Waarom stopt ie niet gewoon? [Why Doesn’t He Just Quit?] (2024) – 4 stars

Director: Emily May ‘t Hoen

Writer: Emily May ‘t Hoen

Running time: 29mins

The Netherlands is famously tolerant, or so we have been told. Still dining out on a reputation from the progressive Total Football era, many people outside the country assume that it is a place of liberal social attitudes. But the Netherlands sadly has many more conservative and right-wing proclivities than its mythos lets on.

Waarom stopt ie niet gewoon?[Why Doesn’t He Just Quit?] may surprise viewers outside the Netherlands to that end, as it examines Dutch society’s attitudes toward drug-use and addiction – and finds that there is not as much ‘tolerance’ as you might have been led to believe. Emily May ‘t Hoen’s debut documentary is an honest and open portrayal of self-reflection, as she delves into the societal failings which lead to addictive behaviour – and finds that the scornful stigmas which many people reflexively reach for when they encounter an addict may end up pushing them deeper into trouble.

‘t Hoen kicks things by telling us about the film she wanted to make. Before production began, she met with an old friend, Martin, to plan a documentary about his struggle with addiction. During the dinner, the two had enjoyed catching up, when Martin offered up a startling revelation: as well as he seemed, he was in fact still using speed and cocaine regularly. ‘t Hoen’s reaction, she tells us, was to immediately put up an emotional barrier. While she offered to go ahead with the documentary, she stated “privately, I would prefer to keep a little more distance”.

Perhaps predictably, the suggestion that they might pause their friendship, but Martin could still serve as a subject for the benefit of ‘t Hoen’s filmmaking did not go over well. Indeed, it will probably not go over well with audiences, but it seems that is the point. ‘t Hoen is being transparent about a knee-jerk reaction in an uncomfortable situation, where more care was required, in order to illustrate the ease in which harmful norms can be reinforced, and someone in a difficult situation can end up withdrawing into an even more dangerous situation.

This kicks of a journey of discovery for ‘t Hoen, who starts from a position of relative ignorance when it comes to addiction. Admitting to the camera that she is not an expert, and knows very little about the subject, her research eventually helps her to understand Why Doesn’t He Just Quit, and how her actions might provide a lifeline for her friend in the future.

First-hand testimony comes from Tamar Theewis, an addict in recovery, who explains how she initially began using drugs in her teenage years, as a means to escape from a difficult home environment. Having gone through a number of relapses, she explains that the last time helped because the rehab she attended did not just focus on getting her clean, but on helping her to cope with the emotional impacts that life will continue to have.

The exchanges don’t just see ‘t Hoen re-evaluate Martin’s situation (she notes he also endured a difficult childhood); they also prompt her to think about her own life. How she has also formed a variety of habits that she leans upon to regulate her emotions in difficult moments. How her immediate move to distance herself from Martin may also be a desire to distance herself from something she fears in her own behaviour.

Importantly, Waarom stop tie niet gewoon also manages to move the dialogue beyond individual responsibility. While addicts are partially responsible for their actions, they do not live in a vacuum – and that is also true for the people whose behaviour may have played a role in the forming of their addiction.

Elsewhere, important testimony also comes from Frans Douw, whose Herstel & Terugkeer [Recovery & Return] Foundation works to give addicts a platform to reconnect with society from. He explains, when trying to help people with addiction, is to recognise the equality of any interaction. To him, every meeting is between his “square metre” and someone else’s. Within his square metre, he has to work on his prejudices, fears, and experiences, and through examining and learning from those, he can respond to others. Admitting there is still a chance of being let down, Douw suggests that all he can ask is that the person speaking to him does the same from their own square metre – and sometimes, from that opportunity, good things can still come.

This is something which ‘t Hoen takes to heart in her own journey, before she decides to reach back out to her friend. And arguably, all this makes Waarom stopt ie niet gewoon a much more valuable film than the one she initially hoped to make. This is not the simplistic (and arguably exploitative) portrait of a recovering addict, snapping himself out of it to become a respectable citizen again – here is my friend who is going to explain how he got off drugs to be more like me, isn’t that great.

It is an examination of just how respectable other people are when they fear and belittle the addicts in their lives. It’s an exploration of how, even in an apparently ‘tolerant’ society, many people have learned to hold on to harmful stereotypes to justify the ways the current model of economic, political and familial life they have done OK within, allows others to fall between the cracks. It is an example of how we all need to think about how we perceive other people, and how we might be papering over the cracks in our own lives by othering them. All important lessons for those of us living in the Netherlands – and the wider world – in its current, decaying state.

That is not to say this film is perfect, of course. As a first directorial effort, many of the decisions are a little rough and ready. As compelling as the story of ‘t Hoen’s interactions with Martin are, the whole film takes place before their possible reconciliation – and without his testimony (just old text messages voiced by an actor), it feels a little too heavily constructed. A little too performative. The story might have benefitted from being recounted more simply, without any re-enactment from ‘t Hoen. Considering the authenticity of the film’s message hinges on this encounter, that’s more of a problem than it might sound.

At other points, ‘t Hoen tries to make the film feel like more of an active investigation than its past-tense narration presents it as. Fellow documentarian Sanne Vermaas (who you may remember from Corona Lockdown Wildernis) asks simple questions, which allow ‘t Hoen to supply us with some overt summaries of what she has learned. But it seems to me that this is something of a missed opportunity, and that Vermaas could have been allowed to ask more probing questions of ‘t Hoen throughout her investigation, which could probably satisfy some important questions the audience will have. Most importantly, as her journey progresses, how do her feelings change about how she reacted to Martin’s addiction? Is she sorry?

There is also room for a little more probing, in terms of how the current trajectory of the world may contribute to addiction – and what we might do to help mitigate that. In his conclusion, for example, Douw notes that in his experience, addicts tend to be talented, intelligent, creative people. Allowing them a space to express that, and even to support themselves through those means, could help them put their lives back together. But increasingly, the dominant ideology of our times suggests we do not remotely value talent or creativity. Our billionaire class would rather flush copious amounts of money down digitised-toilets chasing a dream of machines that can make ‘art’, than pay a fraction of that sum to pay people a living wage for writing, painting or performing. Our governments pour resources into advertising campaigns aimed at convincing musicians or dancers that they would be happier binning off their dreams to become computer-programmer. What will the bleak, joyless tech-driven future we are hurtling toward leave open to people looking to process the world around them, to recover and learn from their experiences, and to express themselves?

Perhaps that is something to be covered in another film. On the basis of this one, Emily May ‘t Hoen has the necessary skills to tackle a follow-up. This documentary is imbued with important strands of empathy and vulnerability, offering up a personal example of how her audience can learn to help and be helped in a difficult and dangerous world. There just needs to be a little more space for asking difficult questions next time, at the expense of some of the time used on visual re-enactments.