Issue S | Girlscinemaclub

The 33 and Me Project: Interview with the Creator Stephanie Gardner

By Girls Cinema Club

We sat down with Stephanie Gardner (also one of our contributing writers) director/producer of 33andMe to talk about her new documentary series and to introduce the 33andMe Filmmakers Festival.

GCC: So good to see you, Stephanie. Let’s get into the project. Tell me how the whole documentary series came about?

SG: As you know I’m an independent filmmaker, a writer and director. When I was approaching my 33rd birthday, I had this idea to travel to 33 countries to meet 33 year old directors in each country. That started this larger project, the 33andMe film project, which was meant to be a cross-cultural exchange of ideas and an introduction to these filmmakers – showing who they are, what compels them to makes films, how their country or society impacts their storytelling, and why they overcome the many obstacles to make their films to get their stories out there?

That was the crux of the project.

I had just put on this short, weekend film screening in my hometown of Emmaus, Pennsylvania and I wanted to repeat that in a bigger, more impactful way. I started with this idea that once I reached the 33rd country, I’d come back and screen all the films of these filmmakers I met.

33andMe traveled the world for five or six years. We were filming a docu-series where each country is its own individual episode featuring a 33 or 30-something year-old film director from that country alongside a deep dive into the landscapes, peoples, stories, the culture, and history of that country.

Now we have multiple seasons available of these episodes from all over the world.

GCC: Were the filmmakers difficult to find?

SG: Once we decided, pretty much from the start, we weren’t going to be literal about the 33 and opened it up to filmmakers in their 30s, it worked. It became more about this specific generation of filmmakers around the world.

Oftentimes, I would spend months researching, looking for the person, finding the right one. But with Cuba, for instance, with the limited internet and all of that, it was just much easier to go and be there on the ground.

GCC: How did you decide which countries to explore?

SG: It was important to me not to just do rich, predominantly white, Western European countries. Basically I wanted to hit the entire world in proportion like in proportion to its regions. So I started with a map and divided it up said; said: okay, we can have this many number of x-y-and-z countries.

It was also important to me to have an equal number of men and women filmmakers. I realized, after the first eight or so countries with only a few of the filmmakers being women that I really had to be more proactive to ensure those numbers even out.

And also on a side note we had some specific requirements that was my starting point. I wanted them to live in the country that they were from. I really wanted to be visiting these people who either by choice or circumstances were in their home, the countries they were from and making films and telling stories of their society.

GCC: Were there any countries that were especially challenging to shoot in?

SG: Zimbabwe was hard to shoot in because we couldn’t do much on the street, because of the timing of when we were there and the political regime that was in power at the time.

Egypt was one of the hardest. People actually find this hard to believe, but Egypt was one of the hardest because of, again, the regulations: government censorship. Even if you’re a tourist, not with a project like ours––even with a regular tourist––it can be hard to film or photograph because they have specific rules, even at the pyramids and places like that.

If you bring in a camera bigger than a cell phone, first they’ll charge you––and we were always willing to pay the fee––then you’d pay the fee and they say, but you can’t bring this type of lens in, you can’t bring a tripod in––you can’t bring this, and you can’t bring that. The rules seem to be arbitrary, dependent on the whim of the person.

Then the other places, for instance, Ghana was actually really hard to film not because of government restrictions but just the people don’t want to be filmed. You can respect that, but even just having your camera out on the street can be seen as an offense and we wouldn’t even be necessarily pointing the camera at a person, but at a building.

It was one of my favorite countries. I love the people, the energy. It’s really this fantastic creative vibe, happy place. But oddly, despite that, it was one of the harder places to film.

GCC: Interesting. Sorry, to circle back, but did you get any footage of the pyramids?

SG: Oh, yeah, we got beautiful footage of the pyramids and the tombs, all of it. We just had to struggle around the rules and the restrictions. And because it was COVID we lucked out in a couple of ways. One, there was absolutely no tourists around so when you see are footage, it looks like we’re the only ones there. Sometimes we were literally the only tourists in one spot. It was incredible. Other times we were one of three or four. And so it felt like we were this major movie who had rented out the space all to ourselves because you couldn’t see any extras in the background. It was kind of funny.

But I prefer the word traveler to tourist because a traveler is trying to engage as much as possible. It was important to me in terms of digging deep into understanding the history and where present day society is and what are the main issues facing these filmmakers in their home societies? What are their hopes, dreams, and desires for themselves and for their countries? Where do they want to see change?

Romania was another country which I wish we could of seen more of, but we never left Bucharest.

GCC: A lot of films are shot there, do you recall any films or shows shot in Romania?

SG: Christie Puiji, he did The Death of Mr. Lazarrescu, which is considered the start of the Romanian New Wave and Raddu Juod he’s still making a lot of films. He just had a release I think in Cannes or Venice this year. But there are lots of Hollywood films that have shot there. I think McCabe and Mrs. Miller was one of them because they have big studios , they have a support structure, and they have really good tax incentives.

An example of a contrast to that Romania experience, is let’s say Uganda. I actually spent six weeks instead of six day there. We spent a lot of quality time with our main filmmaker there, but we also had time to explore so many different aspects of the coutry. Uganda is really interesting because each region is almost like a different kingdom. And they each have their own cultures within the greater borders of Uganda, which the British European colonists kind of made.

We also go to do a trek to see the gorillas. And we got to go to the same waterfall where the African Queen was shot, the Katherine Hepburn starred movie.

GCC: Hepburn and Boggie. Aren’t they on a boat the whole time?

SC: Yeah, the whole movie. We took a boat trip to the same spot where they were filming, and there’s these giant waterfalls there that are also in the film.

We had all kinds of experiences there. Our car broke down, and we met the really nice Ugandan family who invited us to their sister’s wedding. So I actually got to be the guest of honor at their sister’s wedding, and it was really amazing. And where the wedding was right outside this gorgeous lake with this landscape that they used as a plate shot for Black Panther, the movie. The movie itself wasn’t filmed in Uganda, but they used this plate shot from this lake to create the world of Wakanda.

GCC: I’d love to see all that and the wedding.

SG: And Patience, our Ugandan filmmaker will be at the festival. But I think the latest stat is we are screening 70 films from 36 different countries, maybe 38. So every 33andMe country has at least one film in the festival. Some of them are short and some are features.

So we have Patience from Uganda, Ether from Iceland, Atsun from Mexico, Stacy-Ann from Jamaica, Ray from Guyana. We have an actress from Columbia. She’s actually acting in the feature film we’re showing. They’re all going to be there in person.

Aside from the screenings we also have tons of other events and panel discussions led by various people on topics like ethics in filmmaking and filmmaking as revolution. We’re also going to give a presentation about markets and distribution from all the indie filmmakers point of view. Oh, and cultural coffee events where you can meet the filmmakers at local cafes and boutiques. I’m also very proud of the Master classes I’m bringing in. For instance, we’re bringing in a post-production sound guy, Stuart Stanley who worked for Warner Brothers for 42 years as a post sound editor. His credits include Reds, The Good Shepard, Blue Bloods and all these incredible films and TV shows. He’s going to analyze clips from their films and talk about different elements of sounds from dialogue tracks to wild tracks to full music to everything!

What I Love about Sub Saharan Cinema

By Patience Nitumwesiga

In East Africa, there’s a long history of colonial films with a white male gaze about us and our people. The main references for Uganda in particular are The Last King of Scotland and Kony 2012 — both highly problematic, racist, ahistorical versions of Uganda.

Part of why I became a filmmaker is to subvert these colonial gazes and capture the joys and struggles of our people from true and personal East African perspectives.

My favorite film is This is Not a Burial, It’s a Resurrection. Made by Lemohang Mosese of Lesotho, it follows a community that is being forced to vacate its ancestral land to make way for a dam. It represents everything that is African cinema. It has no heroes except the community; our stories are not about mere individuals. When characters do stand out, they do not resemble the protagonists of Hollywood.

The lead in this beautiful film is an old woman who is grieving. Her wrinkles are beautiful and her experience is wide. Her sorrow is present and acknowledged as she finds a grave digger to dig her grave while she’s still alive.

It’s a poetic film, but it’s not too abstract to be inaccessible. It is at once relatable, rebellious, and traditional.

From Uganda I have no feature films to recommend, but instead a television episode on Disney+. The animated series Kizazi Moto: Generation Fire is an anthology of African stories. Episode one, “Herder Boy,” is directed by the talented Raymond Olinga. It combines two of my favorite elements of content: afrofuturism and ancient knowledge. The visual references in this story are very beautifully Ugandan, decolonized, and celebratory of mythology. African storytelling often looks back in order to prophecy the future, and this story has all of it.

A few other Sub Saharan films I love include shorts like Pumzi from Kenya by Wanuri Kahiu, and I am Not a Witch by Rungano Nyoni. Many of our stories have authoritative women characters at the center, whose struggles are layered and complex. It takes a lot of unlearning Western forms of storytelling to circle back to our African values. Femininity was not so fragile prior to colonizers overwriting our ways of life. I love when the rebellion and rebirth of our ancient ways of life shows up on the screen.

The Sun is Rising from the West on Macedonian Cinema

By Ana Jakimska

Sorry, just out of curiosity, where are you from?

Again, the ever-familiar question I've been hearing since I left my home country at the ripe age of 34, my Eastern European accent still firmly etched in my tongue. This time, I’m in NYC, standing at the counter of a bagel shop on Lexington Ave, answering how I’d like my bagel toasted. Soon, I learn that the girl behind the counter is Romanian, and happily recognizng the sound of our Balkan home in my pronunciation.

Before leaving Macedonia, I had never realized how much it was a part of who I was. Back home, I could be a former wedding photographer, a failed journalist, a film director giving an interview for our national TV channel, someone’s friend or someone’s foe, but beyond the border, I was, more than anything else, Macedonian.

Since moving out of Macedonia, I’ve found myself in conversations about the cinema of my home country more often than before. I soon learned that Macedonia is barely known outside our Balkan region, and our cinema is even more of a mystery. This has made me think about it in a more structured way, with a newfound curiosity about how we, Macedonians, build the story worlds in our films.

As a modern republic, Macedonia gained independence from Yugoslavia in 1991 through a peaceful referendum with an intelligently ambiguous question proposing “a sovereign and independent state of Macedonia, with a right to enter into any future alliance with the sovereign states of Yugoslavia.” This ambiguity likely kept Macedonia safe from the engulfing flames of the Yugoslav wars in the 1990s. That, and the fact that our population of barely 2 million never posed a threat to our neighbors.

As a newly independent country, Macedonia’s film history spans only 33 years, and I have lived through all of it—because, for Macedonian cinema, history is not that long.

In the early 1990s, we started off with a bang. Milcho Manchevski wrote and directed Before the Rain, a beautifully mystical exploration of time synchronicities between two worlds far apart: our homeland to the East, and London, the age-old capital of the West. With stunning depictions of rural Macedonian landscapes and sharp-witted dialogue, this film is significant for gently closing the chapter of Yugoslav influence and paving the path for an authentic Macedonian perspective.

Manchevski’s contemporaries and those slightly older, already established as filmmakers during Yugoslavia, had a hard time shaking off the influence of the Black Wave movement, which by the 1990s had already become a dated concept.

But first, what was the Yugoslav Black Wave? The term was originally a dismissive nickname coined in 1969 to describe national cinema that dealt with the dark side of the Yugoslav experience. Soon, it became a mark of distinction among avant-garde and counter-culture filmmakers in the socialist federation, who won international recognition for tackling once-taboo topics like sex, war, and social alienation with a distinctive dark humor. The Yugoslav Black Wave was hugely important in its time, as it boldly protested the censorship and authoritarianism of the socialist government. However, after the dissolution of Yugoslavia, it had served its purpose—a message some local filmmakers of the time seemed to miss.

That is why Before the Rain was such a breath of fresh air in our new republic. It came from a first-time Macedonian filmmaker who had studied in the USA. In the film, a character questions whether, even with the Yugoslav wars raging, there wasn’t more gun violence happening in the West—in Britain and the USA—and if so, what that says about the world we live in. In 1994, Macedonia won its first Oscar nomination for Best International Feature Film, putting the country on the map for filmmakers worldwide. To this day, as a filmmaker from Macedonia, I am often recognized through this film, which continues to pave the way in international film circles.

Prior to Before the Rain and its fresh take on Macedonia few films have managed to challenge the default Orientalist view of the Balkans. And while feature films struggled conceptually to break free from these topics, documentary and short films thrived. One notable figure in Macedonian documentary filmmaking was Biljana Garvanlieva, a director who fearlessly examined the country’s marginalized realities. Her documentary Seamstresses lays bare the unexpectedly harsh life of women wanting to be artists in a small Macedonian provincial town. Another standout documentary is Menka, a moving short by director Aljosha Simjanovski. Through the tale of a bear visiting an elderly couple in the Macedonian mountains, Simjanovski brings to light universal themes of the human-nature relationship and the impact of civilization on the environment. When the bear stops coming one morning, the couple is left to question who the true "beast" is.

This short film can be seen as a precursor to Macedonia’s second Academy Award nomination for the remarkable documentary Honeyland, directed by Tamara Kotevska and Ljubo Stefanov. In 2020, this film made history as the first documentary to be nominated for both Best International Feature Film and Best Documentary Feature at the Oscars. Through the lens of a beekeeper from a remote village, Honeyland became a powerful metaphor for humanity’s exploitation of nature and its devastating consequences.

The 2020s finally brought a shift in Macedonian feature films, breaking away from the rebel-without-a-cause tone that had lingered for decades. Goran Stolevski, a Macedonian filmmaker born and raised in Australia, returned to his homeland with a deeply personal exploration of being different, told through a hauntingly dark folktale You Won’t Be Alone.

As I conclude this brief introduction to Macedonian cinema, I realize that the most significant strides have been made by filmmakers with one foot in both worlds. Milcho Manchevski, Goran Stolevski, and Biljana Garvanlieva, to name a few, spent much of their lives abroad, in what is often politically labeled as "the West.". I wonder, is it because Macedonia is so small, where everyone knows each other, that it’s nearly impossible to maintain a critical perspective? Or is it a universal truth that only from the outside can one truly see their homeland? Whatever the reason, the stars of Macedonian filmmaking suggest that the sun is indeed rising from the West on Macedonian cinema.

On Zimbabwean Film

By Thandiwe Nyamasvisva

Flame is a movie which follows 2 girls, Nyasha and Florence during the Zimbabwean liberation struggle. It is important because it highlights the usually overlooked role women played during the war. As a storyteller, I’m moved by the complexity of Florence’s character. She truly represents the tension many women, including myself, feel — the pull between wanting a quiet family life (of baking sourdough bread and homeschooling) and having a larger vision which cannot be ignored. Florence’s war name in the movie is ‘Flame’ (the title) and represents the unquenchable flame that has existed in African women for generations, which allows us to make painful sacrifices for the good of our families and communities.

My writing is very much inspired by the stories of ordinary people overcoming extraordinary challenges. The movie Flame became such a big sensation in Zimbabwe and reminds me of the power of filmmaking to bring to light the human experience - hope, love, fear, death and disillusionment. The film was produced in 1996 when everyone was still giddy from independence but it perfectly foreshadowed what was coming to both the freedom fighters and the general public - broken promises and unfulfilled dreams.

This sense of disillusionment has become a recurring theme in my own work, as I seek to give a voice to the voiceless…

Neria (1993) is the highest-growing Zimbabwean film in history. It follows the cultural and economic struggles of Neria, after the death of her husband. Neria is a significant film to me because it reflects the harsh reality for many women in African societies due to the culture surrounding marriage and in-law relationships. However, the movie ends with Neria ultimately being victorious through sheer determination and resilience. In Neria, I see a woman who successfully challenges the oppressive patriarchal system, which is something I am always seeking to do in my day-to-day life and work.

One of the reasons the movie is so significant to me is because the soundtrack was performed by the late Oliver Mtukudzi who had an amazing ability to use music to tell stories and impressed upon me the importance of a good soundtrack in bringing out the emotion of a film. The song Neria also became a national and international sensation.

Both Flame and Neria follow resilient women and have helped me understand my role as a female storyteller from Zimbabwe. They have taught me that filmmaking can be both entertaining and impactful, bringing out my people’s struggles and triumphs.

A Matter of Faith

By Alejandro Loayza Grisi

BOLIVIA

When I was a child, I grew up with the slogan that Bolivian cinema was a matter of faith. It was printed on hundreds of stickers and posters that served as campaign material for the debut film of my father, Marcos, which fittingly carries the title Cuestión de Fe (A Matter of Faith).

Interestingly, it’s a slogan that remains just as relevant today, 30 years after my father’s first film came to light.

It’s very difficult to talk about Bolivian cinema without it sounding like a complaint, but the reality that has always characterized our "industry" is one of precariousness, scarce or non-existent resources, and constant state neglect and indifference. We observe with envy the flourishing film industries of neighboring countries, supported by state policies. Meanwhile, our own talents wither.

That’s why the slogan is accurate. Making films in Bolivia is truly a matter of faith. It’s like diving into the sea of uncertainty and swimming against the current. And while it sounds bleak, it’s undeniable that there is something beautiful in that faith. A spark in the middle of a void, Bolivian cinema is on the verge of a breakthrough, thanks to the faith of those involved—like a seed in the desert, blooming with just a drop of water.

Love is central to making films in Bolivia, for it’s not a business, nor a guarantee of prestige or respect. Cinema is made in Bolivia because people generously put the best of themselves, part of their soul into every movie.

I remember the slogan, just as I remember the joy of the audiences, the joy of hearing stories from your country and seeing yourself reflected and feeling identified. My older brother always recalls how we would go to the theater again and again to watch the movie and observe the audience’s impressions. We knew exactly how and when they would react. I remember the lines of people outside, filling one screening after another. At that moment, seeing those faces, I understood the happiness a film can generate, and years later I understood its social importance. Many years later, I also grasped the magnitude of my father’s and his team’s achievement.

The movie Cuestión de Fe was a milestone in undoubtedly a good year, 1995, known as the boom of Bolivian cinema, as alongside it, many other films of great caliber were released.

A masterpiece, with a precise script, memorable performances and unforgettable scenes—my father’s film, shows us with exactness and depth how a society is at a particular moment in its history. I feel that films that survive through time, do so because they have portrayed time itself. Cuestión de Fe is an essential film in Bolivian and Latin American cinema, one that every film lover must see.

Note: In 2025, to commemorate its 30th anniversary, we will re-release a digitized 4K version.

Kinostudio and Albanian Cinema

By Rain Nikolla

Female filmmakers are playing an increasing role in the cinema of Albania, however their presence and influence has evolved over time. And remembering the pioneering Albanian filmmaker, Xhanfize Keko, who not only was the first female director but was also one of the seven founding members of Kinostudio, a state-owned film production studio, established in 1952.

Being the first has many challenges in any culture, any region and any time in history, but it was even more so for Keko due to the political, social, and cultural environment of the time.

After 500 years of oppressive rule under the Ottoman Empire and the horrors of two World Wars, Albania suffered yet another misfortune when it fell prey to a brutal communist dictatorship.

At the time, Albania was influenced by both traditional values and the rigid communist regime and women faced immense barriers in the newly created film industry. They were expected to take on supporting roles that aligned with more traditional gender norms.

Cinema and art in general were under strict state censorship, and industry practitioners were closely monitored to ensure that they aligned with the ideologies of the rulers. Many artists had the misfortune of being arrested, severely punished and their works destroyed and banned, if they were deemed to be contrary to the regime’s political goals. Often these consequences would be felt for generations throughout the artist's families with punishments and career limitations imposed indiscriminately.

Despite her path being fraught with so many difficulties, Keko persevered and directed over 25 films. Her work often explores coming of age stories and is targeted to younger audiences, firmly securing her films as a defining part of my childhood.

Xhanfize Keko was a trailblazer who paved the way for women like myself to create and be part of Albanian's film industry. I hope that audiences and especially girls around the world will see her work and allow her legacy to continue.

If I could choose one of her films to recommend it would be Tomka and His Friends which won accolades at the Giffoni International Film Festival in 1978 and was recently restored by the Library of Congress.

Breaking Boundaries: Women Shaping the World of Film

By Diana Montenegro

Not many years ago, the majority of films in Colombia—like elsewhere in the world—were directed by men. As a film student at university, I was introduced to prominent female directors such as Agnès Varda and Chantal Akerman. However, these names are just a few among many male directors. Looking back at early cinema, I realized that pioneers like Alice Guy were often overlooked.

Fortunately, my generation has witnessed a shift where women are asserting themselves as active contributors to both society and cinema. Breaking away from the traditional view that relegated women to supporting roles, they have taken on key positions in cinematography, direction, editing, and production design.

Cali, my hometown, earned the nickname “Caliwood” in the 1970s not only because it was the site of Colombia’s first film but also due to a creative surge led by young filmmakers like Luis Ospina and Carlos Mayolo.

Today, cities such as Cali, Medellín, Bogotá, and their surroundings are increasingly spotlighting female directors. Despite the ongoing inequality in the global film industry, our voices and resilience will continue to make an impact. Arthouse cinema faces the challenge of thriving amid an unbalanced world, the horrors of war, violence against women and the rise of AI in our society.

As Cate Blanchett stated in her recent TIFF speech, “Unfortunately, we do need to keep talking about the changes that we’ve made, because I think that fairness, equity and respect are not embedded into the systems that we work in. We have to keep asking questions that open locked doors and knowing our worth. And greater inclusivity on our sets lead to less marginal and vibrant storytelling (...) I think homogeneity is the enemy of everything we make”.

The 33 and Me Project exemplifies how we can bridge gaps and foster alliances between creators worldwide. It provides a platform for connecting directors with their national filmographies. If you're interested in exploring Colombian cinema further, consider watching The Rose Seller (dir. Victor Gaviria, Cannes 1998), The Towrope (dir. William Vega, Director’s Fortnight 2012), the works of Camilo Restrepo, and the diverse perspectives of Martha Rodríguez, Natalia Santa, Lina Rodríguez, and Juanita Onzaga.

*The 33 and Me Filmmakers Festival will run from September 24 - 30, 2024 in Allentown, PA.