“I want audiences to understand the situation in Venezuela, but also to realise that women’s reproductive rights can be threatened anywhere”
– The French helmer talks about the project’s origins, the risks of filming in Venezuela, the challenges of shaping the narrative and her hopes for the film’s broader impact
French filmmaker Nolwenn Hervé’s The Cord [+see also:
interview: Nolwenn Hervé
film profile], premiering at CPH:DOX, follows Carolina, an activist navigating Venezuela’s collapsing healthcare system to help pregnant women in Maracaibo. Shot over several years and rooted in a close personal bond between director and subject, the documentary blends urgent social testimony with intimate, observational filmmaking. Hervé spoke with Cineuropa about the origins of the project, the risks of filming in Venezuela, the challenges of shaping the narrative in post-production, and her hopes for the film’s wider impact.
Cineuropa: The first time you entered the maternity wards in Maracaibo was in 2016. What made you realise this had to become a long-term project?
Nolwenn Hervé: In 2016, I was working as a journalist on oil smuggling, but I saw Venezuelan women crossing the border to give birth in Colombia because they were afraid to give birth in Venezuela after the collapse of the healthcare system. I realised I wanted to tell this story, but not as a journalist. I finally had the chance to go back in 2022 to start shooting, but I had been thinking about those women ever since. Even back in France, I had nightmares. I felt a strong calling to return and tell the story as a filmmaker.
Can you unpack your relationship with Carolina and how she became the centre of the story?
I met Carolina through a Colombian friend while researching oil smuggling. At first, we spoke through video calls, but I already felt she was a strong character. When I went to Venezuela in 2022 and met her in person, it became obvious that she was the one. It was not only about her as a character; we had a real human connection. I became the godmother of her daughter, and she introduced me to her community. We spent months together, often driving women to hospitals and pharmacies. We built a deep bond, and today we are still very close.
Much of the film unfolds inside a car. How did you turn that confined space into part of your visual language?
It was both a necessity and a choice. I could not film inside hospitals, so we spent a lot of time in the car going from one hospital to another, to chemists or to Carolina’s foundation. The car became a protected space where many things happened. At the same time, we could observe the outside world from inside. Symbolically, in a country with the largest oil reserves, women driving a car also represent a motor for themselves and their community – women trying to move forward.
What were the risks of filming there, for you and for them?
Carolina protected me because she understands risky situations due to her past. I also had local contacts advising me, and I filmed undercover. For the participants’ safety, we discussed every scene together. Carolina has watched the film several times, and we agreed on what could be shown. It was very collaborative. I also entered Venezuela by road, rather than through Caracas, which my contacts recommended.
How did you balance urgency and intimacy without turning suffering into spectacle?
It was very organic. I always asked whether filming was too intrusive. Before shooting, I spent time meeting the women so they knew why I was there. Carolina explained the project, and they understood that the film could help her foundation and their community. That trust guided the filming.
Are there any parallels between the Venezuelan crisis and pressures on healthcare systems elsewhere?
Yes. The situation is far worse in Venezuela, but in many countries, sexual and reproductive rights are threatened during crises. In France, Italy, Belgium, the USA or other countries, women sometimes have less access to contraception or planning services, and budget cuts affect maternity care. We must stay vigilant.
Can you talk about post-production and shaping the story?
After [wrapping] shooting in 2022, we began editing about a year ago. I went back to Venezuela once more, then continued editing with a strong team. It was organic because the story was clear to me. The hardest part was giving context without using a journalistic voice-over. I wanted viewers to feel the consequences of the healthcare collapse through lived experiences, not statistics.
What conversations do you hope the film will spark?
I want audiences to understand the situation in Venezuela, but also to realise that women’s reproductive rights can be threatened anywhere. We always have to fight to protect them. Moreover, we are preparing an impact campaign. Carolina’s dream is to open a birth clinic in her neighbourhood. We hope to raise funds and build partnerships to make that happen.
