Juan Palacios looks back at "As the Tide Comes In", the documentary he directed and lensed

The 27 inhabitants of the Danish Island of Mandø, in the Wadden Sea, are subject to the forces of climate change in the form of extreme weather events and flood risks. Yet, they stubbornly cling to their identity as islanders, as they have done for generations.

Where did the idea to make a documentary about this small Danish Island come from?

Juan Palacios: The first connection came through my previous film, Meseta Inland, shot in the heart of Spain on the Castilian plateau. A kind of sensory journey through the landscape, which I had the opportunity to show at a documentary festival in Copenhagen. That’s where I met Danish producers (Elk Films), who immediately suggested I do a project with a similar style on this unique island they knew well.
I must say, the island’s situation instantly spoke to me. It resonated with the themes I love and which underpin much of my artistic work—such as the boundaries between human culture and the forces of nature. So, I decided to dive into the project with them.
With the help of Sofie Husum Johannesen, an anthropologist who was immensely helpful in preparing and producing the film (she’s credited as co-director and executive producer), we began visiting the island and meeting its residents. Of course, at first, we had no idea what we would find there, but gradually, things began to take shape...

Is your main character Gregger the farmer, or is it the island itself?

JP: I always thought of the island as the main character of the film—as is the case with almost all my films. I realize that I always start with a place, an inhabited space, and then explore everything happening there—the interplay of natural and human elements.
You know, during our initial visits, Gregger immediately told us that there was no way we could film him or his family! But, little by little, they all got involved. Even though Denmark is a small country, there’s an enormous gap between rural and urban areas—the two have almost nothing in common in their ways of life and tend to look down on each other. Slowly, as they saw us repeatedly return and realized we weren’t exactly the stereotypical city folk, they began to accept us. Sofie spent several weeks on-site, meeting everyone and becoming part of their daily lives.
Interestingly, when we started filming, there were 27 inhabitants. Now, there are only 23...

The passing of time, as embodied by Mie’s character, is also a central element in the film.

JP: I’d say that, in terms of time, there are two overlapping or sometimes colliding timelines in the film. First, there’s a linear timeline that unfolds through certain characters, like the elderly lady Mie, who celebrates her 99^th and then her 100^th birthday.

Then, there’s a more circular chronology that recurs endlessly, such as the tides and floods. This chronology of the natural elements is more unpredictable—it’s almost a looming threat. We observe it, try to control it, but it feels like an endless cycle.

Your way of transitioning from one character or action to another—such as moving from the birdwatcher’s perspective to Gregger flying his drone—feels very fictionalized. It almost seems like it was staged!

JP: I’d be lying if I said everything was pre-written and that we simply captured all the shots on-site. Of course not! It’s a give-and-take process, where each observed element influences the direction and vice versa. For instance, I noticed the ornithologist cataloging birds with his telescope and Gregger using his drone to spot ducks—for hunting, in his case.
These visual cues gave me the idea to combine them into a sequence like the one you describe. I remember starting with the telescope and thinking it would be a fantastic tool to discover not just birds but other hidden aspects of the island, things you can’t see with your bare eyes. Through the back-and-forth of editing, we slowly constructed this sequence, which may seem highly scripted at first glance—but isn’t!

Some viewers might compare it to David Lynch’s The Straight Story. Was that an inspiration?

JP: I love that film, but I can’t say I specifically thought about it. Although, it’s true that the way characters are observed might have some similarities. However, The Straight Story is a Road Trip, which isn’t at all the case here—unless you consider it a peculiar Road Trip, going around in circles. If I had to name an influence, it would be Fire at Sea, by Gianfranco Rosi, a documentary shot on the island of Lampedusa during the 2010 migrant crisis. The subject is very different, but the approach to filming an island, just as we were, resonated with us during preproduction.

And what about the mysterious red laser that appears two-thirds into the film?

JP: That is indeed a Lynchian touch. The island still has a military testing zone where drones and laser-targeting systems are tested. That’s why you see, in a couple of the shots, some warning signs about lasers and risks for binocular users. It creates this eerie atmosphere—you’re in a calm place, but the background hum of drones feels out of place. It’s the kind of detail I like to include without overexplaining, adding a layer of mystery to the narrative.

What equipment did you use?

JP: For documentaries, especially when filming over a long period, you need equipment that’s always ready, so renting gear was out of the question. We used an Amira camera with a simple Angénieux 15-40mm zoom lens. As the shoot progressed, I realized I was using the 15mm focal length almost exclusively. Of course, the choice of 2.35:1 ration has a lot to do with it, because you always need to be a little wider with Super35 than with a real scope in terms of focal length. But it wasn’t just aesthetic—it let me get closer to the characters, physically and emotionally.
Especially in this kind of documentary situation. This proximity, paired with the wide-angle lens, transformed the dynamic with the people I was filming and became the style of the film.
Even if it sometimes created a bit of distortion on the edges of the image. The island also became much more present in each short focal length shot. As I said at the beginning, it’s the place first, and the people who live there.

The 2.35:1 ratio seems like a natural choice. Was it?

JP: Surprisingly, framing the island in that aspect ratio wasn’t easy. The island is so flat, with a lot of horizontal lines, and almost no vertical lines, that it erases any sense of depth in the image. I constantly had to think about how to compose each shot. On the other hand, shooting on an island was a blessing when the light was good. Everything became beautiful!

You spoke about the passage of time, as shown in those two birthday scenes of the old woman, where it feels like time stands still. Everything matches perfectly from one year to the next.

JP: Those two birthday scenes were shot in exactly the same way. A slow, very frontal zoom in, in the same location. And we were fortunate to have the same natural lighting conditions. That was really part of creating that cyclical feeling I mentioned earlier.
But one of the most challenging things to capture on camera was definitely the tides.
For those shooting, you set yourself up on a dry spot and wait patiently for the tide to rise. The tricky part is that everything happens very slowly at first, and when the ideal moment comes—for instance, to do a panning shot of the water rising—you only get one chance. Next thing you know, your feet are in the water, and it’s time to head back to shore and wait for the next tide.

What do you take away from these people?

JP: I really like this phrase Gregger’s mother says to his father at one point: “Don’t worry, it’s just a little gust of wind”, while talking about the arrival of a major storm announced on the radio. It’s a phrase that his son later repeats to his dog toward the end of the film, once again creating a sort of loop. I think this phrase speaks volumes about their very different way of seeing things compared to the rest of the world—a kind of optimism despite the objective pessimism of their situation.
I also believe we tried to provide the most authentic portrayal of these people, without betraying them but also without censoring anything. For example, the sequence where Gregger talks to his son about women and ducks is a single, uninterrupted shot. We didn’t cut or create an editing effect to change reality. In fact, I realize that the guiding principle—especially during editing—was constantly asking myself: "Will I be able to go back there and show them this film with pride?"

Did that happen?

JP: Yes, it did. For the occasion, a small, wooden countryside cinema was set up. All the island’s inhabitants were there, and I remember how nervous I was that evening!
I awaited their reaction with a lot of apprehension. In the end, many of them came to congratulate me, and even Gregger—who isn’t used to saying much—confided in me in his gruff tone: “Not bad!” And if for him it’s ‘not bad’, well, for me, it means it’s really great!

(Interview by François Reumont for the AFC, and translated from French by Chloé Finch)