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In a world as "obsessed as ours," said the president of Boston University one afternoon in November 1988, conferring the institution’s first-ever honorary degree on a filmmaker, "he has the wisdom to take his time. In a spectacular and superficial business, he looks for deepness and meaning. In a medium where, all too often, the dollar is what counts, his art sets forth new proportions."

The recipient of the scroll was not a semi-retired Hollywood director more likely to be seen on the lecture circuit than behind a camera, nor a veteran actor ending his days in cameo roles. He was – and is – a very active producer, who at that stage had still to make his first American feature. He has won more Oscars than any other living producer: five. He is, somewhat incongruously, Swiss-based. And his name – which will be instantly familiar to every working film professional in this town but is likely to be known to no more that one weekly cinemagoer in ten – is Arthur Cohn.
Cohn is in Berlin as the producer of Walter Salles’ eagerly anticipated Competition entry, Central do Brasil. His last Berlin competition film was The Garden of the Finzi-Continis, which won the Golden Bear in 1971. Even there, though, it is a testament to Cohn’s perfectionism that, after De Sica’s film took the prize here, he and the director went back to the editing suite, finally coming up with the internationally known version, which went on to win the Best Foreign Film Oscar two years later.

As usual, Cohn is passionate about his latest film. "It is absolutely my conviction," he says, "that Walter Salles will figure among the great directors of our time. I have the same feeling about him as when I first worked with Jean-Jacques Annaud on Black and White in Colour," – another Oscar-winner, which almost sank without trace after the French distributor rushed it out, leaving Cohn to nurse it back to health via a US release, an Oscar campaign and a re-release in France where it improved on its previous business by some 1000%.

"You have to believe," he says simply. "You have to stick to your guns." That is what he did with his two documentary Oscars – The Sky Above, the Mud Below in 1961 and Barbara Kopple’s American Dream exactly 30 years later – and the Swiss feature La diagonale du fou (Dangerous Moves), which took the Best Foreign Film prize in 1985.

"It has nothing to do with commercial success," adds Cohn. "You cannot calculate in your head how to put the mosaic together to make a commercial film: that’s out of the question. I’m talking about the artistic recompense from an American release, which has incredible impact in Europe. People in Europe don’t realise this, because they are so happy to have a film financed by European sources that they forget about the impact they lose by not having a story which is appealing to American audiences.

"On the other hand," he goes on, "to have a film in America means precisely nothing if you don’t have a distributor who stands behind it."

If there is a secret to Cohn’s success, we are getting close to the heart of it here. And the producer, always determined to give a name-check where credit is due, is full of praise for Sony Classics, who have already acquired Central do Brasil for North American release.

"I chose Sony Classics," he says, "not just because of their practical experience, not just because of their wisdom in marketing, but mainly because of their integrity."

There, finally, it is, the key word: integrity. Off the record, Cohn is more than happy to give chapter and verse on why his last film was thrown away in North America, but equally insistent that the details are not for attribution. They have to do with the general gist, not the specifics, of what he is talking about. But I doubt he’ll forget.Tall, with a shockwave of black hair that stands up and back from his head as though it had of its own something to say, Cohn is every inch the producer. Call the hotel and the line is always busy. Mention his name at the desk and the desk staff do not even have to check his room number, so used are they to putting through calls. The room itself has that strange, pale-veneered Kempinski decor, frozen somewhere between traditional luxury and hyper-modern efficiency, much as you would have expected to find in the waiting room of an intergalactic shuttle had such a thing existed in 1935.

But, behind the facade, Cohn exudes an old-world courtesy that is none the less striking for being legendary in the European film business. The room door is opened at the sound of the lift. Sabine the photographer is treated like an honoured guest. "You know why I don’t like that camera? Because it prevents me from seeing you!" And the incessant phone calls instantly cease. Even Cohn’s verbal mannerisms – disagreement with anything you say is signalled by a "Forgive me, but…" – exude politeness. There’s little doubt why people make time for him. I’d love to see him work a room.

And then there is the passion. Some producers have passion for the films they make. Others see them only as potential cash-cows. If you are still wondering which one Cohn is, you haven’t been paying attention. "My films never have science fiction, never have special effects, never have sex, never have violence because I believe they are more human stories that will be remembered for a long time because they are rewarding."

Michael Caine once told me that the only direction John Huston ever gave him about playing his character, Peachy Carnahan, in The Man Who Would Be King, was: "Speak slowly, Michael. He is an honourable man."

Arthur Cohn speaks slowly. I leave his track record to complete the sentence.