Having written for Directors Notes for nearly 20 years, it’s rare for a film (that I haven’t seen before) to land in our submissions and truly surprise me. While innovative filmmaking techniques or bold approaches occasionally catch my eye, sometimes it’s the simplicity of a project that stands out. Pernille Kjær’s short film Forår (Spring) did just that. Its patient, contemplative storytelling, paired with a richly detailed hand-drawn aesthetic and layered sound design, immediately captured my attention and sparked an enthusiastic response. Set in an isolated farmhouse inhabited by a resident spirit, Spring feels simultaneously timeless and ahead of its time – unlike anything else I’ve encountered in the short film world recently. A film that has stayed with me long after initially viewing it, I spoke with director Kjær to learn more about the creation of Spring, the importance of stillness in its success and the process behind its breathtaking visuals.
Spring is a unique short film for several reasons. Narratively, it feels like a fairy tale but is deeply rooted in reality. What inspired you to bring this story of a mischievous Nisse and its home to life on screen?
I bought an old farmhouse on an island. I had decided not to make films anymore, instead I was going to become a painter. But as I was getting familiar with my new home, I started drawing it and the things there, and it became a little film about a place and its ghosts and spirits.
I fell in love with the rugged, wind-swept landscapes, the tall skies, and the small communities hidden away behind noisy highways and looming sand dunes. I was inspired to make this small cinematic poem, capturing the atmosphere that is so unique to this part of Denmark. Nature is rougher, more unforgiving, but there is a special beauty to the way the trees bend to the wind, you always know the four corners of the world because all the trees point east. It seems that nature is a more present force in the lives of people here, it conjures up visions of spirits and folklore.
In the film, the main character, the woman, puts out food for the Nisse, perhaps she is trying to set a trap and capture him, maybe she is trying to appease him, it is unclear. But what is clear is that she has a fascination for the little elusive spirit. In an erotic midnight encounter with the house spirit, she tries again to catch him, this time with her hands, but he just melts away into the dark. She cannot catch or hold on to the object of her desire. It is unquantifiable and literally intangible, but it sparks our hopes, dreams and inspires our futures. In the film, it is suggested that their nightly encounter ignites something in the environment, the first signs of spring. In a sense, it is tragic that her love remains unrequited, but it also brings about beautiful change.
I rarely plan or think too much, I make what I make because I can’t stop myself.
What was the journey like from the initial idea to the final script? Did you always envision how the story would unfold, or was it something that developed more organically over time?
I usually work in a very intuitive way. I rarely plan or think too much, I make what I make because I can’t stop myself. I love this house and the things in it so very much, and I spent a lot of time there in silence just observing things. I enjoyed that very much and wanted to capture that place’s spirit and atmosphere. I like to think of it as an exercise in observing and capturing ghosts, and to do that you have to sit still and wait and look, and then maybe you will get lucky and see something.
The location is an integral character in the story, standing out alongside the more traditional characters. Did you intentionally aim to create a film where the setting plays such a pivotal role on screen?
Yes. The house and the place were my focus. It is a portrait of a place. Nature is a central theme in the film, we imbue it with agency, like the natural gods of our ancient past, and it becomes a character, a spirit or even a god, acting upon our lives with intent. The western wind plays a part in the film; the sound of it pulling and pushing on the old house is ever present, sometimes it whispers sometimes it roars, almost as if it is commenting on the goings on inside the house. The landscape is shaped by it, bent and beaten by it, but still life finds a way.
Most Popular
You opted for a classic black-and-white aesthetic for Spring, which adds a timeless quality to the animation. With nature and location feeling so important in your story, you could have easily gone for something more vibrant and colourful – so why this particular visual approach?
I was interested in the calm and quiet of the place, in light and shadow. Colour can be very distracting and I liked the idea of timelessness, as this is a place where past and present melted together – or that was my sense anyway. It is hard to define what time we are in, as the house is also full of things from many different eras.
I like to work alone so it took about three years from inception to finish
Can you share some details about the production process? How long did it take to make the film, how many people were involved, and what tools or software were used in its creation?
I like to work alone, so it took about three years from inception to finish. One year of that production was spent drawing all the finished frames in TvPaint. The style is detailed and meditative, reflecting the pace of life on the peninsula. Martina Scarpelli is the producer of Spring and my friend, and Sofie Birch (also a good friend) composed the music.
What do you think the animated approach brings to this story that would be challenging to achieve in live action?
I think of it in the same way as I think about painting and photography. They are two different but related disciplines. It adds an extra layer of subjectivity. By using the animation medium, I can visualize things that are otherwise hidden to us in our day-to-day lives, the ghosts of our pasts that inhabit the spaces between reality and fantasy, our dreams, fears and desires that take on mythical forms and play on our minds. I can seamlessly integrate all these elements into the world without them feeling out of place or imposed.
Given the stillness of much of the imagery, the soundtrack is crucial in adding depth and texture to the film. How did you collaborate with your audio team to achieve this effect?
A lot of the action takes place off-camera, so the sounds of the action are what tell us what is happening in the house, while we visually focus on another area of the environment. The sounds of the woman flow together with the sounds of the flies buzzing on the windowsill, the floorboards creaking and the wind tugging at the roof and whistling in the chimney.
She does what she does and it always works.
My good friend Sofie Birch composed the music. We have worked together for many years, and I trust her completely. So it is very easy in that way, as I don’t have to say much to her, she does what she does and it always works.
With such an enigmatic storyline at the core of your short, what do you hope viewers take from watching Spring?
My intention with the film is to show a tragic love story, full of devious eroticism with a humorous twist, set in an environment, that doesn’t usually enjoy a lot of attention. In Spring I captured the poetic irony of an impossible love between a human and the intangible force of nature, an illusive and mischievous lover. It is about longing and a sensual obsession with the unattainable. I hope people enjoy it
What are you working on next?
I’m making a lot of pictures, prints, and paintings, as that’s what I really like to do.
