Femke is sick and she is done with being sick. She lives with the rare auto immune disease Lupus. A sniper.
Her immune system does not know what the good and the bad cells are, but thát she already explained a thousand times!
She is brave! They say. She doesn't think so.
Through her imagination and fantasy, she is able to cope. Vulnerable and obstinate she fights her battle. Cynical when needed.
In the film we experience how she does that. The film draws us into her inner world. We see what she does not want to show. We hear what she normally does not say. On the cutting edge, because she assumes that she can do everything.
In her head, at the least.
In a traditional way Femke comments what happens to her, what the consequences are and what its doing to her. All socially responsible, neatly adjusted. But again and again interrupted by a completely dismantled and disarmingly comments, also from herself.
The film is no one-dimensional image of medical facts and prognosis, but a story of a woman behind the disease. A woman dealing 24 hours a day with the consequences, on all levels in life. The battles that Femke fights, in her body and head, manifest themselves in the film in different ways.
It's life on the edge, with failing blood values and devastating drugs. Pushing her boundaries to the max.
The sophisticated audio intertwined layers, which the viewer feels as the carrier of the film along with the wonderful illogic in her deal with the disease, make this documentary distinctive. They constantly put you on the wrong track as a viewer. You always need to stay alert. Viewers are forced to think for themselves. You cannot come along in a distant pity, showing that disease in this society is seemingly not done.
Idiosyncratic and full of irony, she seeks her own ways. Using everything what is available to her. Rebellious, and sometimes funny. Just as it is.
The short documentary I USED TO DANCE is therefore a confrontation as well as an inspiration evoking a dialogue.