4. Postproduction, a Journey and the Premiere
The filming was done, and the editing had begun—a puzzle of roughly 300 gigabytes. It was wonderful to see all the work from the past 1.5 years come together. Once the rough cut was finished, I had planned a long trip through America to let the film rest for a while. After that, I would work with an editor to refine the details, and a sound designer would add the magic of sound. The premiere was approaching fast.
To make the film editing run smoothly, I had built a PC with two friends. Well, they ordered the parts and assembled everything—I mostly kept myself busy popping bubble wrap. I had an extra monitor lying around, borrowed a keyboard and speakers from a housemate, and got started. For some scenes, we had used a detailed storyboard, making them easy to piece together. For one particular scene—my pride and joy, the one with the poem—I had already created drafts using other footage. Other parts were more tricky, as they were improvised on set. In any case, everything felt magical because my imagination had been brought to life with the actors. It had all worked out; the shots were there, and the film would come together. A film I could truly be proud of.
My internship had ended, and I had two weeks left to edit before leaving on a trip. I'd long wanted to travel to the USA because the country is so different, so insane, and I wanted to meet Native Americans. Their culture had inspired not only my film but also the films I planned to make in the future. Early written accounts provide a glimpse into how tribes like the Cheyenne, Apache, and Navajo lived around the time Europeans arrived in North America. Before the devastating wars, genocides, and forced relocations, their ways of hunting, eating, crafting, marrying, dancing, fighting, and dying were documented. This information is invaluable for understanding prehistoric European societies. These observations reveal aspects of hunter-gatherer life—like spiritual beliefs about bison, the soul, the world's creation, or gender relations—that can never be preserved archaeologically. They also show objects and decorations that typically decay over time, such as tipis, clothing, hairstyles, body paint, rattles, or shamans' masks. Lastly, they provide insight into political structures that would otherwise remain unreadable from bones, drawings, or tools.
However, it's a misconception—sometimes claimed by racist observers—that people like the Native Americans of 300 years ago were unchanged remnants of the Stone Age from 20,000 years earlier. This is far from the truth. There was significant social dynamism and political evolution since people crossed the Bering Strait. Moreover, at the time of European contact, there was already an incredible diversity in culture and politics. People often refer to the "500 nations," an actual count of the groups that existed. Some lived nomadically as hunter-gatherers, others as sedentary farmers, and yet others alternated between the two. The Yurok tribe in Northern California even had a unique lifestyle: they lived in densely populated settlements but practiced no agriculture because their environment was so abundant that sedentary hunting and gathering was lucrative. This only scratches the surface of the diversity of the people who lived in North America. Who knows what kind of diversity existed among prehistoric groups? The point, then, is not to take certain recent hunter-gatherer groups as exact copies of prehistoric societies. Rather, they provide a rich set of possibilities and hypotheses about prehistoric life that we would otherwise never think of (see The Dawn of Everything by Graeber & Wengrow).
In any case, the reason I wanted to meet Native Americans was to ask how they felt about me drawing inspiration from their culture. I had no idea how sensitive such topics might be, and visiting them in person seemed like the best approach. To do this, I rented a camper van in Orlando, Florida, with a friend. We got a good deal, but the camper had to be returned eight days later in Phoenix, Arizona. That alone meant an absurd amount of driving, but since I wanted to take a detour through areas with reservations, the total would come to about 4,000 kilometers. A challenging journey, but unforgettable. I even made a vlog about it, which you can watch below (English subtitles available).
As I said, the USA is a crazy country. Overconsumption, the lack of a social safety net, urban planning based on cars, and an overwhelming obsession with individual freedom have made it an incredibly intense place. My friend and I struggled to connect with the people in most places. There were many drug-addicted homeless people and everything was painfully expensive. It was a stark contrast to the friendly backpacker haven of Australia, where I had been the year before. But we pressed on, and I managed to have some very meaningful conversations.
I spoke with staff at the Choctaw and Chickasaw museums in Oklahoma, a Cherokee director at the Museum of Indigenous People in Arizona, and several members of the Navajo Nation, including a guide who showed me the petroglyphs of Monument Valley.
And what did they think? Everyone was generally positive. Since I was making a poetic film (as opposed to, say, a violent one), they didn't mind me drawing inspiration from historical artifacts, political structures, or spiritual ideas. However, I was warned that if I wanted to incorporate specific songs, dances, or other cultural elements directly, I'd need permission from the relevant tribal cultural commission—especially if the practice was still actively used in events. Such commissions determine whether a script aligns with their values. Some Hollywood filmmakers have encountered situations where contemporary tribe members who work as actors need clearance from these commissions before they're allowed to appear in films.
In short, it was an eye-opening trip, and I'm determined to go back with more time—and definitely with more money. I made some great connections that I can follow up with next time, and I plan to dive into piles of books to learn more about Indigenous heritage.
After my two-month trip, I settled back into my usual life in Utrecht. I had a few weeks before my Master's program in Applied Ethics would resume. By this time, communication with the Rijksmuseum van Oudheden was finalized. Jeroen Snelten, who had previously helped me find the cave location, knew the museum's curator, Luc Amkreutz, and was able to put in a good word for me. It took two suspenseful months due to busy schedules and vacations, but my trailers and pitch won them over. They were excited to support a project like mine, and I was granted the opportunity to hold my premiere at their prestigious venue. Fantastic news!
Through an advertisement website, I found a great editor, Djehon Shams. He was already a professional editor and director, but he liked to take on a few pro bono projects each year to support the arts. We had three or four intensive sessions working on the film together, refining details and even completely reworking some scenes. Thanks to him, the entire project reached a new level. A pivotal moment came when I realized that a part of the film wasn't flowing well and could be greatly improved by swapping two scenes entirely. Once we did that, the film came together seamlessly.
The next major challenge was color grading. I learned a lot about this process. Initially, like most people, I assumed you shoot a film in color and maybe adjust the reds or yellows a bit afterward. But professionals work with raw footage—the digital equivalent of undeveloped film. Raw footage is unprocessed, contains all the data captured by the camera, and looks oddly grayish-brown. It can then be adjusted for color, brightness, and contrast. Creating a beautiful final image from this is an art, and I had zero experience. Thankfully, I had Sietse to help. He had just started a cinematography program at the Film Academy but managed to make time for me.
We spent four long sessions in the Academy's grading room—a stuffy little space with an expensive monitor and a control panel with cool knobs. Green is the hardest color to get right, and almost every shot had green in it. The final session lasted a grueling 11 hours, during which we kept having to say, "Okay, now the green looks better. No, wait, now it's too yellow. No... now it's too green again." At moments like that, you need to step outside for a smoke, grab a bag of M&Ms from the store, and head to a park to look at some real green for a reset.
We managed to finish just in time, though there's still that one shot where the green could've been just a little better...
In the meantime, I had found a sound designer through mutual contacts: Anton Maydanyuk. His exquisite work truly put the finishing touch on the project. Thanks to him, the visuals came to life—every bird, every step and every bite had a rustle, swish, or crunch. The Bison's Legs was more meditation than work for him, he wrote to me via Telegram. Unfortunately, he was ill during the premiere. Despite his incredible contributions, I still haven't had the chance to meet or speak with him in person.
Oh yes, the premiere! October 26—that was a wonderful day. As I mentioned, the Rijksmuseum van Oudheden was eager to support an emerging filmmaker like me. They had made the massive entrance hall available, with the screen set up in front of the genuine Egyptian temple that had been installed there in the 1960s. A spectacular setting for a film screening.
That morning, Freek and I had raced to Den Bosch, where a friend of ours had a matinee screening of her graduation film. It was the perfect warm-up to get into the premiere mood.
In Leiden, I was welcomed by the museum's skilled staff, who were already busy setting up the chairs. The film drew a big crowd of friends and family, some of whom took the opportunity to spend the day or even the weekend exploring Leiden. Many also visited the Bronze Age exhibition. Around 5 PM, people started trickling in, and I was pleasantly surprised to see a group of archaeologists from Leiden University, invited by veteran archaeologist Corrie Bakel. There were also volunteers from Archeon (a live history park) and representatives from Staatsbosbeheer (the biggest forestry association of the Netherlands).
Altogether, we had more than 100 people—a packed room. Expectations were high, and I kept thinking: The film works for me, but will it resonate with everyone else?
Curator Luc Amkreutz was unfortunately unable to attend the premiere due to other commitments, but he arranged for a researcher from Leiden University, Gerrit Dusseldorp, to speak in his place. Gerrit introduced the film with an analysis of the cave drawings of Cussac. In his research, he explores the hypothesis that such drawings were the result of Gesamtkunst and created as performance art. Based on the placement of the artworks in relation to one another and the surrounding abstract symbols, it sometimes appears as though a story was being told during the act of drawing. The placement within the cave is also significant: in many caves, the drawings are predominantly found in areas with strong echoes.
Cussac, in particular, holds a unique mystery. The cave contains animal figures carved into the porous rock walls, making them difficult to date. Some drawings overlap, and while we can determine the order in which they were created, it's impossible to know whether there were 5 minutes, 5 days, or 500 years between them. I couldn't have asked for a better introduction.
In my own talk, I mainly highlighted a few funny stories from the making of the film—the side quests I embarked on over the past two years. Like the time my friends and I tried to make soup using hot stones, only to have the stones explode in our faces because they hadn't dried properly. Or the time I was wandering alone in the Maashorst forest looking for the bison, only to end up being chased by a herd of Tauros cattle. I also shared how incredible the filmmaking experience had been and that I had no doubt I'd move forward to make another film.
We all watched The Bison's Legs together, and it was clear: the film made an impact. There was shock during the opening scene with the carcass, laughter at the jokes, and a deep sense of awe for the nature showcased throughout. I received overwhelmingly enthusiastic reactions and was showered with congratulations. The premiere was a success.
The evening ended with a lively after-party at Café l'Esperance, followed by some late night drinks in Utrecht.
However, it didn't stop at just one screening. The week after the premiere, The Bison's Legs was shown again at the Rijksmuseum van Oudheden during ArcheoNacht, their version of Museum Night. I gave three presentations in a smaller room, each time receiving very enthusiastic responses. Apparently, the film also resonated with complete strangers.
The following week, I visited Free Nature in Uden, an organization involved in wildlife management. At the same time, I had just finished three Master's courses, so after this whirlwind of activity, I experienced a bit of burnout and had to take two weeks to recover.
Now, I'm back on track, and new screenings are already on the horizon. During the premiere, the representative from Staatsbosbeheer immediately asked if I would attend their New Year's reception. The Hunebedcentrum in Drenthe expressed interest in a screening during the Christmas holidays, and even the Urgeschichtliches Museum in Blaubeuren—home to the Swabian flutes that inspired me—showed interest.
So it looks like The Bison's Legs might be going international soon!
And that sums up much of the planning for the coming period (see Planning). I'm going to showcase the film in as many places as possible, attract donors, and build my network. I plan to meet scientists and involve them in the next project. I'll be reaching out to museums and universities in France, Belgium, Germany, Spain, Italy, and even Croatia, the Czech Republic, and beyond.
With a bit of luck, once I finish my Master's in April, I'll be able to work remotely and travel across Europe, visiting all the prehistoric sites. So much lies ahead, and I'm incredibly excited.
The adventure has only just begun.
November 2024