Chantal Akerman: The Life Story Behind Belgium's Groundbreaking Filmmaker

Chantal Akerman made films that most directors would never dare to make. She pointed her camera at a woman peeling potatoes, at a woman waiting for a letter, at a corridor that seemed to go on forever, and she held the shot until the audience began to see what she saw: that ordinary life is full of meaning, and that a woman’s daily work is worthy of cinema. Her masterpiece, Jeanne Dielman, is more than three hours long, and almost nothing dramatic happens in it. Yet today it is called one of the greatest films ever made. That is the power of Chantal Akerman. She changed what cinema could be.

She was born in Brussels in 1950, the daughter of a mother who had survived the Holocaust. She saw a film by Jean-Luc Godard when she was fifteen, and she decided at once that she would make films. She left film school, she went to New York with almost no money, and she learned by doing. She made films about women, about mothers and daughters, about travel, about home, and about the weight of the past. She made them slowly, carefully, and in her own way, and she never changed her way to please the market.

Her life was not easy. She struggled with money, with health, and with sadness, and she died in Paris in 2015, at the age of sixty-five. But her work has only grown since then. Today, film schools teach her films, festivals honour her, and young directors call her one of their great teachers. Her story is the story of a woman who saw cinema differently, and who had the courage to film what she saw.

A Daughter of Brussels and of Survival

Chantal Akerman was born on 6 June 1950 in Brussels. Her mother, Natalia, was a Polish Jew who had survived the Holocaust, and her father, Jacques, was a Belgian businessman. The shadow of the war was in the home, even though it was rarely spoken about. Natalia had lost family in the camps, and she carried that loss quietly. Chantal grew up knowing that her mother had lived through something terrible, and that the past was never fully past. That knowledge shaped her films, which are full of mothers, daughters, and the silence between them.

As a girl, she was not a typical student. She was restless, she was curious, and she did not fit easily into school. But she loved the cinema. When she was fifteen, she saw Pierrot le Fou, a film by Jean-Luc Godard, and it changed her life. She later said that the film made her want to make films herself. It was not the story that moved her. It was the freedom of it, the sense that a film could be made in a new way, and that a young person could find a voice in cinema.

Brussels in the 1960s was a city of rain and of quiet streets, but it was also a city where a young person could dream. Chantal dreamed of films, and she dreamed of leaving. She wanted to see the world, and she wanted to make films that were honest about women’s lives. Those two dreams, travel and honesty, would guide her for the next fifty years.

Her family did not fully understand her choice, but they did not stop her. She was determined, and determination was something she had in great supply. She would need it, because the road she chose was hard, and it was lonely, and it asked her to keep going when almost no one was watching.

Leaving School and Finding Cinema

As a young woman, Akerman enrolled at INSAS, the film school in Brussels, but she left after a short time. The school taught a traditional way of making films, and she wanted something else. She wanted to make films her own way, with long shots, with real time, and with the patience to watch a person live. She did not want to learn rules she would only have to break. So she left, and she began to learn by making films herself.

In 1971, she moved to New York, with very little money. She worked in odd jobs, she lived cheaply, and she made short films. New York in the early 1970s was a city of experimental film, and she found people who understood what she was trying to do. She watched films, she talked with other young filmmakers, and she developed her style: the camera stays still, the shot lasts a long time, and the audience must look, really look, at what is in front of them.

Her early short films showed her talent. She filmed herself, she filmed the city, and she filmed the small details of daily life. Those films were not shown in big cinemas. They were shown in small rooms, to small audiences, but the people who saw them remembered them. They saw a filmmaker who was not afraid of boredom, and who believed that boredom, watched carefully, becomes attention, and attention becomes understanding.

She returned to Brussels, and she kept working. She had no money, and she had no fame, but she had a clear idea. She would make films about women, about the home, and about time. That idea would soon produce one of the most important films in the history of cinema.

Je tu il elle and the First Features

In 1974, Akerman made her first feature film, Je tu il elle, known in English as I, You, He, She. The film is about a young woman, played by Akerman herself, who waits in her room, who travels, and who meets a man and a woman. It is a quiet, bold film, and it speaks openly about a woman’s desire. At the time, that openness was rare, and it shocked some people. But it also showed that Akerman was a filmmaker who would not hide what she wanted to say.

The film was made with almost no money, and it was shot in black and white. It is slow, it is spare, and it is deeply personal. It tells the audience that Akerman’s cinema will not be like other cinema. It will be slow, it will be honest, and it will ask the viewer to pay attention. Those who did pay attention saw a new kind of filmmaker, one who trusted the audience to think and to feel.

Je tu il elle was the preparation for the film that would change everything. Akerman had learned how to hold a shot, how to film a room, and how to let time pass on screen. She was ready to make a film about a woman’s daily life, and to make it with a patience that no one had ever tried before. That film was Jeanne Dielman, and it would become her masterpiece.

The years of struggle had taught her to work with very little, and to make that little enough. She did not need big stars or big budgets. She needed a camera, a room, and a woman willing to be watched. That simplicity became her strength, and it is the reason her films still feel fresh today.

Jeanne Dielman and a Masterpiece of Daily Life

In 1975, Chantal Akerman made Jeanne Dielman, 23, quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles. The film is more than three hours long, and it follows a widow, played by Delphine Seyrig, through three days of her life. She cooks, she cleans, she bathes her son, she takes a bath, and she receives a man in her home each afternoon to earn money. The camera watches her in long, still shots, in real time, without music and without drama. Nothing is explained, and nothing is hurried.

When the film was first shown, many people did not know what to think. Some found it boring. Others found it revolutionary. Slowly, the second view won. Critics and filmmakers began to understand what Akerman had done. She had taken a woman’s daily work, the work that cinema had always ignored, and she had shown it with the seriousness it deserved. Peeling potatoes, making soup, and shining shoes were not small things. They were a life, and a life is worth three hours of cinema.

Jeanne Dielman became one of the most famous and most studied films in the world. Film schools teach it, books are written about it, and directors call it one of the great works of cinema. In a major poll of critics in 2022, it was named the greatest film of all time. That honour came many years after it was made, and it showed that Akerman had been far ahead of her time. She had seen what others could not see, and she had filmed it with patience and with love.

The film also made Delphine Seyrig, already a great actress, into an icon of serious cinema. Her performance is quiet and exact, and it carries the whole film. Together, Akerman and Seyrig created a portrait of a woman that had never been seen before: a woman alone in her home, doing her work, and slowly, quietly, falling apart.

New York, Letters, and the Films That Followed

After Jeanne Dielman, Akerman continued to make films in her own way. In 1977, she made News from Home, a film about her time in New York. The camera shows the city: streets, subways, and crowds, in long, slow shots. Over the images, Akerman reads letters from her mother in Brussels. The letters are full of love and worry, and they speak about daily life, about money, and about coming home. The film is a portrait of a daughter far from home, and of a mother who waits for her.

News from Home is one of her most loved films, because it speaks to anyone who has ever lived far from home. The city is big and lonely, and the mother’s voice is close and warm. The two do not meet, but they live together in the film, and that is the film’s beauty. It shows that home is not only a place. It is a voice, a letter, and a memory.

She made many other films in the years that followed, including Les Rendez-vous d’Anna in 1978, about a woman travelling through Europe, and Toute une nuit in 1982, about a night in Brussels. In 1986, she made Golden Eighties, a musical about a shopping mall, which showed a lighter, more playful side of her work. She also made documentaries, including films about the American South, about Eastern Europe, and about her own mother.

Each film was different, but they all shared her style: long takes, careful framing, and a deep attention to people and places. She did not repeat Jeanne Dielman. She kept exploring, and she kept finding new ways to film the world.

A Mother, a Daughter, and the Last Films

In her later years, Akerman’s films became more personal. Her mother, Natalia, was growing old, and Akerman filmed her with tenderness. In 2015, she made No Home Movie, a film about her mother in her final years. It is a difficult film to watch, because it shows a woman losing her strength, and a daughter watching it happen. But it is also a film full of love. Akerman filmed her mother cooking, talking, and sitting in her flat, and she kept the camera close, as if she did not want to look away.

Her mother died in 2014, and the loss hit Akerman hard. She had made films about mothers and daughters for her whole career, and now the mother at the centre of her life was gone. No Home Movie was her way of saying goodbye, and it was also her way of keeping her mother close. The film was shown at festivals, and it moved audiences deeply, because it spoke about something everyone understands: the loss of a parent, and the love that remains.

Akerman’s health was fragile in her later years, and she spoke openly about her sadness and her struggles. She was a person who felt deeply, and her films show that depth. She did not hide her pain. She turned it into art, and she gave it to the audience with honesty. That honesty is one of the reasons her work is so respected.

She died in Paris on 5 October 2015, at the age of sixty-five. The news was a shock to the film world, and tributes came from everywhere. Filmmakers, critics, and audiences spoke of her as one of the great directors of her time, a woman who had changed cinema and who had never compromised.

The Legacy of a Filmmaker Who Saw Differently

Chantal Akerman’s legacy has only grown since her death. Her films are now taught in film schools around the world, and young directors study her long takes and her way of filming daily life. She showed that a film does not need fast action or big drama to be powerful. It needs attention, patience, and respect for the people in front of the camera. That lesson has changed cinema, and it continues to change it.

Jeanne Dielman is now recognised as one of the greatest films ever made, and that recognition has brought new audiences to her work. People who had never heard of her now watch the film and discover a new way of seeing. They learn that a woman peeling potatoes can be as important as a battle, and that three hours of daily life can hold more truth than a hundred action films. That is a remarkable legacy for a film that was once called boring.

She also opened doors for women directors. When she began, very few women directed films, and fewer still were taken seriously. She insisted on making films her way, and she proved that a woman’s view of the world was not a small view. It was a complete view, and it deserved the screen. Many women directors today say that Akerman made their work possible, and they are right.

Her films remain, and they are her true home. They are quiet, they are patient, and they ask the viewer to slow down and to look. In a fast world, that is a gift. Chantal Akerman gave cinema a new way of seeing, and the cinema is still learning from her.

Documentaries, Installations and New Forms

Chantal Akerman did not only make feature films. She also made documentaries, and she made video installations for galleries and museums. Her documentary D’Est, released in 1993 and known in English as From the East, is a portrait of Eastern Europe after the fall of communism. The camera moves slowly through streets, stations, and homes, watching people wait, work, and live. There is almost no commentary, and the film asks the audience to look and to think. It is a powerful and quiet film, and it shows Akerman’s gift for filming the world as it is.

She also made Sud, in 1999, a film about the American South, and Là-bas, in 2006, a film about Israel. Each documentary used her style: long takes, careful framing, and a deep attention to people and places. She did not explain the world to her audience. She showed it, and she trusted the audience to understand. That trust is rare in documentary film, where many directors tell the audience what to think. Akerman did not tell. She showed, and she waited.

In her later years, she also created installations, works made for galleries, where the audience walks through a space and watches images on several screens. These works took her cinema into a new form, and they showed that she was still exploring, still learning, and still finding new ways to film. She was not a director who repeated herself. She was an artist who kept moving, and who kept asking how a film could be made differently.

Her documentaries and installations are less famous than Jeanne Dielman, but they are part of her story, and they show the full range of her talent. She could film a woman in a kitchen, a street in Eastern Europe, and a gallery wall, and each time she found a way to make the audience see more clearly. That is the mark of a great artist: the form changes, but the eye stays true.

Her Influence on Young Directors

Chantal Akerman’s influence on cinema has grown enormously since her death. Her films are now taught in film schools around the world, and young directors study her long takes, her framing, and her way of filming daily life. She showed that a film does not need fast action to be powerful, and that a woman’s daily work is worthy of the screen. That lesson has changed cinema, and it continues to change it, as new generations of directors discover her work.

In 2022, a major poll of film critics named Jeanne Dielman the greatest film of all time. That honour brought her work to a new and wider audience, and it confirmed what many filmmakers had known for years: Akerman was one of the great directors, and her film was a masterpiece. Young people who had never heard of her now watch Jeanne Dielman, and they discover a new way of seeing. They learn that a film can be slow, and that slowness can be beautiful.

Her influence is not only in film schools. It is in the work of directors who film daily life with patience, who hold a shot for a long time, and who trust their audience to pay attention. That influence is quiet, but it is deep, and it will last. Chantal Akerman changed what cinema could be, and the cinema is still learning from her, one young director at a time.

Brussels, Paris, New York: Three Homes

Chantal Akerman lived between three cities: Brussels, Paris, and New York, and each one shaped her films. Brussels was her birthplace, the city of her childhood, of her mother, and of the home she kept returning to. Her films about Brussels, above all Jeanne Dielman, show the city as a place of quiet streets, of flats, and of daily life. Brussels gave her a sense of home, and it gave her the rooms and the streets that became the settings of her greatest work.

Paris was her second home, the city where she lived as an adult, where she made many of her films, and where she died. Paris gave her the film world, with its festivals, its critics, and its audiences. It was in Paris that she was recognised as a great director, and it was in Paris that her work was shown and discussed. The city was both a home and a workplace, and it held her for much of her life. Her Paris films show a city of apartments, of streets, and of people passing through, always moving, always looking for something.

New York was her third home, the city she went to as a young woman with almost no money, and where she learned to make films her own way. New York gave her freedom, and it gave her the images of News from Home: streets, subways, and crowds, filmed in long, slow shots. The city was big and lonely, and it taught her about distance, about exile, and about the longing for home. Her New York films are full of that longing, and they speak to anyone who has ever lived far from where they came from.

These three cities are the map of her life, and they are the map of her cinema. Brussels is home, Paris is work, and New York is freedom, and her films move between them, just as she did. She was a filmmaker of three cities, and each one gave her something different. Together, they made her the artist she was: a woman who saw the world from many places, and who filmed it with a patience that belonged to no single city, but to all three.

My Take:

When I think about Chantal Akerman, the first thing I feel is respect. She made films that almost no one else would dare to make, and she made them without apology. A film about a woman cooking and cleaning for more than three hours sounds like a joke, until you watch it and you understand that it is not a joke at all. It is a serious and beautiful film about a life that cinema had always ignored. I respect her for seeing that life, and for filming it with the care it deserved. That takes a kind of courage that is rare, because it is easy to make a film that people already want. It is hard to make a film that people do not yet know they need.

I admire her patience. Her camera stays still, and her shots last a long time. That is not easy to watch, and it is not easy to make. It asks the audience to slow down, to stop waiting for the next explosion or the next joke, and to look at what is really there. I think we need that slowness today more than ever. We live in a fast world, where everything is quick and loud, and we have forgotten how to pay attention. Akerman’s films teach us to pay attention again, and that is a gift. When I watch Jeanne Dielman, I begin to see my own home differently. I see the work that goes into a day, and I see the person who does that work.

What moves me most about her story is her mother. Natalia survived the Holocaust, and she carried that past in silence. Chantal grew up in the shadow of that silence, and her films are full of it. The letters in News from Home, the mother in Jeanne Dielman, the last film about her own mother: all of them are about a daughter trying to understand a mother who has lived through something terrible. I find that deeply moving, because it is not a story about heroes or villains. It is a story about love, about waiting, and about the things we cannot say. Akerman filmed those things with honesty, and she did not try to make them easy or pretty. She let them be hard, and that honesty makes her films powerful.

I think about the moment when she was fifteen and saw a film by Godard, and decided to become a filmmaker. That is a young person’s dream, and many young people have dreams like that. Most of them give up, because the road is hard and the money is short. Akerman did not give up. She left film school, she went to New York with almost nothing, and she learned by doing. I admire that determination, because it is the kind of determination that changes a life. She did not wait for permission. She made her films, and she trusted that the world would catch up. It took a long time, but the world did catch up, and now her films are called the greatest ever made. That is a lesson for anyone with a dream: do the work, trust your eye, and do not wait for permission.

Her death in 2015 still feels sad to me, and I do not want to pretend otherwise. She was sixty-five, and she had so much more to give. Her last film, No Home Movie, was about her mother, and it was made with great love. After her mother died, Akerman lost a part of herself, and I think that loss was too much to bear. I feel sad about that, and I also feel grateful that she left her films behind. Her films are a kind of home, a place where we can visit her way of seeing, and where we can learn to see more clearly ourselves.

I also think about the way she was treated as a woman director. When she began, the film world was run by men, and women were expected to be actresses, not directors. Akerman did not accept that. She directed, she wrote, and she filmed, and she did it in a way that was unmistakably her own. She did not try to make films like a man. She made films like a woman who saw the world through a woman’s eyes, and she proved that those eyes could see further than anyone had thought. That matters, because it opened a door for the women directors who came after her. They walk through that door every day, and many of them do not even know her name. I think they should know it.

There is something I find difficult in her films, and I want to be honest about it. They are slow, and they demand patience, and not everyone will love them. I understand that. A person who watches films for fun may find Jeanne Dielman hard to sit through. I do not think that is a failure of the film. I think it is a challenge, and it is a challenge worth taking. If you give the film your time, it gives you something back: a new way of seeing, a deeper attention, and a respect for the ordinary. That is a fair trade, and I think more people should try it.

I would tell a young reader to start with News from Home, because it is shorter and because it speaks about home and distance, which everyone understands. Then, when you are ready, watch Jeanne Dielman, and give it your full attention. Do not watch it on a small phone while doing something else. Watch it on a big screen, in a quiet room, and let it take its time. You may find it slow at first, and then, slowly, you may find it beautiful. That is how Akerman’s films work. They do not rush to impress you. They wait for you to catch up.

In the end, I think Chantal Akerman teaches us that cinema can be a way of paying attention. It can be a way of saying that a woman’s life matters, that a mother’s letters matter, and that the small work of a day matters. She filmed those things with a still camera and a patient eye, and she changed the history of film. That is an extraordinary achievement for a girl from Brussels who saw a Godard film at fifteen and decided to make films herself. I am glad she did, and I am glad her films are still here, waiting for us to slow down and to see. I also think about what her slow cinema teaches us about attention. We live in a fast world, where everything is quick and loud, and we have forgotten how to look at one thing for a long time. Akerman’s films ask us to look, and to keep looking, until we begin to see what is really there. A woman peeling potatoes is not boring, if you watch her carefully. You see her hands, you see her tiredness, and you see her life. That is a lesson that goes beyond film. It is a lesson about how to live: slow down, pay attention, and you will see more. I think we need that lesson today more than ever, and I am grateful to Akerman for teaching it.

Her mother-daughter films are the part of her work that moves me most deeply. Natalia survived the Holocaust, and she carried that past in silence. Chantal grew up in the shadow of that silence, and her films are full of it. The letters in News from Home, the mother in Jeanne Dielman, the last film about her own mother: all of them are about a daughter trying to understand a mother who has lived through something terrible. I find that deeply moving, because it is not a story about heroes or villains. It is a story about love, about waiting, and about the things we cannot say. Akerman filmed those things with honesty, and she did not try to make them easy. She let them be hard, and that honesty makes her films powerful.

I think about her time in New York, too, and about what it means to live far from home. News from Home is a film about a daughter in a big city, reading letters from her mother, and feeling both free and lonely. Anyone who has ever lived far from home understands that feeling. The city is big, and you are small, and a letter from home is a lifeline. Akerman filmed that feeling with great tenderness, and she made a film that speaks to exiles, to students, and to anyone who has left home and missed it. That is a universal story, and she told it with a still camera and a mother’s voice. It is a small film, and it is a great one.

The 2022 poll that named Jeanne Dielman the greatest film of all time is something I keep thinking about. It took almost fifty years for the world to catch up with Akerman, and that is both sad and hopeful. It is sad because she did not live to see that honour. It is hopeful because it shows that great work is eventually recognised, even if it takes a long time. An artist who is ahead of her time must wait, and waiting is hard. But Akerman’s films waited, and they were found, and now they are celebrated. That is a lesson for any artist who feels ignored: do the work, trust your eye, and the world may catch up, even if it takes fifty years.

Her courage as a woman director is another part of her story that I admire. When she began, the film world was run by men, and women were expected to be actresses, not directors. Akerman did not accept that. She directed, she wrote, and she filmed, and she did it in a way that was unmistakably her own. She did not try to make films like a man. She made films like a woman who saw the world through a woman’s eyes, and she proved that those eyes could see further than anyone had thought. That matters, because it opened a door for the women directors who came after her. They walk through that door every day, and many of them do not even know her name. I think they should know it.

There is something difficult in her films, and I want to be honest about it. They are slow, and they demand patience, and not everyone will love them. I understand that. A person who watches films for fun may find Jeanne Dielman hard to sit through. I do not think that is a failure of the film. I think it is a challenge, and it is a challenge worth taking. If you give the film your time, it gives you something back: a new way of seeing, a deeper attention, and a respect for the ordinary. That is a fair trade, and I think more people should try it. The reward is real, and it lasts longer than the discomfort of the first slow hour.

I think about Belgium, too, and about what Akerman means for her country. She was born in Brussels, and she made films about Brussels, about its streets and its homes. She showed the world that a small country can produce a great filmmaker, and that a Belgian woman can change the history of cinema. That is a proud legacy for Belgium, and it is one that the country should celebrate. She was not only a filmmaker. She was a daughter of Brussels, and she carried Brussels with her to New York, to Paris, and to the screens of the world.

Frequently Asked Questions

Who was Chantal Akerman?

Chantal Akerman was a Belgian film director born on 6 June 1950 in Brussels. She is known for her slow, careful films about women’s daily lives, above all Jeanne Dielman, which is now called one of the greatest films ever made.

What is Jeanne Dielman about?

Jeanne Dielman follows a widow in Brussels through three days of her life: cooking, cleaning, caring for her son, and earning money in the afternoons. The film lasts more than three hours and uses long, still shots in real time.

Why is Jeanne Dielman so famous?

It is famous because it took a woman’s daily housework, which cinema had always ignored, and filmed it with total seriousness. In a major critics’ poll in 2022, it was named the greatest film of all time.

What film did Chantal Akerman make about New York?

She made News from Home in 1977. The camera shows New York in long, slow shots while Akerman reads letters from her mother in Brussels, creating a portrait of a daughter far from home.

Did Chantal Akerman make films about her mother?

Yes, her mother Natalia, a Holocaust survivor, was a central figure in her life and work. Her last film, No Home Movie from 2015, is a tender portrait of her mother in her final years.

When did Chantal Akerman die?

She died in Paris on 5 October 2015, at the age of sixty-five. Her films have only grown in reputation since then, and they are now taught in film schools around the world.