Blog Surprises 22012-10-04T10:02:56+00:00Ike Bertels/blog/author/ike/<p>It is 19.00. Everyone it still waiting for the Minister of Culture. He will open the festival after my &lsquo;thank-you&rsquo;- speech and then my film 'V&oacute;vos da Guerrilha' will be shown as the 'ante-estreia', de 'avant-premi&egrave;re'.</p> <p>GGposter.tif</p> <p>This is extra special because my very first show at this documentary filmfestival was DOCKANEMA's First Edition in&nbsp;2006 (&lsquo;Treatment for Traitors&rsquo;, here known as &lsquo;Os Comprometidos&rsquo;). That was in many ways a wonderful screening.</p> <p>Now when the first images come up, I am shocked at the quality of the show.&nbsp;I feel suddenly very bad and have to get out. Weeping, I must admit. Dissapointed after all the work we had done to get it as beautiful as possible. The images looked totally bleached and therefor I was afraid it would be hard for people to get into the story.</p> <p>I am sitting in the hall and soon realise that this is Mozambican reality too. There is no support from the government for cinema. As if they do not see how important that is. If this Minister that said he admired the festival so much could start to donate some good screens, some good projectors, this would make a hell of a difference.</p> <p>Here, people also get in after 20 min. of the film. As they open the door I realize I hear people inside commenting, laughing. Curious I go in again quietly and seat myself in the back. And then I experienced a kind of magic: the audience reacts to losts of things. Especially the humour and wisdom of Amelia and Monica. And the quarrels between mothers and sons.</p>Mozambican Surprises 12012-10-04T09:40:46+00:00Ike Bertels/blog/author/ike/<p>&nbsp;Today is the start of DOCKANEMA 7, the yearly documentary filmfestival in Maputo, Mozambique.&nbsp;Tonight - September 14th, 2012 &ndash; my latest documentary &lsquo;Vov&oacute;s da Guerrilla&rsquo; is invited to be the Openingsfilm.</p> <p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<img src="webkit-fake-url://5E503BDE-6A3C-4543-9877-A39079520907/image.tiff" alt="" />&nbsp;</p> <p>&nbsp;But before that exciting moment I am picked up &lsquo;to be interviewed for tv&rsquo;. In the car the director of the filmfestival, Leonardo Estrela, explaines to me that we&rsquo;re invited in a very popular daily morning programme:&lsquo;Bela's Manh&atilde;s',&nbsp;Anabela&rsquo;s show. Every Mozambican is familiar with this lady since she used to presented the National TV-News. Now she works for the commercial station MIRAMAR.</p> <p>After a guard knocks at the main entrance of a colonial building (Portuguese) the door opens. &nbsp;We stumble right into the scene.&nbsp;Behind Leandro&rsquo;s back I trip over the cables of the tv-camera&rsquo;s and try to push myself against the wall, since Anabela Adrianopoulos is in the middle of her show.&nbsp;She&rsquo;s a very enthousiastic personality, completely at ease with all the different parts of her programme. She introduces the daily cook, a women that prepaires a spicy meal. She receives a young woman-singer who she likes, and she receives us.</p> <p>But first there is an intercutting to some demonstrators outside the building who seem to know they&rsquo;ll get attention form Anabella; it&rsquo;s against unemployment. Anabella is also doing some commercials in between,&nbsp;with possibility to call-in for the &lsquo;Guess-What-game&rsquo; to win the products.</p> <p>It is extra-ordinary that I am offered a seat on her white leather bench.&nbsp;No idea what will happen.&nbsp;</p> <p>(link to fragment)</p> <p>&nbsp;</p>Memorial2012-08-08T10:01:16+00:00tino/blog/author/tino/<div class="editable-original"> <p>I just received a text message from cousin Rajabo who lives on Am&eacute;lia&rsquo;s yard. He warned me that today &ndash; the 8<sup>th</sup> of August &ndash; will be the memorial of the departing of Av&oacute;, exactly 1 year ago. That was sad news during the editing of my film GUERRILLA GRANNIES. Av&oacute; was Am&eacute;lia&rsquo;s mother. Although we could only communicate in a very simple way, she always welcomed me with a big smile. This how I remember her best: quietly overlooking Amelia's court.</p> <p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<img src="webkit-fake-url://759EE5DB-BD1E-4BE4-9B34-FA804C2C7308/image.tiff" alt="" /></p> <p>Since Am&eacute;lia has a cell phone I can talk to her this afternoon. That is: if we are lucky and she has <em>liga&ccedil;&atilde;o</em> (reach) in her home village, high up in the North of Mozambique. But I can already imagine her, preparing food in huge tin pots while smoking her cigaret and laughing with her brother Said.</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> </div>