A Filmmaker's Conversation:
Ali Selim with Minnesota Public Radio's Heather McElhatton

Your film is based on a short story Will Weaver titled, "A Gravestone made of Wheat." What about it caught your attention?

I have always been drawn to stories of generations, of origins and stewardship of those origins. When I was 18, just out of high school and visiting Egypt with some friends, one of my Egyptian uncles said to me, "If you don't know where you come from, you can't possibly know where you're going." I think he was a little bored with me sowing my oats (is that how you say it?) and, unannounced, took me on a three-day road trip through the neighborhoods and towns of my dad's childhood and their dad's childhood. That trip, more than any singular event, defined the way I try to live and understand my life. There is also an element in the story of language, lack of verbal language, and I thought that would be an interesting challenge in a film, most of which are driven by dialogue.

Why did you want to turn this particular story into a film?

I thought the story was really special in a very simple, human, resonant way. Will Weaver told me that when he finished writing it he knew he had something special because he cried. And yet, honestly, when I read the story in 1989 in the Star Tribune Picture Magazine, after having just started directing commercials, my first reaction was, "Hey, this would be easy to turn into a feature film. Couple of old people. Couple of young people. Some sunlight and we're in business." Fifteen years later...

How do you feel about the casting choices that were made? What was the cast like to work with?

Well, I love the casting choices mostly because I was in a position to make every one of them. When a film is financed privately with investors saying, "we trust you" you get to make ALL the decisions or, in the words of Producer Jim Bigham, "never again will we make a film without any adult supervision." Casting was an interesting process.

Alan Cumming has been my friend for a decade and he committed (schedule permitting) a long time ago, but other than having friends like him, you need a budget and a schedule before you can make offers and get commitments. We had our budget solidified sometime in late-July and our schedule took shape in early August. That's when we could start making offers. Nail-biting time at best—some of the key roles weren't filled until AFTER we had begun production. There are some great stories but I could never tell them. Elizabeth Reaser is a great story that I can tell. Fearing the German accent and her lack of celebrity, she tried to get her agent to cancel. Gratefully, her agent would not. She came in to an open casting and stumbled through the Norwegian with the German accent and I was charmed and committed. I usually make a strong effort to say to actors in an audition "thanks for coming in" rather than "nice to meet you" and definitely not "see you soon," the ultimate sign of hope. To Elizabeth I foolishly, winsomely said, "you're beautiful" having believed that, after all these long years of writing her, I had just met Inge.

Having a cast that came to the project for the script (as opposed to a big paycheck) was really great. They knew why they came to Montevideo, MN, and trusted me because I had written it. Even if the set was chaotic at times or the lack of dialogue was confusing they were always engaged and contributive.

Which character speaks to you the most and why?

Inge, mostly, because I love her strength, the fact that she is a courageous woman, the fact that she has influence and wields power but not force. Secondarily, I like Minister Sorrensen. He seems to confuse some audiences, but I like his unclear roller-coaster ride through life. He seems real to me for that reason rather than a neatly defined dramatic character who is there for structural reasons. I think John Heard brought a lot to the success of that character. Maybe I am a bit like that—you know what you believe, mostly, but you are constantly being handed circumstances to question and examine and rethink.

What was it like, being a man, writing from the perspective of a woman?

I don't know that I did, actually. Or if I did, I don't know how successful I was at it. In many ways, though not consciously, I think maybe I made Inge a man—because I know that perspective better—and then cast a beautiful, powerful woman to play the role, which made her feel unique. I am inspired by the writing of Jim Harrison, who I think is one of the great tragic poets of our time and even though he is a "guy" who hunts and drinks and womanizes, he does that female perspective very well—as in "Woman Lit By Fireflies." I think it may have been while reading Harrison's story that I changed the protagonist from Olaf—as it was in Will's story—to Inge.

What about silence? There is a lot of silence and space in the movie—why?

People who read the script always said it was about what happened between the dialogue. Elizabeth said it was about listening. All of the actors were able to make this a reality. At that point, you have to honor the work they have done and give them the space. Prior to that, however, I think silence is a big part of the Scandinavian culture— at least as it resides in Minnesota. They don't want to bother others with their ideas, problems, words. Silence is true to the heritage. It has a certain power. I think every Minnesotan recognizes that and the actors effectively communicated it.

What does this film say about true love?

I hope, because this is what I believe, that true love is more about work and focus and investment rather than some poetic notion outside of our control. For that reason I deliberately sought a device that would keep anyone from saying "love at first sight" about Olaf and Inge's life together.

What do you want people to walk away with after they see your work?