Helene Hegemann’s Axolotl Overkill

After Torpedo, I would actually have preferred to continue making films. But you can’t really compare the two. The difference is that while you’re sitting at your desk writing a screenplay, you don't hold direct responsibility for the final product. That’s what’s so fun about it. It would probably kill other people because it means a certain loss of control, but I like it. The fact that your precise vision of a film goes through the hands of so many people who make it into something completely else that it develops a life of its own—it removes you from it, and I quite like that.

I hadn't planned this—had someone suggested this to me when Axolotl Roadkill came out, I would've thought it was complete bullshit. But since—for reasons that remain inexplicable to me—the book became a bestseller, some rather big production companies were interested in buying the movie rights. They mostly do this so their competitors can’t and not because they are passionate about it. Not all the people you encounter have an amazing vision. As an author, you can’t rely on the sale to mean that the movie will be in theatres at some point. Most of the time, it’s a strategic move first. If the movie was in fact made, I knew that it’d be a catastrophe if it mirrored the public reception of the book. Meaning, that it’s about a pretty standard 16-year-old girl who is somewhat rebellious but in the end still goes back to school. I was so scared of this misunderstanding continuing that in the end, I realized I had to keep the rights and make the film myself. It took six years for this idea to turn into a finished movie.

It was extremely difficult to turn this experimental stream-of-consciousness novel into something that would make an okay filmic narrative. In the end, only two or three dialogues from the novel made it into the film. The basic structure of the story still exists, but not really. Watching Axolotl Overkill is just as hazy as reading Axolotl Roadkill was. The book somehow represents the inner life of the movie, which shows the story from the outside.

Exactly. A concrete feeling, but also theories, and how these people interact with the world, how they are meant to be seen. In a way, the story became more concrete. It’s still about a 16-year-old who observes the world and describes her view on it, but the audience watches her from the outside rather than through her perspective. Also, the movie features a more prominent love story.

It’s just really helpful! Of course it’s absurd to degrade love to an interesting plot point, but it’s just so helpful. As soon as someone feels like the movie is too boring or something’s wrong with the flow, the first suggestion is always: “Make the love story bigger. It needs to be more emotional.”

Because you see how this person behaves in an extreme situation. Love is an extreme situation.

I think these situations are even more pronounced in romantic relationships. When you purposefully miss your partner’s point to annoy them and at some point there’s nothing to do but to tell them to fuck off. I find this very cathartic. But this film’s love story also isn't too conventional. My 16-year-old protagonist falls in love with a 46-year-old criminal who deals with stolen art. But the fact that she falls in love with a woman isn't a very big subject of discussion in the movie. A lot of movies have their gay protagonists end up in despair and all alone or at least stigmatized. That’s of course meant to be a critical portrayal of a hostile reality, but these are horrible movies for every child who sees them and thinks to themselves: “Oh my god, I might be like that. No way! No matter how great and nice I am, I’m going to end up this way.” Which is why it’s important to treat these stories as normal, as they are.

Right. What do you represent? Are you portraying reality to critique it or are you trying to build an ideal world to give people a different narrative for once? Feminist movies—or movies that are meant to be feminist—have a huge problem with this, too. Have you seen American Honey? The director is great, and so are her movies, but they’re problematic as feminist films. These are cool girls who do their own thing, but they’re always tricked by some guy, they’re raped, all these horrible things happen to them, and they all have to do with them submitting to some guy. Of course this is addressed critically, but it’s a huge problem. Because it’s the only thing you see in these movies and only these images remain.

Of course, if something terrible happened to you and you got the chance to make a film about it to share your experience with the world, that is completely justified and sound. But at a certain point, it might not be as politically valuable as other types of portrayals. I do think it’d make a difference if girls only saw TV movies in which women insult men in sexist ways and those men break down crying in the shower. Needless to say, nobody would make this because that’d just be straight satire. …

On the 20th, the same day as Trump’s inauguration. It’s absurd. The inauguration is at noon, and shortly thereafter, we’ll be sitting in the theatre…

So do I.

I came here when I was 14. It’s still great. So much is possible in Berlin because people can just live here. People get so upset over other people not getting much done here—which I think is so shitty! That’s precisely what’s so great about Berlin. It’s possible to live here and not work your ass off the whole time. You’re not going to die if you make a few economic mistakes here. I like that. It’s the only city of this size that I know that isn’t that elitist yet, and still works, and has a lot going on. In Paris, New York or London, you have to work your fingers to the bone to be able to afford half a garage. People who are unlucky or don’t work in a certain way are weeded out inexorably. Here, there still is a middle class.