Tag: Romas Zabarauskas

The filmmaker, the writer and the queer

Posted on by Paul Risker

Lithuanian director Romas Zabarauskas’s beautifully reflective fourth feature The Writer (Kirjanik, 2023) is a conversational piece, which hits upon themes and ideas that land with a weighty delivery. The director came out as gay in 2011 when he premiered his first film Porno Melodrama. He is likely the most prominent LGBT filmmaker of the Baltics.

Thirty years ago, Russian born Kostas (Bruce Ross) migrated from Lithuania to the United States, leaving behind his lover, Dima (Jamie Day), who he met during their mandatory service in the Soviet army. Following the publication of Kosta’s new book, 1990, Dima arrives in New York under the pretence of a job interview. The real reason he’s travelled to the United States is to discuss Kostas’ latest work. The film is predominantly two characters talking in an apartment. Zabarauskas and his co-writers, Marc David Jacobs, Anastasia Sosunova and Artūras Tereškinas, invite the audience to eavesdrop on their private and intimate conversation, first in public, then in private, when Kostas invites Dima back to his place for dinner.

Throughout the concise 85-minute running time, they discuss immigration, sex and work, their nationalities, families, and relationship. This infuses the film with an insightful and introspective energy. The film’s driving interest is the idea of how we’re defined by our choices, for better or worse, but it’s effectively supported by broad themes and ideas. One such idea is how we carry our pasts with us, even as we build our future, and to understand our own story requires us to understand the story of those dearest to us.

Speaking with DMovies, Zabarauskas discussed a trilogy of films about queer male couples, how he’s drawn to political dilemmas and is open to different ways of interpreting his films.

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Paul Risker – Why filmmaking as a means of creative expression? Was there an inspirational or defining moment for you personally?

Romas Zabarauskas – I don’t really see filmmaking as a means of creative expression, because that would seem to imply that an artwork is an extension of the inner world of its creator, which I don’t think is necessarily the case. For me, cinema is a form of art and entertainment rather than creativity. There wasn’t a particular moment that inspired me, but I did watch a lot of great movies in a local library as a teen, fascinated by the diversity of their visions.

PR – What was the seed of the idea for The Writer, and would you agree that there are three versions of a film – the one that is written, the one that is shot and the one that is edited?

RZ – No, I don’t agree with that. There is only one film, and how it was made is simply a question of the behind-the-scenes. In my case, writing the script is like creating an itinerary, but it would be foolish to follow the map blindly when going on a trip. If I see something beautiful on my way, I’ll stop by.

PR – How do you compare and contrast The Writer to your previous films?

RZ – I’m truly grateful for all the opportunities I had to make these films, each a unique challenge. The Writer will form a trilogy on queer male couples in different political circumstances, preceded by The Lawyer (2020) and to be followed with The Activist, which we also shot this year. The Writer stands out as my first fully English [language] film, a co-production with the United States, and a SAG-AFTRA signatory. It was also an opportunity to explore the art of the dialogue to the fullest. I think all my films have a similar approach of focusing on complex political dilemmas and lush visuals.

PR – The premise of The Writer contextualises it as a voyeuristic work. Would you agree?

RZ – I didn’t really conceptualise it this way, but I’m always fascinated to learn about any possible interpretations. For me, one of the unique qualities of film is that you can feel what the characters are thinking, thus allowing for the dramatic qualities to be experienced in a special way.

PR – Kostas and Dima don’t talk like people in a film talk and it feels as if you’re merging the film and theatrical forms.

RZ – Well, I don’t think there is a single way that people talk in films. That said, yes, I love theatre and the theatre tradition in Lithuania is very strong, although to be honest it’s a lot more experimental than The Writer’s approach. If you think I’m merging the film and theatrical forms that’s fine by me. I don’t – I just think that a large part of cinema continues a timeless tradition of drama-based work, in unique ways that don’t diminish the cinematic experience. I was inspired by filmmakers like [Alain] Resnais, [Eric] Rohmer, [John] Cassavetes, but also American classics shot on soundstages (Hitchcock, Wilder, etc.), and sitcoms.

PR – One of the enthralling disagreements the pair engage in is over the legitimacy of choice. Does either Kostas or Dima align with your own views on this subject?

RZ – My views are closer to Dima’s. I’m an optimist, and while I think it’s important to admit one’s privileges and societal obstacles, it’s equally important to strive for personal and political progress. But some of my co-writers would likely disagree with me, which is awesome, too.

PR – What do you think the appeal is of stories like The Writer that are predominantly a conversation between characters?

RZ – To be honest, I don’t think that such a format itself is a winning or losing proposition – it depends on the film. In our case, it allowed us to truly delve into intimacy as well as complex views of the two characters.

PR – In The Writer, you explore how ideas are malleable, how they’re filtered through the subjective gazes, and the messy, non-linear nature of relationships.

RZ – Sure, but it wasn’t my goal to somehow show that everything is subjective and so nothing can be true. It was important to me to represent two different people with often opposing yet nuanced political views, clearly disagreeing but still staying civil about it.

PR – A British filmmaker called Carol Morley once told me: “You take it [a film] 90% of the way, and it is the audience that finishes it. So the audience by bringing themselves: their experiences, opinions and everything else to a film is what completes it.” Would you agree that there is a transfer of ownership? Is making a film a transformative experience?

TZ – I agree, in a sense – during our premiere in Tallinn, it truly felt like the audience’s reactions made the film happen. There was a lot of laughter, and after the screening I kept hearing about different ways the audience members connected to our film. However, it’s important to be careful with any metaphors when describing cinema. Ultimately, it’s a film, a work of art and entertainment, for people to watch, enjoy and discuss. It doesn’t need to be renamed in different ways – cinema is already a magic experience, and people know it.

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The Writer played in the Baltic Film Competition of the 27th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival. Just click here in order to read our exclusive movie review.

Romas Zabarauskas is pictured at the top of this interview, snapped by Arcana Femina. The other image is a still of The Writer.

The Writer (Kirjanik)

Posted on by Paul Risker

QUICK AND DIRTY: LIVE FROM TALLINN

Some films are like the quiet whisper of a gentle breeze. It’s an appropriate way to describe Lithuanian director Romas Zabarauskas’ beautifully reflective fourth feature, The Writer, or at least that’s how it feels. While it might lack the umph of bigger storytelling, the conversation between two lovers reunited, hits upon themes and ideas that land with a weighty delivery.

Thirty years ago, Russian born Kostas (Bruce Ross) emigrated from Lithuania to America, leaving behind his lover, Dima (Jamie Day), who he met during their mandatory service in the Soviet army. Following the publication of Kosta’s new book, 1990, Dima arrives in New York under the pretence of a job interview. The real reason he’s travelled to America is to discuss Kostas’ latest work.

The film is predominantly two characters talking in an apartment. Zabarauskas and his co-writers, Marc David Jacobs, Anastasia Sosunova and Artūras Tereškinas, invite the audience to eavesdrop on their private and intimate conversation, first in public, then in private, when Kostas invites Dima back to his place for dinner. The nature of the set-up contextualises The Writer as a voyeuristic work, but the director’s playfulness with the film’s aesthetic makes it more interesting than the label suggests.

Kostas and Dima don’t talk like people in a film talk – there’s a noticeable rhythm to the dialogue, and inflection on the words that sounds like a stage play. The staging may be partly responsible for this impression, but it nonetheless feels deliberate, as if Zabarauskas is merging the film and theatrical forms. In one playful scene, Kostas and Dima dance. Suddenly, as in a staged production, the lighting scheme is changed by the lighting technician off stage. The subtlety of film to mask its contrivance momentarily disappears, and here, the voyeuristic context changes.

The Writer is a play within a film, and whereas cinema creates an illusion of reality, theatre requires the audience to use their imagination to in order suspend their disbelief. The moment the film’s contrivance fades, it becomes less voyeuristic and more exhibitionist. The jazz score is like an intermittent whisper or a third voice. It’s sometimes unnoticeable, but there are other times the music emphasises the emotions of the moment. Zabarauskas approaches the soundtrack as a complement to the diegetic sounds. The dialogue and sound of Kostas and Dima’s voices are able to breathe, liberated from musical accompaniment. As the film progresses, we recognise the texture of their voices, while the sounds of their movement and the wine glasses being placed down on the table, comprise a noticeably engaging audio landscape.

Admittedly, the conversation becomes heavily academic at times, which could put off some audiences. Their intelligence, however, feels true to their characters, and the appeal of the film is the provocative and thoughtful back-and-forth dialogue. Not always easy going, Zabarauskas and his co-writers tease what feels like an escalation towards, if not explosive moments, then a dredging up of contentious differences of opinions and memories that could see their reunion end bitterly.

They talk about two of the three things we’re told we should never discuss: politics and religion. Their discussion has that prickly energy of two people that can provoke one another, in a way only friends can, exposing the adversarial side of friendship.

Kostas and Dima’s intellectual musings are intimate details of lives lived. They can speak about the violence of living under Soviet occupation and the xenophobia towards homosexuality. One of the enthralling disagreements the pair engage in is the disagreement over the legitimacy of choice. Kostas argues that living under tough circumstances strips away the person having a choice, whereas Dima challenges this supposition. It’s a thread that will run throughout the film, revealing a meticulous attention to detail.

The film also asks about whether our nationality makes us morally responsible for our country’s actions, but it’s Kosta and Dima’s different point-of-views on this and the other subjects, such as capitalism and socialism, stigma about one’s sexuality that energises the discourse. Zabarauskas and his co-writers home in how ideas are malleable, and how they are filtered through the subjective gazes, and the messy, non-linear nature of relationships. Throughout the concise 85-minute running time, they discuss immigration, sex and work, their nationalities, families, and relationship. This infuses the film with an insightful and introspective energy. The film’s driving interest is the idea of how we’re defined by our choices, for better or worse, but it’s effectively supported by a broad themes and ideas.

What’s striking is how Kostas has filled his apartment with nice things. His shelves are lined with books and he tells Dima that if he wants to know who he is, to read the books he has read, not the books he has written. Beneath his pleasant apartment is the soul of the man, who’s present and future is built atop of the catacombs of his memories. The story is a reflection of how we carry our pasts with us, even as we build our future, and to understand our own story requires us to understand the story of those dearest to us.

The Writer plays in the Baltic Film Competition of the 27th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival. Read our dirty review of the Lithuanian filmmaker’s previous feature film The Lawyer that premiered at BFI Flare.

The Lawyer (Advokatas)

Posted on by victorfraga

This a moving tale about people coming to terms with themselves. Combining lush photography and poignant social commentary in the background, Romas Zabarauskas’s fourth feature is a slick and potent piece filmmaking rife with both love and grief.

Marius (Eimutis Kvoščiauskas) is a corporate lawyer in Vilnius who is approaching a midlife crisis while contemplating the emptiness of his privileged lifestyle. He longs for a companion but most of all, he longs for something that can give his life meaning. When his estranged father dies, his grieving process sets him on a journey to find Ali (Doğaç Yildiz), a Syrian refugee in Serbia whom he got to know through sex-cam sessions. Their meeting prompts these two very complicated men to achieve some sort of redemption.

The strength of the script, also penned by Zabarauskas, is how it ventures beyond the borders of this deceptively simple plot to tackle many issues surrounding gay life in Eastern Europe. The writer-director is still clearly interested in discussing the homophobia in the region, portraying its LGBT people desire to migrate, and exploring how the contact with someone from another background can be transformational. However, he also finds time to comment on upper-class ennui and the social perception of refugees.

The boldness surfaces in the complex portrayal of Ali. The character is a straight-acting bisexual who feels like he’s not gay-looking enough to meet the criteria for special LGBT refugee initiatives. Against all odds, he misses his homeland and refuses to be seen as a victim. Defiance shapes his interactions with all sorts of people.

For his part, Marius has blinded himself to the pointlessness of his life and there’s enough in Kvoščiauskas’s take on the character to suggest that, in a deep corner of his soul, he has not fully come to terms with who he is. While assessing their predicament in a hotel room in Belgrade, both men realise the only way to move forward is to face their inner demons.

Thanks to DOP Narvydas Naujalis, all of this comes across as a very polished affair, with precise camerawork and vivid colours coalescing into exuberant shots (the fact that the two leads are easy on the eye does not hurt either).

Just like the titular character, The Lawyer keeps posing questions, and leaves people mulling over complex issues during its entire duration of 97 times. You will still be searching for the answers long after the credits roll.

The Lawyer was scheduled to show as part of BFI Flare, which was cancelled due to the coronavirus outbreak. Some films, including The Lawyer, were still available to review remotely. Other films are available to watch on BFI Flare at Home (until March 29th).