“The Film Is More Clever Than I Am”: Christian Petzold Discusses Miroirs No. 3

      I’ve conducted interviews in a variety of locations: multiplexes, screening rooms, green rooms, distributor offices, post-production facilities, cafés, hotels—numerous hotels—or whichever space was available at the moment. (One chat with a true architect of modern cinema ended up taking place in a coat closet.) Christian Petzold is the first to apologize for the room. I noticed nothing wrong when I arrived last October for the New York Film Festival premiere of his latest work, Miroirs No. 3, but he was quick to point out that it lacked windows—a bit like a cinema, but also reminiscent of an interrogation room. “It feels a little bit like I’m guilty.”

      This is the part of a filmmaker's life they often don't discuss: being flown around and jet-lagged, moved from one nondescript location to another, while having to articulate their film in ways that are often beyond coherence—outright brilliance is necessary to convince anyone that it’s worth watching. Despite being sleep-deprived after three hours and claiming his English “is a little bit poor,” Petzold passed the test (which I wouldn’t have given!) with ease, revealing insights about his perplexing film along with his views on nationalist tendencies and philosophies related to the end-credits song.

      Christian Petzold: “I had a masterclass in Switzerland a couple of weeks ago with young students, and I said, ‘Don’t make this mistake with your first short or your first film. When you start to gain some recognition and receive invitations to festivals around the world, remember that there are more festivals than cinemas globally. You’ll be offered hotels—four stars, five stars—they cover your breakfast, and there’ll be evening dinners. You’ll find yourself surrounded by filmmakers and actors. But during that phase, while you’re traveling, you won’t be able to write or work because you’ll feel very lonely, even though you’re always around people. Avoid this. Decline every festival invitation by saying, ‘I can’t come; it’s not feasible for me.'”

      Because it’s always the same. On my first morning at a festival, waking up in an anonymous hotel room, I often ask myself, “Why am I here?” There are some festivals—like the New York Film Festival or Berlinale—where that feeling doesn’t exist, but at most festivals, your presence isn’t crucial. The focus should be on the films and the audience, not the directors.

      You premiered this film at Cannes, and you’ve participated in various interviews and press conferences for it. When it comes to films—either generally or specifically this one—do you notice your feelings and perspectives on the movie shifting as you discuss it, or is it more fixed?

      No, it’s interesting. I should mention that when we completed our first edit at the end of November [2024], I already had my understanding of why I made this movie, its themes, and the metaphors involved. However, when I saw this initial version with the editor during a screening, I felt it was completely different from what I had in mind. For instance, I made a significant mistake: I included another final scene in this film. I had written the script while the Ukraine war and the Gaza situation unfolded on October 7, addressing the emerging pre-fascistic structures and racism. Thus, I drafted a very harmonious script.

      There’s a film [César and Rosalie] by Claude Sautet that I greatly admire, featuring Romy Schneider and Yves Montand. The plot revolves around two men who love the same woman; they constantly bicker and fight until she becomes unable to bear it and leaves the city with both. When she returns two years later, standing in front of the fence of one of these men’s houses, she sees that they have become close friends. They no longer need her, and she begins to smile, marking the film's conclusion.

      In my film, I replicated this moment: she returns to the fence, watches the family, and sees that they remain together. She smiles and opens the gate to intrude on the family's space. That was the last scene in the script, but when I viewed it in November [2024], it felt rather hollow. What was the metaphor? To be a daughter throughout one’s life? To answer your question, I’ve realized that the film is smarter than I am. The material, the actors, and the events occurring hold a life of their own, and I needed to reevaluate the structure. So in January [2025], we implemented a new final scene, and everything I wrote after viewing my own film differed greatly from what I had drafted before making it. Does that answer your question?

      Yes, definitely. You’ve premiered numerous films at the Berlinale, but this one debuted at Cannes. You mentioned—rather candidly—that you’d premiered many movies in Berlin, but it