifune. Then in a directorial role, we’ve seen her films,
Aftermath and
With Your Permission.
Norwegian director Trygve Diesen, whose
Hold My Heart was the Norwegian Oscar entry some years ago, was a film student at USC who received a scholarship from the American Scandinavian Foundation of Los Angeles — the parent organization of our festival.
DS: You’ve certainly shown enough comedies at your festival, and there’ve been plenty of delightfully entertaining films — thrillers like Baltasar Kormákur’s
Jar City from Iceland, sci-fi romances like Ole Bornedal’s
The Substitute from Denmark, and love stories like Olli Saarela’s
The Year of the Wolf from Finland. Yet even these “happier” films point to the “dark side” so many people attribute to Scandinavian cinema. Is there any truth to the “darkness” of the “Northern Lights” — at least as far as the light of cinema is concerned — or is the sense of innate tragedy in Scandinavian cinema a myth that possibly died with one of the region’s most esteemed pioneers, Ingmar Bergman?
JK: I call this the popcorn vs. Prozac question! I’ve sometimes joked that with the “dark” nature of many Scandinavian films we opt for Prozac in lieu of popcorn. Northern countries have long winters with relatively few hours of daylight enveloped by brooding twilight at each end. A certain pensive “dark” nature goes with the territory. But Nordics also transform the darkness with candles and full-spectrum light bulbs and a unique sense of humor. There is a Nordic closeness with nature that is a source of beauty and inspiration, but it can also be so brutal that it leads to depression, a high suicide rate, and alcoholism. The contrasts are amazing. On the one hand, months of darkness; on the other hand, northern lights! A long winter; a summer of abandon and total celebration… A frozen landscape; a steamy sauna… Idyllic Karl Larsson visions of home and mother and father and family; and Strindberg women and Ibsen heroines… All of this is reflected in Nordic film culture, and it certainly did not “walk into the light” with Ingmar Bergman’s passing.
DS: Looking back at the films you’ve shown from year to year, it seems that immigration and cultural displacement are prevalent themes. In fact, through your festival I’ve discovered that across Scandinavian history and borders, issues of ethnicity and social class (another kind of “foreignness”) have been facts of life, perhaps modified only a bit by late 20th-century/early 21st-century global phenomena. Why do you think immigration has been such a presiding issue in the region’s cinema output?
JK: The human condition seems to have a propensity for identity through “borders”—both the national kind and cultural kinds that include demarcations of ethnicity, social class, religion, language, gender. The United States, with all of its foibles and failings, can truly claim to be the most diverse, pluralistic place on the face of the earth. In the 19th and early 20th centuries in Scandinavian culture one might have seen the occasional “foreigner.” Babette in Isaak Dinesen’s story is a displaced French woman. A missionary might have brought home an occasional orphan. Seafaring accounted for the rare person from far away. But in recent times, in a global world, there are suddenly falafel stands in small towns, and immigrants from Africa, the Middle East, and Asia. This phenomenon is reflected in Nordic cinema.
DS: You’ve shown films such as Hisham Zaman’s
Winterland, about a picture bride from Kurdish Iraq arriving in the remote Norwegian countryside; Marius Holst’s
Mirush, about an Albanian boy seeking his father who works in Oslo; and Josef Fares’
Zozo, about an Arabic boy fleeing from Lebanon to Sweden. These truly reflect the wars and labor strife around the world today and the shifting demographics of Nordic countries. But you’ve also screened works like Klaus Härö’s
Mother of Mine, about the obligatory evacuation of Finnish children to Sweden, and Härö’s
The New Man, about the forced sterilization of so-called “undesirable” sectors of the population; this year you have Nils Gaup’s
The Kautokeino Rebellion, about the Sami as a cultural minority within Norway. These themes seem to be the product of political repression and sometimes widely espoused nationalism or ethnocentrism that may be the residue of earlier epochs of conquest and occupation within the region itself. Are such themes popular with your audiences? If not, why do you suppose the filmmakers keep returning to them?
JK: I had the pleasure of showing young Norwegian director Hisham Zaman (
Winterland) around Los Angeles. He is a Kurdish immigrant to Norway who is markedly Kurdish and remarkably Norwegian. I can’t help but recall a conversation with a waiter in an Indian restaurant in Oslo who could have worked for the Norwegian Chamber of Commerce! At the same time, he offered me a special delicacy because it happened to be Indian Independence Day. On the other hand films like
Evil and
The New Man clearly show a classist mentality of the early- to middle-20th century. But these core values are still present with their own 21st-century harsh realities. If IKEA represents an egalitarian image of Scandinavian “socialism,” Nordic film often responds with reminders of social division and injustice and the presence of “the other.” In any country the word “refugee” can be synonymous with “cheap labor force.” I can’t help but recall the tragic heroine of Lukas Moodysson’s
Lilya Forever, a heart-wrenching story of a young Eastern European girl indentured to a life of prostitution in Stockholm. It is always easy to arouse indignation about some “foreigner’s” involvement in drug trafficking or prostitution without much client-side focus. Film holds up the mirror that makes us look at ourselves. Subjects aren’t chosen by a noble committee magnanimously selecting what we “should” see. Rather, life and death, justice and injustice, love and hate, tears and laughter, tenderness and treachery are in the atmosphere. Sometimes it’s comic, sometimes tragic — ribald or risible, high-minded as a national epic or shallow as the tackiest “coming of age” tale that makes Dukes of Hazzard look like high art. In the truly full-spectrum light of the projector, we see the captured images of all of the above and share our common humanity.
