Don't hate the media, become the media. Jello Biafra
Mariana Duarte
headland
19. British Shorts, Berlin | 2026
JAN 22–28
HEADLAND
Director: Mariana Duarte
Festival Screening:
Documentary / Experimental / Animation
Sat 23 | 18:00 | Sputnik Kino
Images © Mariana Duarte
JAN, 12, 2026
On a pebble beach on the English Channel, the tradition of sea rescues interweaves with recent Channel crossings, as witnessed by the last of the Dungeness fishermen.
Hello Mariana, thank you for taking the time to talk with us ahead Headland screening at British Shorts, Berlin, what does it mean to have your short film at the festival?
I’m thrilled that Headland will be screening at British Shorts. It’s a meaningful opportunity for the film to be seen within a context that truly values short-form work. This will be Headland’s second screening in Germany, and I’m very much looking forward to sharing it with audiences in Berlin and discovering how the film resonates in that setting.
How important are festivals like British Shorts in providing a dedicated space for audiences to connect with short films?
Festivals like British Shorts are incredibly important because they offer a dedicated space for audiences to discover and engage with short films by UK-based filmmakers. They provide the opportunity to see how audiences respond in real time and to connect with other creatives in ways that often continue long after the screening.
This is also a return to Berlin for you as you are a Berlinale Talents alumna, do you have any advice or tips for people taking part this year?
I attended Berlinale Talents in 2022, and it was an amazing opportunity for growth and development. My advice to participants is to stay open to conversations and connections, as you never know which encounter might spark your next project. Take in as much as you can, stay curious, and you will become part of an alumni network that continues to support and inspire your filmmaking journey.
Your World Premiere took place at Edinburgh International Film Festival 2024, what was that experience like for you?
Edinburgh is a city I now call home, and I have been living here for over six years, so it was wonderful to have the world premiere of Headland at such an iconic local festival. The screening took place at The Cameo, one of the oldest cinemas in Scotland still in use. Headland screened alongside shorts commissioned by the Scottish Documentary Institute’s Bridging the Gap Programme, which made the experience even more meaningful. The screening was sold out, and it was fantastic to connect with local audiences – there is such an inspiring community of documentary lovers in the city.
Headland has since won multiple awards around the world, what do you think it is about your film that’s connected with audiences so much?
Headland is a film rooted in place and human stories. I wanted its intimacy, driven by the fishermen’s voices, to let the landscape speak while exploring themes of migration, resilience, and our connection to the environment. One of the fishermen told me after watching it that he loved the atmospheric feeling and how the film depicts change in their community. For me, the film is about migration as an inevitable part of human nature, even when some are reluctant to embrace what the ocean brings. Ultimately, I am drawn to filmmaking that leaves space for audiences to create their own meaning, and I think it is that openness that resonates most.
Can you tell me a little bit about how Headland came about?
I first visited Dungeness in 2021 and was struck by its stark, almost otherworldly landscape, a remote shingle headland on the Kent coast shaped by wind, sea, and open skies. During a visit to the local lifeboat station, I learned that for 200 years they had been saving lives at sea, yet their work was suddenly being criticised because they were rescuing people crossing the Channel in small boats seeking safety in the UK. Whenever their work was reported in the media in connection with migration, they faced hate and even abuse. It was deeply unsettling to see this. My initial idea was to make a film about the lifeboat station itself, but for safety reasons this was not possible. While spending time locally, I met a fisherman and a former lifeboatman who agreed to take part anonymously. Their voices became central to the film and reminded me that documentary often means letting go of your original plan and allowing the story to reveal itself.
What was it about this story of the Dungeness fishermen that fascinated you as a filmmaker?
Fishermen were actually the first to crew the lifeboats in Dungeness, so saving lives at sea is really part of the history of the local fishing families. Now the industry has mostly collapsed, and as one of them says in the film, the area has become a “glorified holiday camp.” Only a handful of fishermen remain. I was drawn to the texture of their voices and accents, and the dignity with which they navigate such a harsh, ever-changing environment. I wanted to bring their voices back into the landscape, to hold on to some sense of hope in a time of change. We decided not to show their faces, and I think that gives the film a quiet kind of power, almost as if they are speaking for the landscape itself. Dungeness is always in motion, shaped by wind, coastal shifts, and ocean currents. For me, the movement of people travelling north in search of safety felt part of the same story, where human lives and the natural world are deeply intertwined.
When working on a film like this how close is the creative relationship between you and your DOP Monika Davies?
I think one of the most important aspects of making any film is finding the right people to work with and allowing their creative vision to complement your own. After months of developing this project alone, I was thrilled when it was commissioned by the Scottish Documentary Institute’s Bridging the Gap Programme, and I was able to invite Monika Davies, the DoP, and Jamie Pereira, the sound designer and composer, to join the team. I prefer to work with small crews, and while exploring Dungeness, Monika’s eye for the landscape and her cinematography, from choosing vintage Soviet lenses that enhanced the film’s otherworldly feel to adapting to the harsh outdoor conditions, made the collaboration deeply inspiring. Jamie’s soundscapes were central from the start, adding another layer to the storytelling and shaping how audiences experience the film.
What was the message you wanted to say with this film, and do you think you achieved it?
With Headland, I wanted to explore how human stories and landscapes are intertwined, letting the landscape feel almost like a character in its own right. The film offers a ‘camera-on-land’ perspective on migration, focusing on the point of arrival of small boats and on the place faced with the choice of whether to welcome or reject those seeking safety. It might seem obvious that saving lives should always be the priority, but the reality is far more complex. Beyond the divisive political rhetoric, tens of thousands of lives have been lost along migration routes such as the Mediterranean and, more recently, the English Channel. I wanted the film to be an invitation for audiences to reflect, question, and connect with migration in a more compassionate way, reaching beyond those already engaged with the topic. The reactions so far have been encouraging, sparking conversation across diverse audiences. Headland has also been part of community screenings alongside other films exploring borders and migration in the UK and beyond, a subject that is very close to my heart.
You’re Brazilian and based in Scotland do these two unique cultural exposures influence your approach to your subjects and the types of stories you want to tell?
My work is deeply shaped by where I come from and how I move through the world. I grew up in a working-class family in the suburbs of Rio de Janeiro, but my interest in migration began with Newcomers (2013), a short film made in collaboration with Iranian asylum seekers in Belgium. Since then, questions of displacement, belonging, and borders have stayed with me.
With Headland, those questions became more sensory than explicit. Although my background isn’t directly stated in the film, it lives in the way I approach the landscape of Dungeness as an outsider, trying to attune myself to a place that is not my own. People are often surprised to learn that I’m Brazilian when I present the film, and I welcome that surprise. Documentary history has so often been shaped by extractive gazes travelling south; I find it meaningful to reverse that direction and bring my perspective to stories rooted in the UK.
Being a migrant filmmaker places me in a hybrid, sometimes uncomfortable position, but that vulnerability is also a strength. In Dungeness, it was often just me cycling around, listening, waiting, hoping to meet the right people. That openness is how I encountered the fishermen whose voices became so central to the film. For me, that in-between space is where curiosity, trust, and storytelling quietly take root.
Have you always had a passion for filmmaking?
My path to filmmaking wasn’t straightforward, but I’ve always been drawn to storytelling. Growing up, I didn’t have much access to cinema or the arts, but I read constantly and was fascinated by stories that explored the real world. That curiosity led me to study History at university. I worked as a history teacher, then for NGOs, and later as a multimedia journalist exploring social issues. I spent many years as a video editor in broadcast television in Brazil, and that’s where I learned more about editing and storytelling. In my mid-thirties, I was able to attend film school through an Erasmus Mundus Scholarship to study narrative editing in Europe. That journey eventually brought me to Scotland, where I began a PhD by Practice in film directing at Edinburgh College of Art. Looking back, it feels as though every step was leading me towards telling stories through film.
What is it about documentary as a genre that you enjoy so much?
I’ve worked mostly as a film editor on fiction and narrative projects, but my directing work has tended towards documentary. I love the unpredictability of the process and the way stories often emerge organically, taking you in directions you never imagined. I also see the choice between documentary, fiction, or something in between as entirely story-driven, and I feel comfortable moving across these forms depending on what the story needs.
You have a MA in Film Editing from Screen Academy Scotland, does having an editing background help guide your approach to how you make your films?
Definitely. My background as an editor will always influence the way I approach filmmaking. Even before I start shooting, I’m thinking about sequences, rhythm, and how images and sound will interact to tell a story. I spend a lot of time considering the soundscape because it carries as much emotion as the visuals. There’s a common saying in film, “we’ll fix it in post-production,” which, of course, is every editor’s nightmare. In documentary, though, the film often truly comes alive in the edit, revealing patterns and connections I couldn’t have anticipated while shooting. That process has taught me to see a film as a living, evolving thing, and it gives me confidence that even in moments of uncertainty, the edit will help me find the story.
"...I’ve even had recurring dreams where he shows up and guides me while I’m directing a scene."
What was the first documentary you saw that really left an impression? For me it was Adam Curtis’s Century of the Self (BBC), it’s still one of my favourites.
The first documentaries that really stuck with me were Here We Are Waiting for You (1999) by Marcelo Masagão and Isle of Flowers (1989) by Jorge Furtado. The first is almost like a visual essay that feels both historical and dreamlike. It doesn’t tell you what to think, but somehow you end up reflecting on life, death, and the political changes of the twentieth century. Isle of Flowers (1989) is a cheeky, darkly funny short documentary, ruthless in its logic. It traces a tomato from the field to the landfill and makes an ironic statement about human absurdity, social inequality, and the things we throw away without thinking. I watched both films when I was in secondary school, and they made me understand that documentaries can be inventive, bold, and deeply expressive. They’re still some of my favourites today.
If you could have a conversation with a filmmaker, living or dead, who would you pick, and why?
I think I’d choose David Lynch. His films have always inspired me to embrace ambiguity and not feel the need to explain everything. Funny enough, I’ve even had recurring dreams where he shows up and guides me while I’m directing a scene. It’s always the same scene, so I’m kind of waiting for the next dream to see what happens! Those dream conversations feel very Lynchian themselves: playful, surreal, and sometimes insightful. I’d also really love to talk to Wim Wenders. I admire the way he moves between documentary and fiction, and the sensitivity he brings to people, places, and the passage of time. His films have a kind of quiet humanity that always stays with me.
Do you have any tips for any aspiring documentarian?
What I’d share with anyone starting out is to stay curious and let the story find you. It also helps to surround yourself with a community of filmmakers, because documentary can feel impossible at times, it’s often hard to fund, and it demands a lot of yourself to bring it to life. Pay close attention to the people and places you’re filming and be willing to follow unexpected paths.
And finally, what message do you how your audiences will take away from Headland?
I hope the film creates space for people to feel the connections between migration stories and the natural world rather than providing simple answers to complex issues like human displacement. For me, the film is about listening to the fishermen, the landscape, and the small but powerful ways lives and places intersect.