Covering Media

NOBODY'S PERFECT. Copyright © Palladio Film. All rights reserved.

NoBody's Perfect (2008/2010)

Opened: 04/16/2010 Limited

Trailer: Click for trailer

Websites: Home

Genre: Documentary

Rated: Unrated

Synopsis

NoBody's Perfect follows Niko von Glasow as he looks for eleven people who, like him, were born disabled due to the disastrous side-effects of Thalidomide, and who are prepared to pose for a book of photos. And to pose naked -- to allow those who regularly throw furtive glances at Thalidomiders and other physically disabled people, to take a good, long look. In the process Niko discovers many fascinating characters who work in such diverse areas as politics, the media, sport, astrophysics and acting. Characters who have learned to live with their disability to an impressive level of "normality".

With a darkly humorous touch, and no deference to political correctness, NoBody's Perfect explores the specific problems which these twelve extraordinary people have faced during childhood, adolescence and adulthood, and shows them reacting with curiosity, enthusiasm or (like Niko himself) horror towards the photography project. The final results of the photoshoot -- in itself a frightening ordeal -- give the models entirely new perspectives on themselves. A public exhibition of large-scale prints of the photos provokes surprising reactions from passers-by.

Niko tries to confront the company responsible for Thalidomide -- Chemie Grunenthal -- and its owners the Wirtz family, with his photos. These attempts are not met with any response at all. Half a century after the Thalidomide scandal, one of Germany's most affluent families is still able to close its eyes to the images in front of them...

Director's Statement

Childhood and Thalidomide

During my childhood my parents did everything they could to banish the dark side of my disability from our lives. Within the family it wasn't an issue -- there I was normal. And I went to a wonderful, tolerant, anti-authoritarian school, where most pupils had short arms or legs, and our few non-disabled classmates were the "different" ones. So my life in Germany, at home and at school, protected me from having to confront my disability.

When I was 10 we went on holiday to Italy, where my parents were no longer able to predict and prevent other people's reactions to my short arms. Children pointed, stared and asked questions. A few were spiteful, most were just curious. It didn't matter which they were; their interest showed me I was different, and I didn't like it at all.

Even today it's mostly children who remark on my appearance, and often children of liberal upper-middle-class parents. Perhaps they're just not brought up to respect the privacy of others -- their Mummies and Daddies are proud of their Little Darlings' curiosity, delighted that they show an interest in everything, and that they're so self-confident in their dealings with adults. It doesn't occur to them to teach their children that sometimes it's better to keep one's thoughts to oneself.

I have a daughter and a son, and having my own children has allowed me to see that their interest in my disability is entirely natural. They've asked me questions and I've explained everything. Nowadays they forget that I'm disabled, as long as I forget about it too. The issue arises maybe once a day, when their old dad gets an itch in some embarrassing place which he can't scratch discreetly. Otherwise they see me as a complete, unique person. Of course they know I have flaws, but these don't have anything to do with my short arms. I'm their father, and our love for each other is unconditional.

A Crazy Project

What has possessed me -- a balding, big-bellied German Thalidomide man -- to want to become a nude photographic model?

I look like a pink, tubby, bespectacled penguin, and because of my little arms I can't even bring myself to take my shirt off on the beach. And yet I've persuaded myself and eleven other first-time models, who share my disability, to strip naked and pose for me.

The idea was to take a series of honest, beautiful photographs which I could exhibit, and put into a film and a book. So I had to find my unwitting victims and use my non-existent charm to persuade them to take part in this crazy project. And I had to find the courage to expose myself, look at myself, and accept the truth that NoBody's Perfect.

Up till the point in my life where the film starts, I'd been happy to avoid confronting my disability and body image. I hadn't addressed disability in my filmmaking, and I'd been determined not to think of myself as different from everyone around me. So what if I can't do press-ups, tie my shoelaces or carry pianos up flights of stairs? The missionary position isn't the only way to make love. I could get through life just fine without these things.

But a fact I couldn't deny is that when people see me, the first thing they respond to is the way I look. Even if they don't say anything, they react. Some stare, but most look away politely, determined not to show they've noticed, or hide their embarrassment by violently scratching imaginary itches on their noses. And I could hardly blame them. I've always been deeply uncomfortable about it myself. At least my younger days of cape-wearing self-consciousness are far behind me now, and I and my short arms are a familiar sight on the film festival circuit and on the streets near my home. But I know many disabled people who are reluctant or unable to go out in public, for fear of the disgusted, confused, amused or pitying stares they'll encounter. And these are the people I want to turn into nude models!

Many years ago, I had the idea of taking a series of beautiful nude photos of disabled people. My psychiatrist advised me only to do it if I was prepared to strip for the camera myself. This horrified me into dropping the idea, and it might have stayed dropped forever except that the German TV company WDR invited me to make a personal, original and funny documentary about people affected by Thalidomide. I was far from enthusiastic. I'm a serious (by which I mean grumpy, temperamental and unpredictable) filmmaker who values his privacy and does his best to forget his disability. Why should I want to make a film about Thalidomide, and how the hell would I make it funny?

But the invitation must have come at a point in my life where I was realising I couldn't -- or shouldn't -- keep denying my disability and distancing myself from those who share it. If I want people to stop staring, maybe I have to let them get it out of their systems and give them something to stare at. And force myself to do some good hard staring too.

It wasn't just a question of taking the photos. I had to exhibit them, and record the reactions of the art world and the general public, as well as of the models themselves. Then I wanted to produce a book of the photos -- but would anyone buy it? Anyway, first things first -- I needed my models.

Thalidomide was sold in almost every country of the world. At least 10,000 babies were affected worldwide, of whom 4000 died before reaching their first birthdays. The drug was made by a German company, Chemie Grunenthal, and around 5000 German Thalidomide babies were born -- I'm one of the surviving 2,800. As Germany and the UK were two of the highest-affected countries, and as I live and work in both, these are the places where I based the project.

The Search for Models

I started my search among my former classmates from my school for disabled children in Cologne. I was amazed that only two turned me down. Everyone seemed to understand the importance of the project from a personal perspective, and as an aesthetic and political statement. My years of filmmaking must have made me good at persuading others to do brave and foolhardy things for no money -- within a week I had all my models. I met them, got to know them, and tried to help them over their uncertainty and nervousness. And I encouraged each model to choose a person, animal or object to accompany them in their photos.

This is a story told in pictures. The pictures in the exhibition, and on the cinema screen, portray people who've succeeded in a hostile world. Living proof that beauty can lie in imperfection. These pictures speak of strength, integrity and dignity, which often contrast with the harsh reality of the lives, struggles, doubts and fears behind the images.

I show each of my models as an individual hero, and bring them together into a group which, at the end of the film, presents a strong, triumphant and unified statement to the world. The film and its images should provoke exploration of the notion that nobody is perfect, and that by looking with honesty at our own imperfections and idiosyncrasies we get to know ourselves better, and allow room for spiritual growth.

The Heroes

First, there's Stefan Fricke, who as a child he thought he was a lion. Instead, he grew up to be an astrophysicist. We visit the planetarium together and talk about time and space. Stefan has very short arms and legs, and is almost spherical; his appearance and mine make our discussion with some of our fellow models about the concept of beauty especially unusual. Stefan's Vietnamese wife left him, leaving only some origami birds behind. Of all the Thalidomiders I've met so far, he seems to be most accepting of, and at peace with, his situation. Sitting serenely among the paper birds, he comes across to me like a little ballshaped Buddha.

Sigrid Kwelle is a lesbian tango dance instructor who lives in Berlin and paints in oils. This would be a peculiar enough CV for any woman, let alone one with very short arms. Sigrid is very active in the field of women's rights, especially for disabled women.

Mat Fraser is a British actor and writer who toured the UK with his show "Thalidomide!! -- a musical". Some of my models are uncertain, reluctant -- Mat can't wait to thrust his genitals and his political views at me. He challenges and bickers with me constantly, and makes no secret of giving himself a helping hand right before his shoot so that everything looks as big as possible for the camera.

Doris Pakendorf is in the middle of a divorce. She smokes and drinks too much, but inside she's a true lady. Her pose has a sculptural elegance as she holds a wine glass thoughtfully between the toes of her left foot.

Andreas Meyer is an intellectual, a Contergan activist whom I find rather stiff at first, but he has all the facts and figures of the Contergan scandal at his fingertips. He says that Grunenthal's head chemist started his career experimenting on Jews in the concentration camp at Krakow. After sharing a few beers, Andreas and I become very close and together we plan to found an underground Contergan terrorist movement. The morning after, heads pounding, it doesn't look like we'll do this after all -- or will we....?

Sofia Plich was a social worker, and was unemployed for many years. She dreams of being an actress, and of flying. In the build-up to her shoot, worrying about her appearance, she comments that gravity has taken its toll on all of us now that we're middle-aged. So for her photo, I ask her to jump, so I can show her in mid-flight, defying gravity.

Theo Zavelberg is a gardener, a man of nature, with a face like an ancient oak tree. Shy and reserved, he hides behind a rose bush for his photo.

Kim Morton, from Belfast, has been a professional singer, author, and Mayor of her district council. She staged a hunger strike, which won higher compensation for British victims of Thalidomide -- three to four times as much as her German counterparts. She brings a photo of her son to keep her company in her session -- he's a soldier in Afghanistan. She's one of six sisters, and they've never seen each other topless, let alone naked. Despite her personal and political strength, posing naked for me is an intimidating challenge.

World-class dressage rider Bianca Vogel knows exactly what her prop will be -- her beloved 800 kilo horse, Roquefort. I can't say no to this beautiful, intelligent lady, but how the hell are we going to squeeze the huge beast into the studio? In the end I had to compromise the searing honesty of the photos and resort to digital trickery.

Then came Fred Dove, a broadcaster and presenter on the BBC World Service and one of the loveliest men I've ever met.

Petra Uttenwei Ler, from Stuttgart veiled herself secretively for her photo. Her great charm and talent for flirting left me almost speechless. Just as well I've been happily married for twenty eight years!

And now it's my turn: Niko von Glasow. My prop is indeed something very dear to me -- my lively, cheeky son Mandel. He has no interest at all in my little arms; he's far more amused by being asked to pose alongside his naked father. Like a happy little Oedipus, he points and laughs at my willy, and makes the ordeal a whole lot more bearable than it would otherwise have been.

When the photo shoots were finished I invited everyone to a big party, a short-limbed Last Supper, where we relaxed, exchanged stories and got happily drunk together.

Has the experience changed me at all? When it was over, I went with Mandel to Dover Beach, where I took off my Tshirt and we ran into the sea. In the past, I would have been bothered by people gawping at my short arms -- now, I was only worried about the chilly English drizzle which fell onto the waves, and onto my skin.