Even though I didn't know much aged 13, I knew that was not ok
Fifty years after a thirteen-year-old girl was filmed topless for her acting debut, the director who held the camera has finally withdrawn the film from circulation. Wim Wenders, one of postwar cinema's most celebrated voices, spent decades framing the scene as a relic of its era — until the woman that girl became, Nastassja Kinski, spent fifteen years making clear that historical context is not the same as innocence. His apology, when it came, was unqualified: a recognition that the only adult in the room bears the only responsibility that matters. The question the industry now inherits is whether accountability for the past requires a single filmmaker's conscience to break, or whether it can be built into the structures that govern how children are protected on set.
- A 65-year-old woman has spent fifteen years fighting to erase a scene filmed when she was thirteen — a fight that should never have been necessary.
- As recently as last Friday, Wenders stood at a film awards ceremony and offered measured resistance, framing exploitation as a product of its era rather than a failure of his own judgment.
- An open letter from a fellow filmmaker cut through the diplomatic language: 'It's your responsibility alone to set things right' — and German media amplified the pressure until it could no longer be absorbed.
- Within days, Wenders reversed course entirely, issuing an unqualified apology and instructing every platform, broadcaster, and distributor to pull the film from circulation.
- The withdrawal lands not as a quiet resolution but as a public reckoning — one that now asks whether other directors and institutions holding similar histories will wait for their own fifteen-year campaigns before acting.
Wim Wenders has withdrawn his 1975 film Wrong Move from all distribution channels after Nastassja Kinski, who was thirteen years old when she was filmed topless for her acting debut, spent fifteen years asking him to do so. Kinski, now 65, told a German newspaper last month that she knew even then, as a child, that what happened on set was wrong. No one protected her. Wenders was the director — the only adult who could have said no.
As recently as last Friday, Wenders had resisted. Speaking at the German film awards, he acknowledged he would not shoot such a scene today, but framed the film as a product of different times — a measured response that was, in effect, a refusal. The reaction was swift. Filmmaker Julius Feldmeier published an open letter holding Wenders solely responsible, and German media amplified the criticism until the pressure became impossible to deflect.
By Wednesday, Wenders had reversed course. Through his foundation's website, he issued an unqualified apology to Kinski and announced the film would be withdrawn from every platform and broadcaster. 'I apologise to you, Nastassja, unreservedly, no ifs or buts,' he wrote.
It was not Kinski's first such fight. She had previously pressured a broadcaster and director to restrict a television film in which she appeared naked at fifteen, winning that campaign through legal negotiation. Wenders, now eighty, is the director of Wings of Desire and Paris, Texas — films that defined postwar German cinema. But this week's act of withdrawal may carry its own weight: a recognition, however long delayed, that a filmmaker's responsibility to the children in his care does not expire with the era in which he filmed them.
Wim Wenders, one of postwar Germany's most celebrated filmmakers, has instructed streaming platforms, television broadcasters, and distribution partners to stop showing his 1975 film Wrong Move. The decision came this week, after five decades of the film circulating in public, because of a single scene: a thirteen-year-old girl, topless, on camera for her acting debut.
That girl was Nastassja Kinski. She is now 65. For the past fifteen years, she has been asking Wenders to remove the film from circulation or alter the scene. Last month, she told the German newspaper Süddeutsche Zeitung that she knew at the time, even as a child, that what happened on set was wrong. "Even though I didn't know much aged 13, I knew that that was not ok," she said. She had no protection. No one advocated for her. Wenders was the director. He was the only adult in the room who could have said no.
As recently as last Friday, speaking at the German film awards ceremony, Wenders had resisted. He acknowledged that he would not shoot such a scene the same way today, but he framed Wrong Move as a product of its era—a film that belonged to a different time, with different standards. To edit it now, he suggested, would require a broader conversation within the film industry about how to handle the past. It was a measured response. It was also a refusal.
The pushback was swift and pointed. Julius Feldmeier, a filmmaker and actor known for Babylon Berlin, published an open letter to Wenders. "It's your responsibility alone to set things right," Feldmeier wrote. German media outlets amplified the criticism. The pressure accumulated.
On Wednesday, Wenders released a statement through his foundation's website. He apologized to Kinski without qualification. "As the only person responsible at the time for Wrong Move who is still here, I recognise that Nastassja Kinski should have been better protected back then," he wrote. "For that, I apologise to you, Nastassja, unreservedly, no ifs or buts." The Wim Wenders Foundation, which owns the film, would withdraw it from all distribution channels. The film would no longer be publicly accessible.
Kinski's career did not end with Wrong Move. She worked with Wenders again in 1984 on Paris, Texas, and went on to appear in more than sixty films across Europe and the United States. She is the daughter of Klaus Kinski, the late actor who starred in Fitzcarraldo. But she has spent years fighting to erase the record of her own exploitation. Before this campaign against Wrong Move, she successfully pressured broadcaster NDR and director Wolfgang Petersen to restrict distribution of a television film in which she appeared naked at age fifteen. Her lawyer negotiated an agreement. She won that fight too.
Wenders, now eighty, directed Wings of Desire, Paris Texas, Buena Vista Social Club, and Perfect Days—films that shaped cinema and won major awards. His name is synonymous with German filmmaking's postwar renaissance. But this week, his most significant act may have been the one that required him to step back, acknowledge harm, and remove his own work from the world. The question now is whether other directors, other studios, other institutions will follow.
Notable Quotes
Even though I didn't know much aged 13, I knew that that was not ok.— Nastassja Kinski, in interview with Süddeutsche Zeitung
As the only person responsible at the time for Wrong Move who is still here, I recognise that Nastassja Kinski should have been better protected back then. For that, I apologise to you, Nastassja, unreservedly, no ifs or buts.— Wim Wenders, statement released Wednesday
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did it take fifteen years and public pressure for Wenders to act?
Because initially he didn't see it as his problem to solve. He saw it as a historical artifact, a film of its time. That's a comfortable position for the person who held the power.
But he did apologize. He did withdraw the film. Doesn't that count for something?
It counts. It's real. But it also came only after Kinski spent fifteen years asking, after she went public, after other filmmakers called him out by name. The apology is genuine, but the delay is part of the story too.
What does it mean that she had to fight this battle twice—once with Petersen, now with Wenders?
It means the industry didn't learn the first time. It means one woman's victory doesn't protect the next child. Each director, each studio, each broadcaster has to be confronted separately.
Is withdrawing the film the right solution, or does it erase the evidence?
That's the tension. Removing it from circulation protects children from being exposed to the exploitation. But it also makes the harm invisible. No one can see what happened to her. The film disappears, but the fact of what was done to a thirteen-year-old doesn't.
What happens to the other films Wenders made with her?
Paris, Texas stays in the world. She was an adult by then. The question becomes: how do we reckon with a body of work when one film contains documented harm to a child? There's no clean answer.