I met Ole Christian Madsen, the acclaimed Danish filmmaker, at the Thessaloniki Film Festival in Greece. He had brought seven of his films to the festival and spoke passionately about them. He said, “The core message of all my films is that people are nothing without connection to one another.” Madsen, who often shoots his films in different countries, believes in removing actors and crew from their everyday routines during production to preserve the spirit of the film. He explained that for one of his films, he traveled to Argentina and, while filming, would get lost among crowds at football matches for inspiration.
After watching one of his unexpectedly romantic film, A Love Story with the audience, I found him sitting among the viewers. He said, “Some of these films I haven’t seen in over ten years. So now, watching them again, it sometimes feels like I’m seeing a new movie—or like someone else directed it!” Madsen was not unfamiliar with Iranian cinema either. He had recently seen About Elly on DVD and said, “It was fantastic. I really loved it. But I’m even more eager to watch A Separation because I’ve made three films about marital relationships myself.” According to him, Iranian cinema has the advantage of being connected to the global film scene—especially Hollywood—thanks to the accessibility of foreign films at low cost, but it has wisely kept domestic theatrical releases for its own productions.
Madsen had also seen Amir Naderi’s film Cut at Thessaloniki and remarked, “Naderi’s film has a harsh exterior but a deeply poetic core. Its message is the same as what you’re doing in your country—closing your cinemas to harmful, destructive films. But you must be careful that producers within your own country don’t make similar kinds of films.” When I told him with a laugh, “They already do,” he only nodded in silence.
In a press interview, Madsen said, “Some of my films were made to revive Danish cinema. The budgets were very small, but I focused intensely on the screenplays. For example, writing the script for Flame and Citron took me nine years.”
Among the films shown at the festival, A Love Story stood out. In terms of theme, it bears similarities to Tahmineh Milani’s Ceasefire and the concept of the “inner child,” but takes it a step further—perhaps even into the realm of madness. The film follows Kyra and Med, a couple in their thirties with two children and a seemingly stable life. But Kyra’s eccentric behavior begins to unravel their stability. Her mental breakdown begins at a swimming pool when, playing with her children, she over-indulges in childlike behavior to the point that security has to remove her from the kids’ pool. From that point on, her actions escalate, and after a long emotional journey, she eventually returns to her family. In a powerful scene at her birthday party, she reads a letter the length of a tablecloth, bringing the audience to tears. In it, she recalls days and nights when she had things to say, but her husband—caught up in mundane routines—was not there to listen or talk.
At the end of the film, Madsen offers a poignant solution for couples: “When you can’t talk to each other with words, write it down—even if it’s on a sheet as big as a tablecloth!”
Another of Madsen’s films, The Day We Died, tells the story of a terrorist attack that took place on February 14–15, 2015 in Copenhagen and sparked strong reactions across European cities. Madsen said, “In this film, I tried to portray just a small corner of the devastation that so-called freedom-fighting movements cause in societies—destruction that ends up killing innocent women and children.”
In Sinan’s Wedding, Madsen turns what could have been a generic commercial story—one often seen in Iranian cinema—into a compelling and emotionally rich film. The story follows a wealthy Turkish-Danish family preparing for a wedding. Although this premise could have easily resulted in a shallow or formulaic film, under Madsen’s direction it becomes a meaningful and artistic cinematic experience.
Madsen is a filmmaker who builds bridges—between the world and the soul, between politics and love, between reality and dreams. Even in the heart of violence, he seeks poetry.
