International Competition Award: FUCK THE POLIS by Rita Azevedo Gomes

Georges de Beauregard International Award: FRÍO METAL by Clemente Castor

Special mention of the International Competition Jury: COBRE by Nicolás Pereda

French Competition Award: BONNE JOURNÉE by Pauline Bastard

Georges de Beauregard National Award: HORS-CHAMP, LES OMBRES by Anna Dubosc, Gustavo de Mattos Jahn

Cnap (National Centre for Visual Arts) Award: DES MILLÉNAIRES D’ABSENCE by Philippe Rouy

Special mention of the Cnap (National Centre for Visual Arts) Jury: L’AMOUR SUR LE CHEMIN DES RONCETTES by Sophie Roger

First Film Award: FANTAISIE by Isabel Pagliai

Special mention of the First Film Competition Jury: LOS CRUCES by Julián Galay

Special mention of the First Film Competition Jury: SI NOUS HABITONS UN ÉCLAIR by Louise Chevillotte

Claudia Cardinale Foundation Award: FERNLICHT by Johanna Schorn Kalinsky

Cine+ Distribution support Award in partnership with GNCR: MORTE E VIDA MADALENA by Guto Parente

Flash Competition Award: گل‌های شب ِدریا by Maryam Tafakory

Special mention of the Flash Competition Jury: A PRELUDE by Wendelien van Oldenborgh

Special mention of the Flash Competition Jury: CONTROL ANATOMY by Mahmoud Alhaj

Special mention of the Flash Competition Jury: LENGUA MUERTA by José Jiménez

Alice Guy Award: ABORTION PARTY by Julia Mellen

Renaud Victor Award: BULAKNA by Leonor Noivo

Special mention of the Renaud Victor Jury: SI NOUS HABITONS UN ÉCLAIR by Louise Chevillotte

High School Award: NEXT LIFE by Tenzin Phuntsog

Special mention of the High School Jury: MIRACULOUS ACCIDENT by Assaf Gruber

The Second Chance School Award: NEXT LIFE by Tenzin Phuntsog

Special mention of the Second Chance School Jury: JACOB’S HOUSE by Lucas Kane

Audience Award: LA JUVENTUD ES UNA ISLA by Louise Ernandez

International Competition Award: FUCK THE POLIS by Rita Azevedo Gomes

Georges de Beauregard International Award: FRÍO METAL by Clemente Castor

Special mention of the International Competition Jury: COBRE by Nicolás Pereda

French Competition Award: BONNE JOURNÉE by Pauline Bastard

Georges de Beauregard National Award: HORS-CHAMP, LES OMBRES by Anna Dubosc, Gustavo de Mattos Jahn

Cnap (National Centre for Visual Arts) Award: DES MILLÉNAIRES D’ABSENCE by Philippe Rouy

Special mention of the Cnap (National Centre for Visual Arts) Jury: L’AMOUR SUR LE CHEMIN DES RONCETTES by Sophie Roger

First Film Award: FANTAISIE by Isabel Pagliai

Special mention of the First Film Competition Jury: LOS CRUCES by Julián Galay

Special mention of the First Film Competition Jury: SI NOUS HABITONS UN ÉCLAIR by Louise Chevillotte

Claudia Cardinale Foundation Award: FERNLICHT by Johanna Schorn Kalinsky

Cine+ Distribution support Award in partnership with GNCR: MORTE E VIDA MADALENA by Guto Parente

Flash Competition Award: گل‌های شب ِدریا by Maryam Tafakory

Special mention of the Flash Competition Jury: A PRELUDE by Wendelien van Oldenborgh

Special mention of the Flash Competition Jury: CONTROL ANATOMY by Mahmoud Alhaj

Special mention of the Flash Competition Jury: LENGUA MUERTA by José Jiménez

Alice Guy Award: ABORTION PARTY by Julia Mellen

Renaud Victor Award: BULAKNA by Leonor Noivo

Special mention of the Renaud Victor Jury: SI NOUS HABITONS UN ÉCLAIR by Louise Chevillotte

High School Award: NEXT LIFE by Tenzin Phuntsog

Special mention of the High School Jury: MIRACULOUS ACCIDENT by Assaf Gruber

The Second Chance School Award: NEXT LIFE by Tenzin Phuntsog

Special mention of the Second Chance School Jury: JACOB’S HOUSE by Lucas Kane

Audience Award: LA JUVENTUD ES UNA ISLA by Louise Ernandez

Literally, “Filme Sem Querer” means “unintentional film”. The title sets out clearly the contradiction faced by Francineide, Jonnas and Naye as they apply for a scholarship to the Institut Levanto do Cinema, which encourages access to film in the favelas: should they make a film with an institution that uses them as stooges? In front of the camera, the three young people extol the merits and benefits of the Institute. It’s convincing. Then irony gradually creeps into their speeches. One of them interrupts: is this miserable enough to move the audience? Then the other congratulates herself on using certain key words: margins, periphery… Naivety forms a cunning alliance with lucidity. And the subversion continues and deepens in the editing room. The masks they wear, imposed by the pandemic context, become a means of mockery; their lips invisible, they take the opportunity to dub themselves and re-enact their speeches, until they seem absurd. Their aspirations, their desire for cinema and their critical reflections on a society that excludes them resonate from the rooftops of the Capão Redondo quebrada. The sun sets in the distance over the city of São Paulo, the periphery of their very own centre. A centre from which to make films “about what we experience, about what we say, about our stories”, as Francineide puts it. Films that, like that of Lincoln Pericles, are proud to be subversive, intelligent and political.

Louise Martin Papasian

Interview

Lincoln Péricles

The film features a group of three young filmmakers from Capão Redondo who shoot a film to apply for a grant offered by the Levando Cinema Institute. How did this project come about? Was this institute invented for fiction?

Yes, the name was invented for fiction, but it came from a real situation, where during the COVID-19 pandemic, people from the film industry fiercely took resources that were intended for emergency actions in the favelas of Brazil and left the population in need in this dynamic of realizing they were being used, but at the same time needing basic resources to live. It was a very sad time in Brazil, not only because we had a fascist government in power with Jair Bolsonaro, but also because people in the cultural sector took advantage of loopholes and exploited the situation.

So let’s say that the name of the institution in the film changes, but the practice reveals how many institutions like the one represented in the film operate.

Among the performers is Francineide Bandeira, with whom you already collaborated on Filme de Domingo (2020). Could you tell us about your work with them? Did they participate on the writing of the film, particularly the discussion scenes?

Yes, all the actors participated in writing the script. We are a film collective, of which I am a member, and in this film I act as director. In other films in our filmography, I perform other roles, even as an actor.

One very important thing in the process of making this film was precisely to bring in the experiences we had, many of which were very traumatic, because we work and make our films intrinsically linked to the community, and during the pandemic we even went hungry, even though we have a recognized name in a certain film circuit. So, the scenes were discussed in groups, and the actors themselves suggested the direction of the film. I had a script that was a patchwork of writing, but it always depended on those bodies, voices and that documentary aspect of expressing feelings of injustice without giving our tormentor what he wants: our death. So, this “class depression” was faced precisely by giving the actors the freedom to propose, and as a director, my mission was to create an environment that allowed everyone to feel comfortable experimenting, both in front of and behind the camera. I would like to highlight the sound design work of Priscila Nascimento, for example, because from the beginning we wanted to play with the idea of sound not being “perfect” and have a characteristic of broken sound axes, as if there was something wrong inside all the time. Then, as the film unfolds, we realize that the mistake is actually a political position, and that making a film “unintentionally” is a powerful form of experimentation in the face of the oppressive form of paternalistic cinema and contemporary capitalism.

You use the context of Covid and the masks worn by the characters to play with their words in a humorous way, getting them to say increasingly dubious things. How did this object inspire your direction?

The idea for the film came from exactly the same situation in which it takes place: after we had to make videos and listen to people asking about the deaths of people in our neighbourhood during the pandemic, when I went to edit and realized that I couldn’t locate the speech because of the mask, it seemed like a powerful thing to reverse a game of intentions present in this type of institutional relationship. For me, it was very funny to be able to rewrite the entire film because there was something covering the mouth, a great metaphor for the real situation that the film presents.

The film is punctuated by title cards that ironically refer to the “cinema hill”. Why did you make this choice?

There are many hills in my neighbourhood. I have always found the movement of bodies going up and down these hills curious. And the word “morro” (hill) in Portuguese can have a meaning derived from “morrer” (death). So I thought of an audiovisual rhyme that would bring these “hills” and death into the film. The film begins with a song by rapper Brisa Flow, who sings repeatedly: “stay alive, these are days of love and war,” and ends with a song by Mateus Fazeno Rock that says “This is the death of oblivion, colonial death, unhurried, with pain and movement,” which affirms that killing oblivion is essential. So, I can say that these hills and these deaths teach me to make art, to look with sensitivity at the ground on which I stand and the sky in which my head navigates.

Music is present in the form of rap tracks at three key moments in the film. What does music allow you to do in your films, and in this one in particular?

I really like to think of cinema as Hip Hop, and that the elements of this rich culture can inspire people who come from places like mine and see in this art form something much closer to themselves than cinema itself. Little by little, I feel that we are building a cinema that is closer to the logic of sampling that the first DJs in history created, where they humanize the machine, exercise their creative power, and reinvent forms from old archives and songs. In this sense, rap, as one of the elements of Hip Hop culture, is treated in my films not only as something to manipulate the viewer on a superficial level. RAP is Rhythm and Poetry, so I like to think that the songs speak like the characters speak. But not only that, because my dream is to make films that make people dance, or at least move, look at the reality they live in a poetic way and with rhythm.

You dedicated this film to Brazilian filmmaker Adirley Queiros (to whom FID dedicated a retrospective in 2024). How has his cinema influenced your work?

Adirley is an OG (Old Gangsta) to me. When I saw A Cidade É uma Só for the first time, it was like hearing rap for the first time, only in the cinema. When I met him, I had already been making films for a few years, and we immediately identified with each other because of our political positions and desire to tell stories from our territory. We became great friends and, for me, it’s still very important to listen to him because, since I started making films, I felt very orphaned, not having people from my class, indigenous people who also made films and had their own body of work. Today, thanks to affirmative public policies and lower production costs, there are many of us around the world; you just have to look to see us. But for me, Adirley continues to be the voice of an elder who is not satisfied with the status quo and continues to defend our culture and make films that take risks and are radical, which for me is essential to filmmaking.

Interview by Louise Martin Papasian

Technical sheet

  • Script:
    Lincoln Péricles
  • Photography:
    Ronaldo Dimer
  • Editing:
    Priscila Nascimento, Lincoln Péricles
  • Sound:
    Priscila Nascimento
  • Cast:
    Naye Ribeiro, Francineide Bandeira, Jonnas Rosa
  • Production:
    Lincoln Péricles (Astúcia Filmes)
  • Contact:
    Lincoln Péricles
  • Subtitles:
    French, English

Filmography

  • Lincoln Péricles

    • Meu Amigo Pedro MIXTAPE, 2025, 9'
    • Mutirão, 2022, 10'