Born in Baku and now living in Cologne, Elmar Imanov and his production company, Color of May (co-run with Eva Blondiau), bring a refreshing Eastern influence to German cinema while also co-producing Central Asian gems such as A Room of My Own [+lire aussi :
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bande-annonce
interview : Ioseb “Soso” Bliadze et Ta…
fiche film], Smiling Georgia [+lire aussi :
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interview : Luka Beradze
fiche film] and 5 Dreamers and a Horse [+lire aussi :
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interview : Vahagn Khachatryan et Aren…
fiche film]. We discussed his creative journey so far, which has led to his hypnotic second feature, The Kiss of the Grasshopper [+lire aussi :
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interview : Elmar Imanov
fiche film], freshly premiered in the Berlinale’s Forum section.

Cineuropa: In all of your films so far – the shorts The Swing of the Coffin Maker and Torn, your debut feature, End of Season [+lire aussi :
critique
bande-annonce
fiche film], and especially The Kiss of the Grasshopper – male loneliness and introspection are central themes. Is this a core area of exploration for you?
Elmar Imanov: Yes, you could say that, although it’s also about family dynamics, relationships, love and acceptance. The theme developed organically. I first encountered actor Rasim Jafarov, whom I really liked, and we worked together on my graduation short. Later, I met Mir-Movsum Mirzazade, a boy who grew up alongside my films and who has a difficult life story, as well as Zulfiyye Qurbanova. Together, we formed the team that gave life to End of Season, made at a critical time without financing. While we were shooting it, the film wasn’t intended to be shown to anyone – it was more about the process of making it together.

So, the process was more important than the final product?
Exactly. It was a no-budget production. I called friends in Azerbaijan for help, and the team just came together. We didn’t cast actors; I reached out to people I knew. I wrote the script with my brother, Anar Imanov, in Berlin, and we improvised during filming. We didn’t even know how it would end, and Rasim, who usually prepares everything meticulously, was quite nervous about it.

You often deal with family dynamics in your films, but now I realise your approach to filmmaking feels almost like a family affair.
Definitely. It’s crucial for me to work with people I get along with. It’s not just about the product; it’s about the shared experience. We try to bring as many people as possible to the premieres, and we work hard to create a sense of togetherness. For example, for the premiere of End of Season at IFFR, we had no budget, so we organised hotel stays through friends, and everyone chipped in to make it happen.

With The Kiss of the Grasshopper, you extended the family, and there’s a noticeable shift towards surrealism. How did this transition happen?
It’s been a gradual development since film school, but The Kiss of the Grasshopper is a significant step in that direction, moving into magical realism. I’ve been building this cinematic language for a while, experimenting with the boundaries of reality in a way that felt appropriate for the story. In End of Season, there were moments reflecting a sense of pressure and loss of control. In The Kiss of the Grasshopper, this approach somewhat exploded and became more pronounced, with surreal elements driving the narrative. It’s a natural progression, to be completed in a trilogy. I am currently writing the second part with Italian director Adel Oberto, titled Carla's Enzo. It is about strangers becoming family, again produced by Eva Blondiau and just selected for MIDPOINT Feature Launch.

Are the stories you come up with inspired by real life?
Some of them, yes, while others are pure fantasy. Bernard in The Kiss of the Grasshopper is something of an alter ego, but is also a blend of fiction and reality. I don’t live in such a big house as the character, for instance, but there are elements of personal experience mixed in.

And where did the grasshopper idea come from?
Since I began writing the script, grasshoppers have been following me everywhere. I take pictures to prove I’m not crazy – they appear in the strangest places. A few months ago, I was in Berlin, sitting on a packed bus from the Hauptbahnhof to my flat, when a grasshopper suddenly landed on me. This happened even after the film was finished. It felt surreal.

Metaphorically, in the film we first see a small grasshopper that grows, symbolising foreshadowing and transformation. It follows the character everywhere, and for me, it represents that feeling when you know your life is about to change, though you don’t know how.

The surreal scenes, like the one with the suffering neighbour, also seem to serve a purpose. How did you decide on its peculiar choreography?
It serves as a way for Bernard to confront both physical and emotional discomfort, especially the idea of dealing with his father’s death. The neighbour’s body and the surreal elements help build a sense of unease and transformation. It’s all part of the process of dealing with change and facing uneasy truths.