“The key is that we talk, talk, and talk until something emerges—a real idea that makes sense to both of us. Talking is always the solution to any kind of problem.”
It’s been more than 30 years working together. You’ve surely had differences over the years. What is it like to keep thinking and creating together, and how do you resolve the differences that may arise?
Jean-Pierre: There can be differences—there always have been—especially when it comes to preparing the sets and building the stories. But this is basically our story—obviously, and as you said, a long one—as brothers and directors. We’ve made many films, and we’ve always tried to move forward despite differences or adversities. But the truth is, we never said, “Wait, let’s separate things. Do you want to do this? And you that?” Things just naturally happened.
Luc: The same sequence always unfolds: What do we do to bring both parts together? Well, we don’t know (laughs), but it happens.
Jean-Pierre: A key moment was working with a director named Armand Gatti, for whom we were both assistants at the beginning. That’s definitely the starting point of our story working together. The films we’ve seen, the books we’ve read, everything we’ve talked about—all of that carries weight when we want to make a new film. Because thanks to those shared experiences, we’ve already discussed so many themes, and that, even if it doesn’t seem like it, is essential.
ML: And when thinking about the future?
Luc: Everything is always different. We’ll try to create characters, shoot, think about where to place the camera, etc., and we’ll discuss every point again—but those are things that come later.
Jean-Pierre: If I may say so, the important thing is that we think the same way about the film we’re imagining. That we want to shoot the same take, with the same rhythm of thought. Another key point is that we always have at least four or five weeks of rehearsals before filming. During those weeks, we get closer and grow more intimate with the film. We think through every aspect and try out different things with the camera. That’s when my brother says, “We’ll try this, we’ll try it—but you’re the one doing it” (laughs).
Luc: We never oppose each other on essential matters—or if we do, after discussing them, we manage to feel the same way, even if we speak or think a bit differently. The usual situation is that at some point we find a character, a situation, a story, and once again, we feel that that’s it. We don’t say it immediately—we call each other and then meet to discuss it face to face. Though it’s true that we spend long hours on the phone. The key is that we talk, talk, and talk until something appears—a real idea that makes sense to both of us. Talking is always the solution to any kind of problem.
ML: After so many films, you still shoot exclusively in Belgium. Why do you choose to stay rooted there?
Jean-Pierre: I think that’s something people notice more these days. Young directors often dream of filming in places far from home. For us, it’s not just about filming in Belgium—it’s about filming our life, our places, our adolescence. All of those places are still there. Now we feel a bit distant from the life we had when we were young, but I still believe it makes sense—and feels right—for us to keep filming here.
Luc: Everything you discover elsewhere—the variations in how the concept of family is understood, for example—all of that influences you. But the feeling of true home never disappears. I could be far from home and call another place “home,” but something remains intact. When you’re young, you begin to pursue your autonomy and explore new territories. But for us, there is only one territory. And it just so happens that this territory contains what motivates us: industrial labor. That’s undoubtedly a central point in the story—if I may say so, maybe the point in the story. The place we grew up in was rich in the steel industry and also in the history of the labor movement, which over time made us adults. That’s the story—the story of coal mines and closed factories, of a working-class movement that, in reality, no longer exists. Our life stories are rooted there.
Jean-Pierre: There are still some people here who are very much like the characters in our films—and like us—trying to find friends to spend life with. There are stories of people trying to overcome their loneliness, who fight for that. Those are the stories of this territory, where we’ve spent many years and where we return again and again to make our films.
ML: The Kid With a Bike is one of those films I can watch a thousand times and still discover something new. I once read that it was based on a story about an abandoned boy from Asia—is that true? What was it about that story in particular that caught your attention?
Jean-Pierre: It was actually based on a slightly different story that happened in Japan. Our distributor in Switzerland told us the story of a boy who was abandoned by his father in an orphanage. After that abandonment, he ended up living in a child placement center. It was an entire story about taking care of a child and trying to bring him back to life.
Luc: I just want to add something to the previous question about locations. It’s true that our stories could be told in other places. But we’re always in Belgium, and that’s what we see when we start imagining them. When we begin to see our characters, we see them on these streets, dancing in these squares—we really see them here. It’s funny because when the characters appear, they appear tied to this territory, our place.
ML: Something that feels different compared to the rest of your films is that in The Kid With a Bike, we feel like we’re witnessing a truly happy ending. What led you to choose that ending?
Luc: We like characters who are left behind, as we say in French, marginalisé (marginalized). Those whom society no longer needs, and who are told to their face, “You’re useless, you’re not good enough for us.” We believe all those people who are somewhat damaged by these circumstances have so much to say. We want to bear witness to their lives, to make them known. We want the story of someone excluded to come to light, so we can bring them closer to us and not leave them alone. But to answer your question—yes, it’s a happy ending, and of course, it’s different. We could have killed him, but why would we have told the whole story just to end it with his death? When we came across his story, we thought: we’d like the boy to live, to discover, and to find the love of someone who helps him grow. That was our idea when we started writing the script, so he simply didn’t have to die. We wanted love for him. We wanted to give him protection, friendship, and more love. For him to truly exist and know that he’s not alone.
Jean-Pierre: I think many viewers leave the cinema thinking that this boy learns to love a woman—and that’s complicated. It’s a very complex relationship story. He has to stop thinking about his father and simply accept this woman in the place of both his father and mother—both roles embodied in this new person—because she wants to take that place and be there for him.
ML: It’s not easy for him either, hence the violence.
Jean-Pierre: That’s why the violence, yes—as part of his disastrous fate. Thanks to that relationship, he lets out the violence he needs to release somehow. He accepts it and lets it out, no matter the cost. And then we said to ourselves, “We’re throwing him from a tree from about seven meters high, as if he’s going to die.”
Luc: When we were writing the script, my brother and I thought, “This woman’s love will wake him.” And it doesn’t matter if he’s medically dead or not—that’s not the issue. Of course, it has to remain believable for him to survive, but the love of that woman is stronger than death. That death the audience fears the whole time.
Jean-Pierre: I also think it’s possible that one person’s death can save another human being from their own violence. But we’re not trying to prove that. In any case, the challenge for us was how to bring all that violence to the surface, but we wanted the boy to survive. We always like to go to the limit, but we know what story we want to tell.
ML: You’re quite tough filmmakers.
Luc: (Laughs) Sometimes we say we’re not, but yes, we are kind of tough filmmakers. I think our films speak of confrontation, beyond violence or death. What we want is to tell stories where one human being ultimately helps another out of their hardship, their anguish, their violence—and above all, out of their desire for revenge.
ML: In Two Days, One Night, Sandra returns to work after a medical leave and must convince her coworkers to forgo a bonus so that she can keep her job. But actually, it’s even more specific than that: Sandra is returning from medical leave due to depression. I think it would be a different film if she had a different illness. Why was depression important to you?
Luc: What was important for us was to show someone who’s excluded because they’re seen as weak, because they’re not performing well enough at their job. The film celebrates this character who finds strength and courage through the struggle she undertakes with her husband.
Jean-Pierre: I think that even though we don’t talk about her illness, it was fundamental to the story. Depression allowed us to deal with someone who was criticized for her performance, but at the same time it opened many avenues—it didn’t let us simply say “yes, it’s the boss’s fault.” We don’t know that. We don’t know if her depression is linked to her job; maybe it is, maybe not. We can’t immediately blame the boss. If there had been a workplace accident, it would be something else entirely. In that case, we wouldn’t understand how the boss could fire her while she’s suffering from depression.
Luc: I think depression is an illness that part of society takes seriously and another part doesn’t. In a way, she has to convince her coworkers that she can be useful and efficient again, because her depression is quite public—it defines whether or not she can rejoin this work group.
Jean-Pierre: It also allowed us to tell a story of solidarity amid all that chaos, between her and her husband. He becomes her coach and her main source of support in the moments when she completely falls apart. He’s the one who gets her moving again, who revives her and pushes her forward. That part of the story wouldn’t exist without the depression. And if you want to know something—we’ve never been asked about the character’s depression before, and it’s strange, because it’s the engine of the whole story.
ML: But you also chose not to mention the word “depression,” and at the same time not reveal too much about that solidarity between her and her husband.
Luc: That’s a private story between her and her husband. There was no need to say more, but it’s something very concrete—that support and help.
Jean-Pierre: If you like, it’s the same depression: sometimes she’s okay, sometimes she’s not, but her husband is always there. That’s enough for the story. The whole puzzle of her convincing coworkers to take her side and give up the money clearly shows the moments of depression: when one of them supports her, she’s energized; when another refuses, she falls back. But of course, it’s just energy—she feels stronger, but she’s not really “better.”
ML: Your films often focus on mothers and children, but in this case it seems like a very deliberate choice to show her as unavailable to her kids.
Luc: That’s an interesting question. I never thought of Sandra as someone absent from her children. I think she’s there.
Jean-Pierre: Maybe there are moments of absence, but she’s always attentive to her kids. Even if it’s not possible to always be there physically, in some way she is. Making sure her children eat every day and have their basic needs met is a way of being present, even when she’s not physically there. It’s optimism despite everything. The struggle she undertakes to convince each of her coworkers is a way of being there for her children.
ML: It’s great how the subjectivity of her coworkers is always at play.
Jean-Pierre: Yes, they have to believe or not believe what she tells them. She has to find the strength to motivate them, to make them believe, and they have to find enough empathy in themselves to believe her. It really comes down to believing or not. Have I found the strength to win? Will the person in front of me feel enough empathy for me and my family?
ML: How did you think about the profile of each worker? Each person who interacts with Sandra gives a truly different response.
Jean-Pierre: We tried not to make anything personal. We truly believe each individual has their own story, their own reasons. There are no traitors or excuses here.
Luc: We tried to come up with difficult situations, yes. Everyone has reasons to say yes and reasons to say no. As Jean-Pierre says, it’s up to her to convince them, to make them believe in solidarity and acceptance.
ML: No one is “bad” in the film.
Luc: Exactly, the workers are not bad people—that’s important to emphasize. When we thought about them, we found motives and justifications both for helping her and not helping her. A kind gesture is when someone can think beyond themselves, change their mind, and help her. But it’s undoubtedly a difficult situation to go home and tell your family they won’t get a thousand-euro bonus because you chose to be in solidarity with someone. No one wants to be in that situation. They’re workers—everyone needs that money, and none of them is alone; they all have families depending on them.
Jean-Pierre: Everything is complex, even the boss is a complex character for leaving the decision up to the workers themselves.
ML: Let’s talk a bit about Tori and Lokita. What was the origin of the story?
Jean-Pierre: It’s a story we began writing a few years ago, about a mother and two children who arrived in Europe from Africa. When the mother is deported, the children are left alone because she believes it’s better for them to stay in Europe, and she tells them, “stay together if you want to survive.” We stopped writing the script for a while. But two years ago, we read in a Belgian newspaper that many migrant children were disappearing—not only in Belgium, but also in other European countries. We thought this shouldn’t be happening, and we decided to make the film to bring attention to the issue.
ML: How did you research the topics of sexual trafficking and drugs?
Luc: We know two people very well who are inspectors working for the Belgian police; they’ve already helped us with information for previous films. They explained many things to us, which—combined with thorough research we conducted—were key to developing the script with great precision.
Jean-Pierre: I’d like to add, in light of what we said earlier, that this is the first film in which we made it clear that there are good and bad characters.
