Director | Robin de Puy
DOP | Maarten van Rossem
Editor | Annelien van Wijnbergen

1st AD | Ina van Beek
Producer | Maruan Hassan
Location | Jan Ruinard
2nd Camera | Gerbert Floor
1st AC | Gijsbrecht den Engelse
2nd AC | Jeroen Horstink
Recordist | Jaap Sijben
Sounddesigner | Melcher Meirmans
Gaffer | Uwe Kuijpers
Best Boy | Joran van Wijnen Best Boy | Davey Wagemakers
Makeup Artist | Sandra Govers
Assistant makeup artist | Vera Dirkx
Styling | Lidewij Merckx
Grip | Frans Leiwakabessy
Grip | Tommie Janssen

Talent | Zoe
Talent | Harold Luya
Talent | Tjalling de Leeuw
Talent | Lisette Ros
Talent | Hedwig
Talent | Henk

Styling: Majid Karrouch
Make up and Hair: Laura Yard

“The longer I do not travel, the more I turn to the place where I live. I see how my new environment takes care of me. How the baker and the green­grocer bring my groceries to my doorstep every Saturday morning. How all kinds of people call this their village, their neighborhood, their home. I see families who have lived here for generations, I see refugees, outcasts and graduates, I see urban diversity mixed with a small-town state of mind.”

— Robin de Puy

Robin de Puy (b. 1986) has lived for several years in Wormer, a small village surrounded by water just to the north of Amsterdam. She is fascinated by the American countryside, and during the recent lockdown discovered that her new environment proves to be very universal, with the same sort of local small-town icons that she has often encountered during her travels through the rural landscapes of America.

For example, she meets an eleven-year-old shaman who shows her around barefoot in forbidden territory, she drives around with four giggling brothers in the back seat, and she meets a palm reader who immediately gives her the keys to his house. Dozens of encounters follow and, slowly, not only a photo book is created but also a world in which she starts to feel at home.

31,7 x 24,3 cm
140 pages
Hardcover
Bilingual edition English-Dutch
ISBN 978 94 6388 789 2

Presale, signed copy: Hannibal Books

I met Chris in 2015 during my 8000 mile trip through America. He was only 8 years old and told me everything about killer cats. We sneaked through the woods and every little sound awakened a new killer cat story. He loved telling stories but - most of all - he loved being in his imaginary world with someone else. In stead of hearing this was all fake, he just wanted someone who realized this was real to him.

Chris is growing up with his grandma and grandpa. His parents died in car crash when he was very little. His mom was pregnant.
He never told me about his parents. His grandparents did, but he didn’t. He did talk to me though. Especially about his ‘fascination’ about killer cats.
Just like every other child he lives in his own imaginary world, but unfortunately his world isn’t safe. There is a constant threat make him feel unsafe.
But he knows how to survive.

Last year, just before Covid said hi, I visited him. Again. And within minutes he took me on a field trip and shared all his (new) discoveries about these cats.
So much love for this kid.

Killer Cats
Director: Robin de Puy
DOP: Maarten van Rossem
Model: Chris
Editor: Annelien van Wijnbergen
Soundmixage: Gijs Stollman
Grading: Maarten van Rossem

Series about young adults during Covid-19.

Director: Robin de Puy
DOP: Maarten van Rossem
Editor: Annelien van Wijnbergen
Recordist: Jaap Sijben
Sounddesign: Melcher Meirmans
Grading: Maarten van Rossem
MUAH: Yokaw
Assistant: Jeroen Horstink
Cliënt: CameraNu

Producer: Robin de Puy / Maruan Hassan
Location: Houtrustkerk Den Haag, Depot Boijmans van Beuningen, Het Nieuwe Instituut Rotterdam.

Full video: youtube.

“I grew up in a family hotel. The hotel has always been a safe place for me. In fact, it was the first place where I was in charge. A place that meant “in transit” for many, but “home” to me.

I remember the man who would only drink Jagermeister from a round bottle, the square one was no good. I remember the man who - after drinking a few too many Duvels - got trapped in the shower cabin and panicked asking for help. I remember another man who had tried to turn the shower cabin into a sitting bathtub. He had stuffed the drain with washcloths, which had flooded the shower cabin, resulting in a leak in the restaurant.

I remember wonderful stories from fascinating guests, but I also remember exhausting ones from guests who were thrilled to have finally found someone they could catapult their tales at. I always kept smiling. Whenever I smile, everyone thinks I’m happy.

I remember freshly pressed sheets and the smell of beeswax on the marble floor. I remember the warm, damp bathrooms of newly departed guests.
The hotel was also the place where I had watched someone die in the hands of my mother, for wanting to stop the endless noise in his head with a nail gun. It was where Polish workers used to scale their self-caught fish. And where my bullied underage classmate had booked a room with someone who was not was her father, and whose bloody blankets I had to change afterward.

Hotel rooms and motel rooms are still places I cherish. Wherever I am in the world, no matter how beautiful, wide, and breathtaking the surroundings might be: the safest and most pleasant place will always be a motel room for me.
For a brief moment, you are in a strange place with unfamiliar smells, in a bubble that is yours alone. Nobody knows you. Could that be why there are so many stories hidden within the four walls of a room? Do all boundaries disappear, does shame dissipate, do we dare to be ourselves here even when there is a chance that someone might be watching?

MOTEL is an ode to motel and hotel life.

Over the past few weeks, I have spoken to dozens of motel owners, cleaners, and receptionists.

 A motel owner from Raton, New Mexico was not very keen on sharing his stories with me. “What’s in it for me?” But he casually pinpointed the significance of motels:

“You know, you have to realize that we are probably the sole representative for a visitor of our community, because they stay with us and probably contact really no one else, except the gas station man, or food. In fact, we have the responsibility to make sure we can help people, be their friend. Whatever their needs are. We are connected.”

And that is exactly what it was like for me, and what still rings true. A motel - or a hotel - is a place where someone will always be there to provide a sympathetic ear when you need one, regardless of your ideas, views, or opinions. A motel is an inexhaustible source of stories, a place where you can be curious, where you can withdraw or instead reveal. A place where your life begins or perhaps, ends.”

Watch and experience the online performances in March 2021 24/7 on demand in the NITE Hotel.