It is one of the minor miracles in the world of international art-house cinema that the movies of Romania’s iconoclast and idiosyncratic director Radu Jude have found a wider audience. Among the directors of the Romanian New Wave, which kicked off two decades ago and shows no sign of ebbing, Jude is arguably the most radical and unpredictable. He’s made a coming-of-age comedy (The Happiest Girl in the World), an historic western (Aferim!), a Kafka-esque docudrama (Uppercase Print), a COVID-era sex satire (Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn, which won the Berlinale Golden Bear in 2021), a three-hour black-and-white feminist drama (Do Not Expect Too Much From the End of the World), and a found-footage documentary, Eight Postcards from Utopia, assembled exclusively out of post-socialist Romanian advertisements.
Jude’s latest, Kontinental ’25 is another stylistic swerve, an absurdist comedy-drama about Romanian’s housing crisis and the country’s conflicted middle class. The story follows a homeless man who seeks shelter in a house cellar and the well-meaning bailiff ordered to carry out his eviction. Jude made Kontinental ’25 “with the smallest amount of money possible” shooting it back-to-back with his upcoming horror comedy Dracula Park. The film premieres Feb. 19 in the competition in Berlin.
What is the origin story for Kontinental ’25?
This project is actually quite old and, like most of my films, suffered through a lot of changes until it became a film. The first spark of the story came from a news item I read years ago about a situation similar to the one in the film. I made a note of it and even pitched it at one point as a TV movie, but nothing happened. Over time, the story kept lingering in my mind, especially as real estate development and inequality became more pronounced in Romania. Despite rising GDP figures, the gap between rich and poor has only grown, and that’s very troubling. At some point, I read an article by the film critic Andrei Gorzo about Rossellini’s Europe ’51, which inspired me to rewatch the film. I saw some possible parallels with my story and decided to explore those themes, but in a way, that’s less metaphysical or religious and more grounded in a blend of comedy and drama. I could say my film is a caricature of sorts of Rossellini’s movie. And there was yet another influence — I rewatched Psycho by Hitchcock, which inspired the film’s structure. Psycho begins with a person who’s murdered halfway through and then shifts focus to the perpetrator. I followed that idea: the homeless man’s story transitions to Orsolya’s. In a way, our film is also the film of a murder, a hidden collective murder. And the film itself is like a crime movie, like a noir film which never takes off.
What was the production on this film like — were you shooting it alongside your upcoming horror comedy Dracula Park and is there any link between the two projects, other than they are both set in Transylvania?
It was a decision to make both films back to back and the second one — Kontinental ’25 — to be made with the smallest amount of money possible. With the help of Saga Film and other co-producers, we decided to shoot the film in 10-11 days, with just an iPhone 15 — no lights, no grips. I believe there is a connection between the way a production is organized and the actual aesthetics of the film. The film benefitted largely — in my opinion — from these constraints. I had to decide what was essential and focus only on these elements. I can’t currently discuss Dracula, since we are still in the sound postproduction stage. I will just say that my Dracula is Méliès and Kontinental ’25 is Lumière. I needed to make both of them at the same time to achieve a certain balance. As Godard said, there is documentary in Méliès and fiction in Lumière — in my case, this is also true.
What is the significance of Transylvania for this story?
The story involves a homeless man — a former sportsman who ended up on the street and a bailiff who evicts this guy from a basement and feels guilty about it. It also involves an unseen company that wants to build a luxury hotel in the place where the homeless man was staying. I imagined all these in the Cluj area, the main city in Transylvania, not only because it is a place where the real estate business is booming, but also because of its troubled history; it used to belong to Hungary and since 1918 it has been a part of Romania.
There are always some people who question its geopolitical status. While we live in the EU and there is a status quo regarding national borders, to which I completely agree, there are people with a wide, conflicting range of opinions on the topic. I wanted to have my little story about property inscribed in the history of that place. Someone who saw a rough cut of the movie told me it feels a bit outdated, as if these nationalist or chauvinist discussions were long gone. However, I am not so sure it is an outdated theme. Just three days ago I saw the extremist who was almost voted president in our suspended elections giving an interview, saying that Romania should grab a part of Ukraine once a peace treaty is eventually signed. Needless to say, this won’t be possible without leaving the EU. I find the idea absolutely unacceptable and disgusting.
Is this film also in conversation with your previous work? Eight Postcards from Utopia is in part about Romania’s transition from socialism to capitalism, which seems a major theme in Kontinental ’25. I also see a few connections between Orsolya and Angela in Do Not Expect Too Much From The End of the World and Emi from Bad Luck Banging Or Looney Porn. What links or divergences do you see from this film and your previous films?
Well, I think you are in a better position to analyze this than I am! I would gladly like to help, but, to be honest, I cannot. Sure, I see some possible connections, but I guess I prefer to focus on the differences. Like, for instance, this film is made using a very primitive and uncreative mise en scene. [Romanian filmmaker] Lucian Pintilie offers a great and simple definition of the mise en scène, claiming that the mise en scène is what reveals the hidden side of the words. But in my film, I reduced the mise en scène as much as possible, in order to let the words take over.
Many talk about the crisis of independent cinema, however, you are working more than ever. How have you managed to be so productive?
Let’s say I always moved around different sizes of budgets for different films. I managed to make relatively well-financed films — and the system of European coproductions is extremely helpful for this. And I always have also made independent or very low-budget films — short films, desktop movies, found footage films etc. That was possible, of course, with the help of my collaborators — the crews, the actors, the producers etc. I am extremely grateful for their invaluable help. Otherwise, I think we live in a crisis of cinema, but also a certain golden age: almost everybody can make a short film with their phone and post it online. Sure, this doesn’t solve many other problems related to cinema, but this is the situation nowadays. Maybe a two-minute film shot with an iPhone won’t get you into a big festival, but it is a film and for me this matters the most. I always remember one of Godard’s last interviews, where he said: “Cinema is easy with the small iPhones.”
How would you explain Romania to an alien from another world (or to an American)?
Wittgenstein would probably say it is impossible to explain anything to an alien, or that the question is meaningless. Otherwise, it is not for me to explain to an American what Romania is, he or she can get a fairly cheap World Map or consult Wikipedia. Anyway, these days it seems it is more important for Americans to know where Greenland is located. And maybe how to play golf in the future Gaza Riviera — President Trump, who the Americans voted for, has wet dreams about it.
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