Following the world premiere of Crocodile at Berlinale, I spoke with Raymond Yusuff and Godwin Josiah, two founding members of The Critics, alongside Brettkelly, about a film that frantically traverses the previous seven years, while looking ahead to a possible bright future for these self-taught filmmakers. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

DOCUMENTARY: Starting seven years ago on YouTube with humble DIY sci-fi shorts, you now find yourselves at Berlinale with the world premiere of Crocodile. What is it like to mark that era on such a grand scale?

RAYMOND YUSUFF: The word “surprising” sums it up best. We’re still trying to understand why Pietra woke up one morning and decided to come to Nigeria and work on this project with us. It was a shock for us. Now we’re just grateful to have this story out there, because I think our lives and work make for a good story.

GODWIN JOSIAH: It’s a full-circle moment for us. We started The Critics out of love for the art of filmmaking. We simply did everything as it came to us. So when Pietra came up with the idea to make a documentary (and even while shooting Crocodile), it didn’t feel like we were doing a documentary. Presenting this film about our lives at a prestigious festival like the Berlinale shows that our work can be a source of inspiration for others. Instead of it being a recap, it rather feels like the beginning of something new, like a door that has opened up to us. We’re very excited to see what the future holds for this film and for our careers as filmmakers.

D: Godwin, you mentioned your shared love for cinema, which makes me curious: where did this love for film come from? What inspired The Critics to come together, collectivize, and pick up the camera?

GJ: We were all long-distance cousins who had never met in real life before. We knew of each other’s existence, but for most of our childhoods, we never actually met. When we did meet for the first time, we bonded over online mobile video games—we were teenage boys after all. That was our icebreaker. Over time, we started visiting each other and learned that we watched similar films growing up. We all had what we call a “decoder,” which basically gives you a list of channels that you could watch on TV. For us, it meant access to all kinds of films that inspired us. And that led us to pick up the camera ourselves. We shared an interest, we were family, and we suddenly found more fertile soil to become even more familiar with each other. That grew into what it is now.

D: Pietra, with A Flickering Truth (2015), you made a documentary about the endangered film heritage of Afghanistan. Meanwhile, films such as Maori Boy Genius (2011) underline the importance of preserving cultural heritage and language. Was this interest in the fragility of cultural production the impetus to travel to Nigeria and meet with The Critics?

PIETRA BRETTKELLY: I’d say that a throughline of my work revolves around creative processes in isolation, which is a reflection of my life here in Aotearoa, New Zealand. I’m active here in the regeneration of our indigenous language, Māori, which I’ve studied for a long time. It’s an investigation thatwhich raises a huge question: what are the mechanisms of culture? I explore that question through other people’s creativity—be it film, art, fashion, or music—while still having this strangely autobiographical connection to their work. 

I’m just fascinated by how other creatives express themselves, how they live, and how we all friggin’ survive in this world. As I was reading about the difference between Afrofuturism and African futurism, I stumbled upon an article about The Critics. I hadn’t seen any of their films, but I’m not the type of person to overanalyze. I would rather hop on a plane and go to wherever a person is and start from there. I research in front of the camera. That’s how I went to Nigeria, not knowing that it would take seven years to finish this film.

D: Given the fact that The Critics have always published videos that reveal your making-of-processes, you could say that documenting your life’s work was already there from the beginning. How did that dynamic get enhanced when Pietra arrived?

GJ: Unlike Pietra, there was a lot of overthinking on our part when we learned she wanted to make a film about us. You’re right that we were already familiar with revealing our creative processes. We were, however, less familiar with opening up about our private lives in front of the camera. So, we experimented a lot with finding the right setup for capturing the actual documentary footage. 

Initially, we hired an extra cameraperson outside of our crew. We tried that for a while, but at some point it didn’t feel like the right approach. Then COVID happened, and Pietra could no longer be physically present to film us, so we had to work out a new method. It led to the agreement that we would become the cinematographers and co-directors of our own documentary. That was not so easy at first, and I think everyone had their own distinct way of filming themselves. To me, that was particularly valuable, as it gave me more insight into the personalities of our collective. Even though I know these people and I grew up with them, it made me understand my brothers even more. It also taught us about a different way of filmmaking. I remember, for instance, how Pietra urged us to hold the shot for way longer. Prior to Crocodile, we always had to shoot quickly because we would run out of storage on our cameras, meaning we had to delete a lot of material. This data anxiety still sat in us when we were filming ourselves for this documentary.

D: I appreciate that Crocodile takes a non-conventional approach in its portrait of The Critics. You’re just in the flow of their images, their emotional headspace, and the vibe of their lives in the city. It’s a fittingly non-linear approach that does more justice to the material than a more boxed-in portrait would do. How did you find this laissez-faire structure?

PB: I’m not a traditional filmmaker by any means. I simply like to empower the subjects of my films and let them tell their own stories. What I was seeing in their material could be called “imperfect footage” for a traditional documentary, but to me it turned out to be perfect. The word that describes the film best is “restlessness.” Restlessness from growing up, for wanting to conquer the world, for wanting to be known internationally. It’s essentially a coming-of-age kind of restlessness that comes with being a teenager and wanting more from life.

GJ: That’s also the exact right word to describe the feeling of finally watching the documentary on a big screen. There was a sort of innocence you could see in our youth, an honest reflection of our lives. When you’re busy living, you tend to forget the things that inspire you to become the person that you are. For me, it was a privilege to look back on our humble beginnings. I felt truthful precisely because it wasn’t a traditional documentary. It’s a collection of nonfiction, fiction, drama, our lives, our parents, our city—all of it. Against the backdrop of our daily personal dramas, film was our release valve, making even our fictional genre films a reflection of our real lives. I think the film does justice to that.

RY: I just want to add that over the course of these seven years, Pietra’s filmmaking style and ours have kind of cross-pollinated each other. I was thinking how a lot of our sci-fi films used to be non-linear, and sometimes people would deem them as confusing. And then this documentary is also non-linear and even somewhat experimental. It’s a genuine reflection of all our work as artists.