A simple but deeply insightful and, at times, challenging documentary, Marjolein Busstra’s We Don’t Talk (Wij praten niet) follows an in-depth series of conversations between therapists and teenagers as they tackle a complex web of sexual violence and exploitation.
The film astutely and compassionately delves into the inner struggles of four youngsters as they engage in a process to break free from the world that they are all – to a greater or lesser extent – still connected to and can’t seem to completely part with. The four are never explicitly seen on screen – either wearing wigs or simply shot from the back as they talk to therapists – though they are allocated names and ages to help give a sense of context.
Marjolein Busstra never tries to offer critical context, justification, criticism or easy answers, but instead follows the four as they discuss their situation. They are sometimes gently challenged by the therapists but the film essentially looks to examine the nuances and often worrying complexities of their lives.
The film opens with audio comments from each of the four. “I don’t like talking to people. I don’t trust anyone so I’m not having therapy,” says one. “There’s no point on dwelling on it. What am I supposed to do? Cry in bed about what happened? No thanks,” adds another. “Constantly thinking, how do I get out of this? But I don’t know how, which stresses me out,” says a third. “Lately I’ve been fighting with guys who are bigger than me. I go crazy and it all comes out. It sucks,” comments the fourth.
The four are Dunya, aged 18; Adil aged 15; Amy aged 15, and Delilah aged 16. Though only slightly older, Dunya feels more trapped in her life of abuse, caught in a web of taking drugs and often sleeping often older men simply to have a place to stay the night; Adil is equally in a cycle of selling himself, and is also the one less inclined towards therapy; Amy doesn’t want to face up to what happened to her or talk about it, while Delilah does escort work and has been abused.
Dunya’s blunt acceptance and easy description of her life sits alongside Amy never having reported what happened to her. “Is there anyone who knows everything?” asks the therapist. “Yes…me,” replies Amy, admitting that knowing everything makes her feel very lonely.
The film is both intimate and sad as their self-judgment of guilt and shame often still holds them captive. The therapists are there to instigate and enable conversations and not to offer glib answers or solutions. Their conversation space – whether in an office or outside in a park – is there to offer an alternative to a world in which the youngsters often feel it’s not safe to talk.
The non-intrusive camera allows access to the intimate therapy conversations and Busstra shows how young people respond when they are listened to, which can often be painful to observe, as well as traumatic for the youngster. Visual, metaphorical scenes are inserted amongst the conversations – whether it be moments of dance or close-ups on hands or hair – and help alleviate the heaviness of the conversations.
The youngsters sometimes bring a sense of lightness with them, imbued with self-mockery, and take a pragmatic look at their situations. Worryingly the film also serves to illustrate how the violence they deal with is so commonplace. As the notes for the film say: ”Step by step they are encouraged to learn how to set their own boundaries; make their own choices and to give their anger and damaged trust a place in order to regain control over their own body and even to love themselves a little.”
We Don’t Talk may well be simple in concept and structure, but it feels all the more important as a consequence, as it allows a safe space for these young people to try and find ways to regain control of their lives and their bodies.
Netherlands, 2022, 70mins
Dir: Marjolein Busstra
Production: Halal Docs
Producer: Olivia Sophie van Leeuwen
Cinematography: Dionne Cats
Editor: Saskia Kievits
Music: Jesse Koolhaas
