Exclusive interview: Brandon Gotto

While some horror films unsettle through spectacle. Others disturb because they refuse to look away. With Inferno, Belgian filmmaker Brandon Gotto delivers the latter: a bruising, morally confrontational descent into real-world evil that still casts a long shadow over Europe.

Screening today at Black Sunday Film Festival, Inferno marks a decisive turning point in Gotto’s already uncompromising career. Following the unexpectedly luminous conclusion of his previous film Iris, the writer-director felt compelled to return to darkness – not for provocation, but out of necessity. Loosely inspired by the notorious Dutroux and Fourniret cases, Inferno confronts disappearances, institutional silence, and the systems that fail to protect the most vulnerable. It does so through the eyes of Mathilde, a young detective scarred by past abuse, whose off-the-books investigation pulls her into a psychological and moral labyrinth with no safe exit.

Gotto approaches this material with a rare combination of ferocity and restraint, guided as much by ethical responsibility as by cinematic ambition. Drawing visual inspiration from William Friedkin’s Cruising, Caravaggio’s chiaroscuro, and the raw physicality of old-school lighting techniques, Inferno rejects polish in favour of something harsher, more immediate, and profoundly unsettling.

We spoke to Brandon Gotto about returning to darkness after Iris, the responsibility of tackling national trauma, pushing cast and crew to emotional exhaustion in pursuit of truth, and why he believes Inferno represents a definitive “before and after” moment in his filmmaking journey.

Exclusive interview – Brandon Gotto, director of ‘Inferno’

You’ve described Inferno as being born out of a “visceral need” to confront darkness. Can you tell us about the moment or idea that first compelled you to start writing this story?

My previous film, Iris, ended on a rather luminous note; it was the first time one of my films had ever ended that way. As the editing was coming to an end and I was already thinking about my next project, I quickly knew that I wanted to return to darkness. Inferno is inspired by two horrific cases that nearly caused my country to implode. Thirty years later, the scar is still wide open. No one has truly recovered from it. As early as the age of ten, when teachers at school spoke to us about these cases, their details and their impact, I remember already thinking, “Why hasn’t anyone made a film about this?” I even think I said, “One day I will make a film about it.” But of course, I was young and did not truly understand the impact of these two cases. At the end of the summer of 2024, after finishing Iris, I felt that I had matured, that I was ready to take on something immensely dark. I needed it as a filmmaker.

Inferno touches on harrowing real-world parallels, particularly referencing cases like Dutroux and Fourniret. How did you navigate the challenge of handling such sensitive material with both artistic and ethical responsibility?

Indeed, the film is loosely inspired by the notoriously infamous Dutroux and Fourniret cases. Here in Belgium, this is very poorly regarded territory, I am walking on eggshells. Even though the film only alludes to these two cases, I am truly putting the rest of my filmography on the line with this project. But it is a duty of remembrance. Whether we like it or not, this is part of Belgium’s history, and I wanted to help ensure that it is never forgotten. When it comes to this subject, I am only the third filmmaker to tackle it since 1996, which is astonishing. Of course, this required great rigor: achieving a certain authenticity, showing enough for the film to be impactful, but not so much that it becomes morally questionable. It was an extraordinary exercise, especially in the editing process, where every choice mattered for the film’s credibility.

Mathilde, the film’s protagonist, is not only a witness to horror but a victim of it. How did you shape her journey to reflect both personal trauma and systemic failure?

In the early versions of the screenplay, Mathilde’s character had a much less developed and far less serious background, and as the story progressed, she gradually became a passive observer. I therefore chose to deepen her narrative arc, drawing inspiration from young women shattered by life who nevertheless show resilience in confronting their demons. This is something very present in today’s society, and as someone who greatly admires that strength, it felt natural for me to move in that direction. I believe the true turning point came when I discovered the first film inspired by the Dutroux case, released in 1998 and titled Pure Fiction. The story follows a young woman who was sexually assaulted in the past by child-kidnapping criminals and who believes she recognizes her attacker five years later. What follows is an obsessive quest to thwart the future plans of these criminals. That film allowed me to further explore Mathilde’s narrative arc and turn her into a fully realized cinematic character, a character who suffers, fights, overcomes obstacles, and ultimately sacrifices herself for her mission.

Your director’s statement mentions wanting to provoke without judging. How did you ensure that the film remained questioning rather than didactic, especially given the heavy subject matter?

As these are extremely sensitive subjects, the reception of the film is inevitably subject to each viewer’s moral threshold. Personally, I think that films dealing with such topics often approach them with a certain restraint, sometimes necessary, but one that only skims the surface of the core issues. With this film, I wanted to go further. I did not want to look away, but to confront the horror head-on so that the impact would be as strong as possible. This is a real-life subject that is deeply sensitive and yet often pushed aside because it is simply too horrifying to face. Things like this are happening all the time, and yet there is no real sense of urgency to act, particularly in Belgium, but in truth, this is the case almost everywhere. Some recent testimonies featured in documentaries on the subject are chilling. There is a world beneath our own in which these terrible things take place, and we are often not even aware of it. I hope that with Inferno, people will think about it and become more attentive, more willing to listen.

You’ve had a remarkably prolific few years, with Iris, Ida, and Pandæmonium all exploring psychological and emotional extremes. In what ways does Inferno represent an evolution of your voice as a filmmaker?

There will be a before and an after Inferno, for sure. It is my most ambitious film to date, both thematically and in terms of scale: resources, budget, cast, and locations. It also represents a new balance when it comes to authenticity. Each of my films shares the same recurring stylistic elements, but Inferno marks a clear threshold. It makes me want to explore human darkness even further in my future work. It also makes me want to stop creating overly polished camera shots and instead place myself, like a documentalist, in the midst of the action. It pushes me toward continuing to make films that are raw, untamed, and visceral.

The film’s atmosphere is described as psychologically labyrinthine, with no easy way out. What were some of your visual or tonal inspirations when crafting this sense of escalating unease?

One film in particular inspired the atmosphere and tension of Inferno: Cruising by William Friedkin. When you think about it, the story is somewhat similar. It follows a young cop (Al Pacino) who must infiltrate a world he does not know and throw himself into the lion’s den in order to find a killer. The atmosphere is realistic, grimy, almost sticky. Textures and physicality are brought to the forefront. I quickly knew that this film would be a major source of inspiration. There is also my approach to lighting. I am not particularly fond of the new cinematography standards that aim to light everything all the time, building technical ceilings, using white balloons, and so on. I prefer the old-school method: a single, motivated source and practical lights. That’s it. This gives the film a highly contrasted and uncommon atmosphere. Not being afraid to hide certain things in crushed blacks. Caravaggio’s paintings shaped my vision of cinematic light, as did Benoît Debie, Gaspar Noé’s cinematographer (Irréversible), whose technique has continued to inspire me since my very beginnings.

Inferno is your most realistic and grounded film to date. Did that shift in tone and aesthetic change the way you approached your collaboration with cast and crew, particularly your lead actress?

Yes, absolutely. Because I was seeking a certain level of authenticity, I pushed the work with the actors further and harder. I would have them do at least twenty takes in order to exhaust them and reach a state of complete release. On my end, to deliver a film that is more nervous than my previous work, I forbade myself from being tired or sitting down during the shoot. I also wanted a very tight schedule, long days, early starts, late finishes. I wanted everyone to experience a real intensity that mirrored the real events the film is inspired by.

You’ve said that Inferno is a “harsh gaze—but a necessary one.” What do you hope audiences carry with them once the credits roll?

Not to forget that these kinds of events are still happening, even as we speak. We need to be aware of them, to recognize the signs, and to listen. Evil is among us, even if the world has other priorities. We must remain conscious of that. Beyond this, I also believe the film is a tightly wound, fairly entertaining thriller that can draw the viewer into an intense story. That is also the film’s purpose: to dive into darkness, to hold one’s breath, and to emerge gasping for air.

Inferno is not a comfortable watch, nor is it meant to be. It is a film that demands attention, asks difficult questions, and insists on remembrance in a world too eager to move on. As Brandon Gotto makes clear, this is cinema as confrontation: a necessary gaze into the shadows we would rather ignore.
Screening today at Black Sunday Film Festival, Inferno stands as Gotto’s darkest, most ambitious work to date – a raw, tightly wound psychological thriller that grips, disturbs, and lingers long after the final frame. Whether audiences emerge shaken, angered, or reflective, one thing is certain: this is a film that will not be forgotten.