How films travel—and why most don’t it—is not a mystery. It’s a system.

Before a film reaches an audience, it has already passed through a series of invisible filters—development labs, producers, sales agents, programmers, and institutional networks. By the time it appears at a major festival, its trajectory is often less accidental than it seems.

For Bastian Meiresonne, this process is neither abstract nor neutral. It is something he has navigated for decades

Bastian Meiresonne has built his career inside the circuits he now interrogates. A longtime specialist in Asian cinema, he has worked across criticism, curation, and filmmaking, serving as artistic director of the Vesoul International Film Festival of Asian Cinemas and programming for festivals such as Black Movie in Geneva, Busan, and QCinema. Over the years he has shaped retrospectives, curated spotlights on lesser‑seen national cinemas, and advised institutions across Europe and Asia—making him one of the most persistent, hands-on mediators of how Asian films circulate in the West.

What emerges from his conversation is not simply a reflection on programming, but a clear-eyed view of how cinema circulates—and where it gets blocked.

From Passion to Responsibility

Meiresonne’s relationship with cinema did not begin professionally. It began with obsession.

“I was binge-watching films as a child—and I never stopped. That curiosity is still there.”

Over time, that passion moved through different forms—criticism, filmmaking, writing—before settling into programming. But, he suggests, programming is where cinema becomes something else entirely.

“You start with the desire to share what you love. But very quickly, you realise it cannot stay personal. You have to think about your audience—what they expect, and how you can expand that.”

This shift—from personal taste to public responsibility—is central to his thinking. Programming is not simply selection. It is meditation.

The Problem Is Not Exposure. It’s Expectation.

Contrary to common assumptions, European audiences are not unfamiliar with Asian cinema. The issue lies elsewhere.

“In France, audiences have been exposed to Asian cinema for decades. That’s not the challenge. The challenge is breaking patterns.”

Those patterns, he explains, are not accidental. They are shaped over time by distribution systems that condition audiences toward specific forms, influencing what viewers expect from cinema.

“You mostly see two types of films—slow-paced arthouse or extreme genre cinema. That becomes the idea of what Asian cinema is.”

Anything outside that framework risks resistance.

“If I show a Mongolian film without landscapes—just a city story—people are confused. It doesn’t match what they expect Mongolia to be.”

Programming, then, becomes an act of gradual disruption.

“You cannot reject expectations. You have to build trust—and then slowly expand it.”

Who Gets to Travel

If programming shapes perception, circulation shapes visibility. And here, Meiresonne is notably direct.

“Some films are made to travel. They already belong to networks—producers, sales agents, institutions. They know how the system works.”

The implication is clear: visibility is not only about quality.

Major festivals, he notes, often rely on these established circuits:

“You see the same directors, the same producers. It creates continuity—but it limits space.”

For filmmakers outside these networks, the challenge is structural-affecting diverse voices differently and highlighting systemic inequalities that need addressing.

“It’s not just about making a good film. It’s about knowing where to send it, who to talk to, and how to position it.”

And yet, he resists total pessimism:

“Strong voices don’t disappear. But they don’t always get seen at the right moment.”

Programming as Encounter

For Meiresonne, programming does not end with selection. It extends into the encounter between the film and the audience.

“Without audiences, there is no festival.”

His approach is grounded in proximity—standing in queues, speaking directly with viewers, and observing reactions in real time-making the audience feel valued and connected.

“I try to stay close to them. Before, after, during. That’s how you understand what works—and what doesn’t.”

This proximity informs how he frames films.

“An introduction should not repeat the catalogue. It should give context—historical, cultural, political. But you must be careful. You cannot control how people see a film.”

Meaning, he suggests, should not be imposed.

“The real exchange happens afterwards—when you discuss the film together.”

Taste, Conditioned

The conversation inevitably turns toward streaming—not as disruption alone, but as conditioning.

“Streaming has changed access. You can watch films from everywhere instantly. That didn’t exist before.”

But access, he cautions, is not the same as understanding. Streaming platforms condition viewers by presenting a limited, curated version of cinema, shaping perceptions and expectations.

“What you see on platforms is often a limited version of a country’s cinema. It’s not the full picture.”

Worse, it risks standardisation:

“It’s often the same stories—just adapted to different countries.”

This creates a new kind of audience—more open, but also more directed.

Festivals After Authority

There was a time when festivals defined cinema. That authority, Meiresonne suggests, has weakened.

“In the past, being in Cannes meant something very direct. People would go to see those films.”

Today, the relationship is more diffuse.

“Festivals are still important—but they don’t shape film culture in the same way.”

The shift is not a collapse, but a redistribution of influence.

“Maybe We Need to Break the System”

If there is a moment where Meiresonne’s tone sharpens, it is here.

“The system risks becoming too closed.”

His critique is not aggressive, but it is unmistakable.

“We rely too much on the same networks, the same names.”

And then, almost casually, he proposes something more radical:

“Maybe we need to break some of these systems. Not completely—but enough to bring new perspectives.”

It is not a slogan. It is a recognition that renewal requires disruption—even within institutions that resist it.

What Remains

Despite everything—networks, conditioning, institutional inertia—Meiresonne returns to something far less structured.

“It always starts with love. You see a film, and something stays with you. You cannot always explain it.”

He calls it sensibility—a quality that resists definition but remains essential.

“Even if a film is not perfect, you feel that the filmmaker has something to say. That’s what matters.”

In a system governed by strategy, circulation, and positioning, this insistence feels almost out of place.

But perhaps that is precisely the point.