For more than thirty years, the Belgian siblings have watched society’s edges with a steady, unflinching gaze. They stand among the world’s most honored filmmakers, earning the Cannes Palme d’Or along the way. Their signature remains a disciplined, restrained form, meticulously plotted narratives, and an exacting sense of rhythm. In their twelfth feature, Tori and Lokita, they deliver a gripping portrait of two sub-Saharan youths drawn into Liège’s criminal underworld to prove that their method still cuts deep and resonates with truth long after the credits roll.
What sparked this story?
LD: A decade ago, they encountered a troubling pattern: unaccompanied foreign minors vanishing without explanation. In democratic systems, laws and child protections exist on paper, yet deportation looms at eighteen for many young migrants. Some slip into the shadows to dodge removal, while an underground market lurks nearby ready to exploit them. When a body never surfaces, the truth becomes harder to grasp. The film steps into that fog, tracing the vanished paths and listening to the voices that remain, the ones that refuse to be erased.
JP.D.: The aim was to center the friendship between two sub-Saharan youths. Psychological studies suggest that loneliness in a new country deepens distress, and friendship can serve as a vital lifeline for survival. The filmmakers choose to follow the quiet, stubborn courage that rises when two young people find one another in a city that is simultaneously welcoming and wary. Their bond becomes a compass, guiding them through decisions that could either save them or pull them apart.
Tori and Lokita, and migration in its many forms, why does it endure?
LD: Because the lesson has not been fully learned. Political leaders often treat immigration as a problem to be managed through rules. Yet migration is an enduring human story; no culture grows in isolation without exchange. Immigrants do not come to take; they enrich. The law should offer more hospitality, more integration, and stronger education systems. The film adds texture to this debate by showing weathered streets, crowded shelters, and the small acts of kindness that keep hope alive. It invites viewers to see beyond headlines and recognize the people behind the statistics.
European responses to African migrants contrast with attitudes toward Ukrainian arrivals in recent years. What is your perspective?
JP.D.: The uneven treatment hints at racial bias, with Europe showing solidarity more readily toward white, Christian newcomers. Still, the European Union has shown genuine support for Ukrainians, a sign of a shared obligation to those harassed by tyranny. It would be naive to claim the lesson is complete, but it is a start. The next step is to acknowledge and address drownings at sea, the heartbreak of families waiting for news, and the systemic barriers that push people toward perilous journeys. The film foregrounds these realities without offering easy answers, choosing instead to illuminate the paths toward humane policy and compassionate governance.
The rise of the far right makes this challenge harder, surely.
LD: Rather than deliver moral sermons, the concern feels urgent. As a European, the growth of hate speech worries him. How can slogans gain traction in modern, prosperous democracies? The answer varies by country, but it is clear that the far right borrows symbols and tactics from other ideologies, attempting to forge community through shared xenophobia. The filmmakers refuse to sensationalize; they trace a thread from fear to action, showing how ordinary people can be drawn into cycles of hostility or choose to stand apart. The movie becomes a mirror for audiences, inviting reflection rather than judgment.
A recurring question is whether cinema can change things.
JP.D.: The film is dedicated to a French bakery owner who spoke out when his Guinean apprentice, just 18, faced deportation. Citizen support helped him stay, and today he is a respected baker. Stories like this matter; cinema can shift perceptions. Films may not rewrite laws, but they can challenge prejudice, reveal unseen consequences of policy, and spark conversations that lead to real change. The screen becomes a gathering place where people can confront fear, examine empathy, and imagine more just futures.
Many of the brothers’ films feature children. Is that a deliberate choice?
LD: Not a coincidence. The world is seen through a child’s eyes because children are often the most vulnerable, the most overlooked or exploited. A child’s pain demands acknowledgment without compromise or ideology. By centering young protagonists, the filmmakers give voice to those who typically vanish from the frame, insisting that their experiences deserve attention, care, and protection. The narrative voice of youth brings a directness that can cut through partisan noise and remind viewers of shared humanity.
Their cinema has helped inspire a generation of young directors who are creating Dardennian-inspired films. Does that encouragement trouble him or delight him?
JP.D.: The response is positive. They are influenced by the masters they admire, but the goal is to use those techniques to enrich new stories. A film that relies solely on imitation lacks soul; real work comes from weaving personal vision into the craft. The filmmakers celebrate craft while inviting fresh voices to join the dialogue. They see cinema as a living practice, always evolving as new voices, new experiences, and new challenges enter the room. The result is not nostalgia but a bridge—connecting the old masterful approaches to contemporary realities, and letting them speak in a language that resonates with today’s audiences.