When Desire Met Art
Few expected the small, sensual film LelleBelle to make as much noise as it did when it first debuted on Dutch screens in 2010. Directed by Mischa Kamp, the film centers on a young violinist, Belle, played by newcomer Anna Raadsveld, who leaves her small town in search of both her musical passion and a sexual awakening. What could have been simply an erotic coming-of-age film turned, albeit quietly, into something more profound — a tale of control, art, and self-discovery.
But LelleBelle was also a turning point for all of those involved. For the crew and cast, it was the first time they felt the blurring of boundaries between vulnerability and performance, confession and cinema, and the theater of the raw self and the scripted self. The emotional and physical rawness of the film lingered on its actors long after the performance was over. The time spent on the film shaped how they told stories for the rest of their lives and, unlike the imperishable rawness of the film, many of the relationships they formed on set endured.
The Girl with the Violin
Anna Raadsveld was still in her teens barely twenty when she was cast as Belle, a shy yet curious violin student whose journey toward sexual and emotional freedom forms the heart of LelleBelle. To Raadsveld, the film was not simply a performance — it was her first encounter with a reality that was both beautiful and brutally intense.
Before LelleBelle, Anna was a stage performer renowned for her poise and intelligence. She was from a theatre background, where the notion of “exposure” meant emotional honesty, not the physical variety as it does now. However, Mischa Kamp’s script requested both. It was not pornographic; it was painfully intimate. Raadsveld had to shed more than just her skin; she had to peel away the layers of social conditioning that dictate how women should overtly express desire.
In interviews years later, she described how the role altered her relationship with her craft. “It made me have to figure out what authenticity really means,” she said. “It’s easy to represent the pain. It’s hard to show the pleasure and still be honest.”
The film’s boldness, however, brought her difficulties. While critics noted the authenticity of her performance, many audience members looked past the nuance and fixated on the naked body. In a conservative cultural climate, Raadsveld felt she could only get typecast. Proposals came her way, but it was for parts that were sensual and shallow. Most of these she declined to work instead for small, art-focused projects and the theatre. Her reputation for integrity gradually developed out of her work. Raadsveld was then recognized for tackling the bold, complex roles that many might shun, and for remaining fully engaged with her craft.
In LelleBelle, Belle’s world revolves around men, each symbolizing a different form of temptation. Bram, the sweet but naïve boyfriend from her village, played by Benja Bruijning, embodies safety and predictability. In contrast, Jasper, the city artist who awakens Belle’s curiosity, played by Charlie Dagelet, embodies risk and freedom.
For Bruijning, who had just recently begun establishing a reputation on Dutch television, LelleBelle provided an opportunity to portray vulnerability — a quality often lacking in male characters within erotic stories. His depiction of Bram, balancing the dual emotions of love and insecurity, received understated admiration. Off-stage, Bruijning faced the same set of life challenges: fame, love, and the drive for artistic creation. He subsequently moved to mainstream Dutch cinema and television, successfully building a reputation as one of the country’s most reliable leading men.
As for Dagelet, he had an artistic background and understood the depth of the performance. Taking on the role of Jasper, the enigmatic artist for whom Belle is both muse and mirror, resonated more with his character. Dagelet is known for his boundary pushing in theatre, and for LelleBelle, he did not approach it as an erotic drama, but as an existential story. “For me, it was about creation,” he said. “Art, sex, music — they all come from the same place: the need to be seen.”
Yet as time went on, Dagelet recognized the film’s infamy overshadowed his craft for some time. “People remembered the scenes, not the story,” he said, reflecting on the film’s brazen honesty for its time. “That’s the price of being in something too honest for its time.”
Avoiding the Chaos
LelleBelle was not a chaotic shoot, which was a pleasant surprise. There was consensus, and this was due to the environment Mischa Kamp built. Long before the term “intimacy coordinators” became a norm in the film industry, Mischa Kamp prioritized consent and comfort. The cast spent weeks on the script, preparing for every act of touch.
Anna Raadsveld later explained that before every intimate scene, Kamp would sit down with the actors and ask, “Does this feel true to your character?”, not “Are you okay with this shot?” That distinction made all the difference. “It wasn’t about titillation,” Anna said. “It was about truth.”
On the other hand, the violin sequences were some of the toughest to film. Anna had to train with real musicians for months, learning to imitate the professional posture and movement. The instrument, much like the sexuality in the film, became a metaphor — precise, demanding, and capable of both overwhelming beauty and profound pain. The emotional climax — Belle’s solo performance that merges her musical and sensual liberation — was shot in a single take. Everyone on set was reportedly silent after the scene was completed. “It was like watching someone set themselves free,” said Kamp in an interview.
The Ripple Effect
After LelleBelle, the cast members had different fortunes. Anna Raadsveld, for example, started and continued a career within Dutch theatre and television where she took a number of reflective and morally intricate parts. However, with respect to LelleBelle, she was in a way trapped. Journalists and audiences would often raise the issue, and often more for its controversy than its content.
To Benja Bruijning, the film was just an opportunity to branch off into bigger ventures. His professional growth within the industry was anchored on his unselfish ability to express genuine feelings in his work which would, in turn, earn him roles in television dramas and television romantic comedies. Due to his later performances, the television dramas and romantic comedies were later tied to the legacy of his previous character Bram. As a reminder, he played the kind and conflicted man that was always searching for love, for the simplicity of it, and then realizing that it just wasn’t.
Unlike most professionals in the field, Charlie Dagelet took a less traditional path in his career. He opted for more experimental approaches to his art and endorsed independent cinema. He took caution on fame due to the film, but he also became fearless on artistic risks. He states in an interview, “once you’ve done something that vulnerable, you stop worrying about what people think,” clearly referencing the film and art he has created.
The Aftertaste of Liberation
Over a decade later, LelleBelle has gained a cult following, but not due to the eroticism of the film. The film’s honesty is perhaps what resonated the most with the cult following and what made it a ‘cult film’. The people involved with the film LelleBelle have struggled, grown, and had to reinvent themselves in various ways, yet the film’s spirit still remains within all of them.
Anna Raadsveld had once said, “Belle taught me that freedom isn’t about what you do. It’s about how much of yourself you allow to be seen.” That is perhaps, “the most Lelle part of LelleBelle.” It is true, LelleBelle is not a tale of sex, but of self.The friendships behind the cameras remained intact. Years later, Raadsveld and Kamp worked together again, and the crew described the environment as one of the most positive and respectful sets they’d ever worked on. LelleBelle, despite the exposure and possible risk, was born of empathy. It was and is unashamed to show desire, unapologetically to flaunt youth, and unpretentiously showcase art.
For everyone involved in its making, the real journey began when the lights dimmed and the cameras stopped rolling — one where the line between performance and person blurred, with no scandal left behind, only something far rarer: truth in motion.