Nina: I grew up in a family of artists in Munich: my grandparents on my mother’s side were opera singers. My grandfather survived the Dachau concentration camp because his singing persuaded the Nazis to transfer him from the quarry to the kitchen).My mother was a painter, and my father was a wandering performer of some kind. I always saw my family as outsiders who didn’t really fit working in a theatre that hosted major Broadway productions and international artists like Shmuel Rodensky and Marcel Marceau. Not only was my world filled with theatre, but at home, we also had a whole “ensemble” of hand puppets, which we regularly expanded, resulting in frequent performances in our house. It felt quite normal for me to start developing scenarios at an early age.

I was trained as a classical dancer, but later, while doing my A-levels, I also trained in many other techniques (jazz, Graham, Cunningham, tap, etc.). At school, I learned English, Latin, and French. Later, I learned Russian and Ukrainian (though I am not yet fluent in Ukrainian). During my training, I visited many European cities, including Rome, Paris, London, Copenhagen, Amsterdam, Warsaw, and Prague. Later, I travelled to Israel while filming with Holocaust survivors, and, of course, to Ukraine and Russia many times.

My connection to Ukraine and later Russia is tied to a dramatic story relevant to the film I Want To See The Morning Star. While my sister was dying, a Ukrainian girl named Mariana arrived in the Munich hospital where she was staying. Brought by a donor for heart surgery, Mariana constantly sought support from my family.

Unfortunately, she was sent back to Ukraine before fully recovering, as donors and doctors suggested she was faking her condition to remain in the West. I provided her with medication and food, feeling ashamed of my country’s prosperity. Mariana died months later, and during my time in Ukraine, I realised the people there possessed something we had partly lost.

Nina: We in Europe have a long history that obliges us to be wise. Democracy is an incredibly precious achievement, something we must protect. We must safeguard it by critically scrutinising ourselves and recognising our privileges as also a responsibility. We must be aware that the memory of Europe's mostly bloody history protects us better than anything else. We can only defeat the reactionary and right-wing populist forces within the EU if we recognise that open questions are a sign of strength and that simple answers no longer suffice. I often think of a story about a knight from the Anglo-French Arthurian legend: Gawain. He wears a green belt under his clothes to remind himself of how he has failed. It is only because he always remembers his failures that he becomes a hero. In Europe, we should remember this green belt of failure—just like Gawain.

Nina: I think the most important question is: “What do the Ukrainians want?” It is clear that they have not wanted to be part of the Russian empire for a long time. This strong will must be respected by everyone, especially Russia. Putin's quote about Ukraine as “an open, bleeding wound” is pure cynicism and stems from an imperial mindset obsessed with greatness. Ukraine has pinned all its hopes on Europe and the USA. To dash these hopes would mean that we do not take our values seriously. We must support Ukraine by all means—for the sake of Ukraine and for our own sake.

I think individuals should feel much more responsible—both for our democratic form of government and for Ukraine, which is fighting so bravely for its freedom. However, Ukraine now understands the existential meaning of freedom better than we do. Every person is responsible for this freedom. I believe many people underestimate their impact on the world; they are much more powerful than they think.

I started out as a choreographer and produced three major dance theatre productions. I was fortunate enough to work with experienced composers, set designers, artists, and actors (for example, Iris Berben) across various fields. However, I also encountered “big artists” for whom I was initially a provocation purely because I am a woman.

While working on my second dance theatre production, I realised that my true language is film. I was then very fortunate to make a project originally conceived as dance theatre into my first film: “Bus to Russia,” which premiered at Berlinale in 2003. The project won first prize, granting us an open budget, allowing me to start shooting the film immediately. However, as it was supposed to be finished by the next Berlinale, we had to complete the entire movie in eight months—so we didn’t have time to spend a lot of money!

That's how I went from being a choreographer to a film director.

Having fought for my own films, I had unexpectedly grown into the role of producer. Once I had the opportunity to become independent, I founded the “Blue Bird Berlin Film Production Company – Der Blaue Vogel.” I assembled a team with whom I can work in an open and mutually respectful atmosphere. I’m very fortunate to have a great team now that operates across several countries, including Berlin, Tbilisi, Rome, Riga, and Kyiv.

Nina: When Russia started its full-scale attack on Ukraine, I temporarily put aside all other projects. I couldn't think about anything else but Ukraine. Tatiana Voloshina, our production manager, who had already left Russia in 2021 with her husband, Alexander Zakharov (a journalist critical of the government), began to collect voices from Russia against the war. Vera Yakovenko, a filmmaker who had fled Kyiv, joined the project not only as a protagonist but also as a consultant and assistant director.

We were all shaken and unsettled. Work on the film began with the feeling that we were part of a huge experimental setup and that we couldn't lose sight of each other for a moment; otherwise, we would never find each other again. It was incredibly precious to me that I could not only talk to Tatiana and Vera and ask everything I wanted to know, but also that Vera and Tatiana spoke to each other, even though one is Ukrainian and the other Russian. One special moment was when Vera said to Tatiana: “We both lost our homeland because of the war.” Tatiana, who feels responsible for the actions of her country, was visibly touched by Vera's generous words.

Without this dialogue between us—Vera from Ukraine, Tatiana, formerly from Russia, and myself from Germany/Western Europe—I would not have dared to shoot and produce this film.

The title “I Want To See The Morning Star” is a line from a poem by Lesya Ukrainka, a Ukrainian poet (1871–1913). It first came to mind during the work in 2023 when there was hardly any light left in the smoke of destruction, yet Ukraine had not lost heart.

Nina: Making a movie is a journey—a process where we ourselves don’t know where it will lead us. I only met most of the protagonists in the film after Russia's attack on Ukraine had dramatically changed their lives. However, I now consider them all to be my friends, whose well-being is very important to me. These two years have left a deep mark on us.

I got to know some of the protagonists through others who were already in the film. For example, Volodymyr Demchenko, who is fighting on the front line. It was clear that I wasn't allowed to go there. The material was only permitted to leave the front line after three weeks of examination by the SBU (the Security Service of the Armed Forces of Ukraine).developments in Ukraine. Thanks in part to this information, I was always very close to the

The film was made in constant dialogue with the protagonists, who kept me informed about events, even when I had already started editing.

Nina: I have been to Russia many times during my work and have made many friends there. Today, these friends are divided into three groups:

Some condemn the war. They have either left the country and given up everything they had built in the past. Others are still in Russia and live in danger because they can’t stay silent. I am friends with them.

The second group tries to be both. They are against the war but don't want to spoil things completely in Russia. I have no contact with them, as my clear position for Ukraine could also get them into trouble.

The third group has devoted itself entirely to Putin's propaganda. They spread unclear, often religiously charged messages. After I had long discussions with each of them, continuing the dialogue proved pointless, and contact was broken off.

It was clear to me that there was no time to waste applying for funding. Remaining independent and starting immediately was crucial. That’s why the film was entirely self-funded. Everyone involved understood that this story was something that absolutely had to be told and recorded, which is why we worked extensively with limited resources.

Nina: Yes, of course. In the course of my work on four feature-length films with documentary material, I realised how essential it is to master the technique, especially because, in some situations, you have to react very quickly. However, I tended to shoot as a second camera. In Ukraine, I had two excellent cameramen: Andrii Yakovliev and Vitaly Bredik.

Nina: Yes, for me, this is actually the most important moment in the creative process, when the threads are brought together. The material, which is often shot more instinctively or in situations that suddenly arise, then has to find a form. It's about putting something that doesn't seem to fit together at first glance into context. For me, it's like working on a large painting in which the colours are the material that has been filmed. Music and movement play an important role in this process.

Nina: Yes, there is probably poetry. However, I took great care to ensure that these explorations in the film are never voyeuristic, but that we, as viewers, understand that the destruction visible in Ukraine is our own destruction. We are destroying nature, and at the same time, our sense of self is becoming more and more miserable. I tried to make the film in such a way that we can't lean back during it and shudder at the destruction from a distance. Rather, as we watch, we understand it as something that we urgently need to deal with as individuals. The result of this confrontation can be very encouraging, though.

Nina: Oh, yes! Let's look at the people in Ukraine: Why haven’t they broken down despite the constant attacks and all the horrors that keep coming to them from Russia? Because they are rich inside and because they help each other.

I hope that there will be more and more people who show that real greatness can only be achieved by those who act humanely, not by an empire that claims greatness. We will leave the reactionary right-wing populist movements behind us, even if they are still present. They are simply not for people who are courageous and freedom-loving. I think many people with this human greatness are already visible now. I can already see the twinkling of the morning star in the darkness, especially when I look towards Ukraine.