Time &

Liis Nimik is an editor, documentary film director and producer, whose fulllength documentary debut Sundial has burst out of the gates. The film had its world premiere in Nyon, at Visions du Réel, in mid-length competition.

Next, North American premiere at Hot Docs, Toronto – the largest North American documentary film festival.

By Maria Ulfsak Photos by Virge Viertek, Alexander Lembke and Sten-Johan Lill

imultaneously, CPH:DOX had international premiere of Lynx Man – a documentary by the Finnish director Juha Suonpää, co-produced by Nimik. Lynx Man ended up winning Special mention in Nordic:Dox competition program.

Liis, how did you find the protagonists and locations of Sundial?

When my grandmother passed away, I felt that a certain mode of existence left together with her. She came from the poorest social class, but lived like she was one of the richest, in great indifference in the most positive sense of the word. With her departure, I had an intense feeling that I will be missing her way of life that is lost for our family now. Out of that, a thought was born to go and see if there are still people living in the similar manner – existence in the middle of nature, heating the stove every day, keeping a gar- den; practicing peace in the widest sense of the word. Together with the producer Edina Csüllög and screenwriter Anti Naulainen, we drove through all of Estonia and when we had a recognition upon arrival to someone’s house, we picked them to be our protagonists. We filmed mainly in Setomaa and Võromaa (South Estonia) but also the island of Saaremaa (West Estonia). I have roots on both sides, no idea if that was coincidental or not.

From the technical side, there is special tenderness and warmth in the picture. Why did you decide to shoot it on 16mm film?

When discussing the theme of the film, we talked a lot about balance, chaos, and order. It seemed unlikely that it could be shot digitally, because digital format already comes with a certain sense of order. It felt like we have to capture the half-tones and atmosphere in the way that digital equipment can’t. In the philosophical sense, if nothing else. In the first shooting period we used two cameras simultaneously, to have a point of comparison. As soon as we got the first roll of film back from developing, it became clear that the digital camera would stay behind from then on.

One recurring motive in Sundial is fire, domestic warmth. What does it mean for you?

This motive is very important. Domestic warmth in the middle of nature means that you need to care for it and maintain it on a daily basis, in order to keep the house warm. Every day, whether you want to or not. You have to bring wood and put in in the fireplace, guard the flame. You need to take care of the fire much like you need to care for your inner flame of life. Making Sundial, we discovered that there is a sense of submission in this daily routine. Strangely enough, it gives a person access to his or her inner fire – the inspiration.

Sundial seems to ask if people should relearn the ways of coexisting with nature, and how to do it best. What was the initial task for you as a filmmaker when you started on this film?

Yes, for me, Sundial is a story of reconciliation with the fact that man is not the crown of nature. We tried to capture what happens, when a man reduces itself to the same level with a leaf, a bug, or a bird. Animistic philosophy is present in many people’s worldview, without them even acknowledging it consciously. We all are drawn to the countryside in the summer, to the sea and hay, and this drive is very strong. It is a strong, shared value that has been extensively covered in literature but not so much at all in cinema. I wanted to capture this feeling on film. During shooting, all my protagonists started to practice a new instrument, or realize themselves in some other way creatively. It was an extra level that the film gained during the shooting period. One of the largest goals we had from the beginning was universality – this feeling must be similarly experienced by anyone, a local, and someone who has never set foot here.

Time is one of the things working magic in Sundial. This film takes time, and is reminiscent of the works of our grandmasters of documentary, like Peep Puks, or Andres Sööt. This kind of approach feels very fresh in today’s modern world. How relevant is the concept of time flowing differently for you in this movie?

The special flow of time is partly caused by using 16mm film stock. When the film rolls, it totally alters your sense of time. I had no idea about this before working with film. You get a very strong sense of presence, everyone in the room has their receptors on maximum sensitivity. It creates a different atmosphere altogether. You start to notice small events; moments that become big if given time. Me and the cinematographer Erik Põllumaa had a strict set of rules about how we want to make this film: we choose our frame carefully, set up the camera and then wait for the right moment to run it. Sometimes we waited for the whole day and ended up shooting only one take. Sometimes this take had a beginning, the middle, and the end, without us interfering with the flow of the scene in any way. I had two co-directors on this film –time and chance. We gave them space to play.

You made Sundial for almost seven years. What was your intent when starting out, and when did you feel that you have enough material for the film, to tell the story you wanted to tell?

At first, everything spun around heating the stove but during the process I understood that there is no point romanticizing that, we need to delve deeper. The long production period was also caused by the recognition that our budget restricts us from executing the plan we had on paper. There was some film stock still left, but we simply didn’t know what more to shoot, for the film to come together. This situation grew into a crisis that lasted for quite a long time. Then the next crisis hit – corona. It coincided with the peak event of my life so far, becoming a mother. Both of these things expanded my universe enough for me to come to an understanding that I already have the film. I edited the film in my head for a long time, while nursing the baby. One day I drove to the office and just finished it. A oneyear sound editing period followed, and all that time I was looking for the right title for the film. When that was locked too, everything fell into place, and I saw that for all this time, I had been making a film about the sun in the widest sense, without even knowing it. It would have been a completely different film if I had finished it in a couple of years.

Nimik’s fulllength documentary debut is shot on 16mm film.

Recently you launched a new production company called Klara Films. Why a new company, and what kind of label will Klara Films be?

The years of pandemic and the experience of becoming a mother are quite big and powerful processes that taught me that it is necessary to live and work on your own terms, and in your own tempo. Time felt right to begin with it now. Klara Films’ focus is and will forever be on creative documentaries. I am most drawn to themes and stories that cannot be expressed any other way than in film language. These are the themes I would love to tackle, either as a director or a producer. To go deep and make profound, uncompromising author cinema that transcends the cultural barriers.

You are also the Estonian co-producer of Lynx Man, the Finnish documentary by Juha Suonpää. How was the film received? Do you plan to continue with international co-productions?

Lynx Man was received very well, it was given a special mention for its ethereal sound and the new kind of depiction of humanity’s relationship with nature. Sound was fully done in Estonia, the world-famous Estonian band Puuluup provided original score and sound designer Tanel Kadalipp was responsible for the rest of the sound. It was a very smooth co-production. We laughed about it with the Finnish producer Pasi Hakko that we might have a very warped idea of a co-production now –everything is so simple! But I would like to get more practice with it.

You have another film in the works as a producer, Eva Sepping’s The Wanderers, about three Siberian Estonian women. What kind of a project is this?

For almost a decade, Eva Sepping visited Siberia and met with Estonian families there. During her travels, she found three women – Linda, Miili and Masha. They are all from different generations and this film is a de- is about Hannu’s journey towards finding a connection with the Eurasian lynx. colonizing view of Russia – what is the life of small nations like there, and how does their national culture survive in those conditions. Eva has shot the story in a very delicate manner and assembled it just as delicately, together with the editor Kersti Miilen. The shooting period occurred before the Ukrainian war, so some adjustments had to be made in the film, but on a wider scale, the stories of these three women from different times provide an exploration of migration, and holding on to your identity. EF