"The words they found"

What initially motivated you to make “Curtains”? Was there a particular moment or encounter that sparked the idea?

Since the Istanbul Convention on preventing and combating violence against women and domestic violence came into force in Germany in 2018, the media has been addressing the topic of violence against women more frequently. I also started noticing the statistics on domestic violence more consciously. I was both shocked and alarmed – the numbers clearly show these aren't “isolated incidents”; they point to a structural problem.
I wanted to understand which social and political power structures either fail to protect women – or even perpetuate their insecurity. So I started reaching out to people who work in professions where they encounter affected women: police officers, doctors, social workers, psychologists, and lawyers. I also spoke to a communication scientist who analyzed how violence against women is portrayed in newspaper articles. And, of course, I spoke to women who had been directly affected.

You work with real testimonies from four women. How did you approach them, and what was your process for selecting their stories?

One thing is clear: all abusive relationships follow the same pattern – only the circumstances, the forms of violence, and their intensity differ.
What mattered to me were the individual ways these women described what they had experienced – the words they found for it. Personal connection also played a role. I’m still in touch with all of them, and in some cases, real friendships have developed.

How did the women respond to the project? Were there any hesitations – or perhaps a sense of relief in telling their stories this way?

All of the women feel a strong sense of responsibility. They don’t want what happened to them to happen to anyone else. They want to educate, to warn, to bring the issue more into public view.
I would say that our conversations had something therapeutic about them. It helped them to open up and be met with someone who listened without judgment. Some of the women were still in ongoing court proceedings, in which they had to testify. During that time, victims are not allowed to start trauma therapy – only psychological stabilization – to avoid “influencing the narrative.” That’s a devastating reality, especially considering how many years these legal proceedings can take.

How do you, as a director, cope emotionally with such a heavy subject? How did the creative process affect you personally?

I’m emotionally grounded, and by nature, a very positive, joyful person. I’m drawn to heavy topics that affect many people but are rarely discussed in public: loneliness, stillbirth, broken biographies.
These stories move me deeply. I cry with my protagonists regularly – but we also laugh a lot. So far, the beautiful and hopeful moments have always outweighed the painful ones. Life goes on, and we all have to learn to live with pain, grief, and loss – to integrate them into our lives.

Your film combines dance, animation, and classic documentary elements. What inspired this unusual formal approach?

My films are often hybrids. It was important to me that the women not be put into boxes based on their age, appearance, dialect, social status, or background – and reduced to “individual cases” again. I wanted to move away from stereotypical “types of women.” This is a structural issue, not a personal one.
And they absolutely had to remain anonymous – without being retraumatized by appearing on film.

Formally, the film is about contrasts: inside and outside, private and public, belief and fact, emotion and objectivity, psychological and physical violence. These aspects weren’t meant to be illustrated literally but rather to create spaces for association – and to stand in contrast to the precisely framed, sober expert interviews.
Dance is used as a non-verbal form of expression, a way to portray inner emotional states or relationship dynamics. I saw movement and the body as the most powerful tools for exploring physical limits, energies, emotions, thoughts, memories, and internal beliefs – all of which could be “put into motion” without words.

The animations feel intentionally fragmented and tactile. Can you explain how this visual language reflects the protagonist’s psychological state?

The animation mirrors the woman’s mental state: manipulated, confined, distorted, erased, surreal.
We printed selected film sequences on specific types of paper and physically altered them. Together with animation artist Aline Helmcke, we settled on three core techniques for manipulating the stills: crumpling, tearing, and scratching.
Animation under a trick table can only be controlled to a certain extent – and that unpredictability actually served the content beautifully.
This physical, tactile approach was important to me throughout the film: the music was played using various acoustic instruments, the sound design was built from real textures and materials, and all graphics were hand-drawn.

What was especially important to you in working with Sandra Hüller? How did you shape the emotional core of the story together?

Even during early development, I had Sandra in mind as the narrator. I knew she could bring the necessary authenticity to the lyrical “I.”
Sandra can express inner emotional landscapes – fragility, conflict, mental strength – so subtly that I always felt I could see the real women behind her voice. The voice needed to embody vulnerability, love, kindness, doubt, helplessness, and courage – all traits Sandra naturally conveys in her roles.

In your opinion, how can film help break societal taboos like domestic violence?

I really hope the film continues out in the world – through thoughts, conversations, and recommendations. Talking about taboo topics is always the first step toward change.
If even one woman decides to leave an abusive relationship, it’s all been worth it.
If one man seriously reflects on his behavior – it’s been worth it.
If people start to look more closely, ask questions, offer help – it’s been worth it.

From your perspective, what needs to change – socially and politically – for violence against women to finally be taken seriously, effectively prevented, and adequately punished?

Honestly, I don’t understand why no one is taking to the streets en masse over violence against women. Why isn’t there more outrage? Why do so few men feel responsible?
In truth, support for affected women is lacking across the board: too few shelters, underfunded counseling centers, overburdened family courts, almost no preventive work.

The scale of the problem only becomes clear when you start counting faces at your office, a restaurant, or a family gathering: one in three women experiences physical or sexual violence by a partner or ex-partner. Every day, a woman is murdered because of her gender. Your colleague, your friend, your cousin – or even yourself.
The complacency with which politics and society downplay this violence needs to change at the root. Is what happens in a private home really a “private matter”?
Police, medical staff, and the justice system need regular, mandatory training to respond appropriately and sensitively to domestic violence. Perpetrators must face consequences – which sadly remains the exception, not the rule.
But the biggest shift, in my view, would be if men started feeling responsible. Because this isn’t a “women’s problem” – it’s a men’s problem.