Director: Shayan Hekmat
Writer: Shayan Hekmat
Cast: Heide König & Jules Wietschorke
Running time: 6mins
The format you see above this sentence is arbitrary. Seven years ago, when I started Indy Film Library, I selected that listing – director, writer and cast – as a way to label the authorship of a story, its feelings and meanings, more inclusively than simply tagging a director, but without having to list the entire crew.
WAS ICH DIR NICHT SAGE [Things I Can’t Tell You] exposes how limited even that ‘inclusivity’ is – as a film where its story and meaning hinge so heavily on its visual design. This is illustrated by the running order of its tiny end-credits sheet. The camera work of Manuel Linke and is highlighted first – followed by the stellar performances of actors Jules Wietschorke and Heide Konig. Meanwhile, Shayan Hekmat – who wrote and directed this short – is the final name to materialise. And while you might see that as the film’s auteur being humble, when all the other names fade, Linke’s remains highlighted alongside Hekmat, as a final endorsement.
That is entirely necessary, because WAS ICH DIR NICHT SAGE is an ode to colour. Every frame is steeped in an unsurpassed vibrancy, with Linke and assistant Luca Zahner having worked to ensure that the lens made the most of the setting sun’s evocative powers from every conceivable angle. It is genuinely hard to remember the last time I saw a film which looked this good. And the most remarkable aspect of that – one which independent filmmakers should take heart from – is that so much of this minimalist story’s power comes from making the most of natural resources universally free to everyone.
The different shades cast by the setting sun are masterfully deployed here to tell the story before a single word is spoken. At the film’s beginning, we join Zoey (König) on a gruelling training session, under the harsh, white light of the midday sun. As her tiny figure gets further around the running track of Olympiastadion München, the Olympiapark’s tower looms over her – and as she becomes a spec in the distance silhouetted against the cold, clinical grandeur of the empty stadium, her character is lost to us amid the pressures of modern mass society. Expectations of professional goals, a career, success at any cost.
In her track-session, Zoey pushes herself to the point of a nosebleed – finally stopping to drink some water, all the while the sun’s unrelenting, dispassionate light beats down upon her. But the moment she escapes this scenery, into the grassy hills surrounding the park with her loving partner Olivia (Wietschorke), the way the sun’s energy is used by the film transforms. As the pair lose themselves in each other, dancing through the grass, climbing trees, laying in each other’s arms, it is all highlighted by a warm glow – the sun’s light now used as a nourishing and supportive force. Against a gentle, blue sky, the sun’s golden rays underline the effortlessness of the couple’s love, amid the splendours of nature.
The camera also catches Olivia, briefly, looking off into the distance – a thousand mile stare, which tellingly casts her gaze across the stadium. It is a look which speaks of an aching sadness, and an anxiety that disrupts the peace we have felt here. That cues a third shift in the film’s palette – as the setting sun conjures a complex display of oranges and purples; a spectrum of secondary shades, caught between our arbitrary understanding of primary colours. And we realise that both these characters are similarly caught in a confusing space, where they are worried there may need to be a choice between red, or blue – rather than remaining in this uncertain lilac space.
Again, all this takes place silently – against a beautifully understated synthetic score from Caminauta, which compliments the visual storytelling, but refuses to patronise us with definitive emotive stings – a story has been told masterfully before a single word has been uttered. That places a spectacular weight on Hekmat’s script, when the moment finally arrives.
Many a viewer will pray, as I was, that the dialogue manages to live up to what has proceeded. Joyously, I believe it does just that and more. Because choosing to deliver speech here, does so much more than put a cap on the movie, or make its themes explicit to the audience. This isn’t about simply splurging exposition at the last moment to ensure we got it. Hekmat’s precise, measured and mature writing presents a moment of lucidity, of developing emotional maturity.
Silence in films projects a state of innocence. But when a character is faced with the breakdown of the world around them, pursuing that innocence rather than address the forces at play – to try to combat or shape those changes – becomes an act of harmful ignorance. For example, the conclusion of The Great Dictator sees Chaplin finally force his speechless Little Tramp persona to explicitly address a global audience, in a society where matching the verbose forces of fascism demands it.
When Hekmat finally insists these characters speak, to address the elephant in the room, it is a moment fraught with tension, but also a moment where Zoey and Olivia grow together. And while another moment of Chaplin’s filmography comes to mind here – the ambiguous ending of City Lights – there is still a feeling that even if things aren’t OK, as their lives shift, expand and possibly separate, both our characters will be in a place to address and survive that.
Of course, König and Wietschorke have played as crucial a role as anyone in delivering on both aspects of the film’s Chaplinesque duality. The joyous freedom of a wordless performance, pulled back to earth by the gravity of speech, is something that not many actors could deliver without it becoming hammy or a caricature – but both actors are pitch-perfect, as the world of sound finally breaks down the fragile harmony of their silence.
Submissions for our 2027 festival only opened this month – but it is hard to imagine how this audio-visual meditation on life and love will be topped in the coming year. WAS ICH DIR NICHT SAGE is a stunning piece of cinema, which deploys its limited resources faultlessly to tell a minimalist story that packs a maximalist punch. And considering its minute production budget, it may be the best €200 ever spent.
