“Sister of Mine”, interview with director André Vaara

“Past the Hill of Napoleon’s Hat”, interview with director Arnas Balčiūnas

Lithuanian filmmaker Arnas Balčiūnas arrives at the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival 2026 with Past the Hill of Napoleon’s Hat, one of the ten short films showcased in Future Frames [https://www.fred.fm/efp-future-frames-2026-returns-to-karlovy-vary-with-europes-next-generation-of-filmmakers/], the European Film Promotion initiative that introduces Europe’s most promising young directors to the international film industry through screenings, masterclasses and networking opportunities. Rather than offering a conventional family drama, Balčiūnas builds an intimate and restrained portrait of emotional distance, where silence speaks louder than confrontation. Set on a single early spring day, the short film [https://www.kviff.com/en/programme/film/84/50579-past-the-hill-of-napoleons-hat] follows Martynas as he picks up his father from a psychiatric hospital and drives him to visit his grandparents in rural Lithuania. Along the journey, familiar landscapes awaken memories that neither father nor son can fully articulate, exposing wounds that have remained buried across generations. A STORY ROOTED IN PERSONAL EXPERIENCE The emotional core of the film originated in a conversation with the director’s own father, who once reflected on his difficult relationship with his abusive parent and the discomfort of seeing his father’s physical features reflected in himself. That confession became the foundation for a story about inherited trauma and the invisible threads connecting different generations. “There’s a lineage here of what I would see as generational trauma.” Rather than recreating his own family’s history, Balčiūnas transformed those emotions into fiction, exploring how unresolved pain can quietly shape relationships long after the original events have passed. CHOOSING EMPATHY OVER JUDGMENT One of the film’s most striking qualities is its refusal to divide its characters into victims and villains. The father is fragile, emotionally distant and difficult to understand, yet the film consistently resists judging him. For Balčiūnas, the real tragedy lies elsewhere. “The saddest thing is the inability to talk about these things.” Instead of explaining every detail of the family’s past, he focuses on the present moment, observing people who continue trying, however imperfectly, to repair broken relationships. That choice allows empathy to emerge naturally, without relying on melodrama or easy resolutions. WHEN THE LANDSCAPE CARRIES HISTORY The Lithuanian countryside becomes an extension of the characters’ emotional state. The familiar post-Soviet houses and quiet rural spaces are not simply realistic settings, but subtle reminders that personal trauma is often inseparable from broader historical experiences. Balčiūnas explains that the emotional patterns portrayed in the film can be found in many Lithuanian families and across the post-Soviet region, where political history has left deep marks on private lives. Rather than making this connection explicit, he allows the environment itself to suggest the weight of a collective past. FINDING A VOICE IN CONTEMPORARY EUROPEAN CINEMA Being part of Future Frames has also allowed the young director to encounter fellow emerging filmmakers at a crucial stage of their careers. He describes the programme less as an immediate professional breakthrough than as the beginning of relationships that may shape future collaborations while offering a broader perspective beyond the national context of film school. Reflecting on today’s film landscape, Balčiūnas acknowledges that young directors face increasing pressure to define a recognisable artistic identity early in their careers. With an overwhelming number of films constantly available, he believes the greatest challenge is not finding a visual style but discovering themes that genuinely belong to one’s own life and cultural background, rather than following existing trends. WHY SHORT FILMS REMAIN THE PERFECT FORM Although he recently premiered another short film at the Cannes Film Festival and is already developing his next project, Balčiūnas continues to embrace the short format as the space where his storytelling feels most natural. “I also like the impressionistic nature of short films. It’s something that suits my storytelling style.” He sees short films as works that can be almost entirely imagined before production begins, allowing filmmakers to refine every choice while preserving ambiguity. Rather than offering definitive answers, they invite audiences to continue thinking after the final frame, completing the emotional journey themselves. The post “Past the Hill of Napoleon’s Hat”, interview with director Arnas Balčiūnas [https://www.fred.fm/past-the-hill-of-napoleons-hat-interview-with-the-director-arnas-balciunas/] appeared first on Fred Film Radio [https://www.fred.fm].

“Half-moon”, interview with director Hae-Sup Sin

For Hae-Sup Sin, Half-moon is not simply a story about reunion. It is about everything that remains unresolved once that reunion finally happens. Presented at the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival 2026 within Future Frames [https://www.fred.fm/efp-future-frames-2026-returns-to-karlovy-vary-with-europes-next-generation-of-filmmakers/], the European Film Promotion initiative showcasing emerging European filmmakers, the short film [https://www.kviff.com/en/programme/film/84/50584-ban-dal-half-moon] follows a Swiss adoptive mother and her son as they travel to South Korea to meet his biological mother for the first time. Set almost entirely within a traditional Korean restaurant, Half-moon explores identity, belonging, and motherhood through restrained performances, quiet observation, and the emotions that emerge when words are no longer enough. FROM A DOCUMENTARY TO AN ORIGINAL STORY The film was inspired by a brief Swiss television documentary about a young Korean girl adopted in Switzerland whose biological mother unexpectedly managed to find her. What fascinated Sin was not the reunion itself, but the adoptive mother’s emotional position. “Usually adoptees search for their biological parents,” he explains. “In this case, the biological mother found the child. I became curious about how the Swiss mother would feel, understanding that another woman could also say, ‘She is my daughter.'” Rather than adapting that true story, Sin used it as the starting point for an original screenplay exploring the emotional space shared by two women connected by the same child. ONE ROOM, TWO MOTHERS Almost the entire film unfolds inside a traditional Korean restaurant, a deliberate choice that carries both dramatic and symbolic meaning. In Korean culture, these restaurants are often where couples introduce their parents before marriage. Sin found it an appropriate setting for two mothers meeting for the first time instead. “I thought it was quite ironic,” he says. “The two mothers face each other there for the first time.” The confined setting also reflects his interest in chamber pieces, in which emotional tension builds through small gestures rather than dramatic action. Food itself becomes another language. “Eating behaviour tells you so much about people and culture,” he explains. “That was another reason I chose the restaurant.” WHEN SILENCE BECOMES DIALOGUE Language barriers shape every interaction in Half-moon. Characters speak different languages, rely on translation and frequently struggle to express what they truly feel. Rather than treating this as an obstacle, Sin embraced silence as one of the film’s central narrative tools. “Silence is one of the most universal languages,” he says. Throughout the film, glances, pauses, and body language communicate emotions that dialogue cannot fully translate. The director also credits his cast for bringing those moments to life. “I relied on the actresses’ instincts,” he explains. “The screenplay was there, but how we interpreted it remained completely open.” LEARNING FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CAMERA Sin also appears in Half-moon as Joel, marking his first experience as an actor. The decision presented unexpected challenges. Unable to judge his own performance objectively, he relied heavily on his cinematographer and producer, both of whom watched the monitor throughout filming and offered constant feedback. The experience has already influenced the way he approaches directing. “Before, I was very controlling,” he admits. “Being in front of the camera made me realise that sometimes it’s better to give simple directions and trust what happens inside the actors.” It is a lesson he intends to carry into future projects. THE MEANING BEHIND THE TITLE The original Korean title, Ban Dal, comes from a children’s song heard after the end credits, where a half moon becomes a boat travelling westward. Only later did Sin realise how deeply the title reflected the film itself. For him, the half moon represents Joel’s incomplete search for identity, as well as the acceptance that motherhood does not have to belong to one person alone. LOOKING AHEAD After Half-moon, Hae-Sup Sin is developing his first feature film, Some Korean Summer, a romance between a young Swiss woman and a Korean man set in the rural South Korean countryside. The project is currently in development with a Swiss production company. Far from feeling intimidated by the transition to feature filmmaking, the director says his greatest concern is securing financing. “I’m more excited than scared,” he says. “I love the process of making films, working with actors and seeing something you’ve written come to life.” His experience at Future Frames has only reinforced that enthusiasm. Beyond presenting his work to international audiences, the programme allowed him to build lasting relationships with fellow emerging filmmakers from across Europe. “We immediately became really good friends,” he says. “Seeing so many different perspectives was inspiring, but leaving with new friends is probably what I’ll remember most.” The post “Half-moon”, interview with director Hae-Sup Sin [https://www.fred.fm/half-moon-interview-with-director-hae-sup-sin/] appeared first on Fred Film Radio [https://www.fred.fm].

“Nobody Barks”, interview with director Júlia Coldwell Serra

Selected for Future Frames [https://www.fred.fm/efp-future-frames-2026-returns-to-karlovy-vary-with-europes-next-generation-of-filmmakers/] at the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival 2026, Júlia Coldwell Serra brings Nobody Barks, a darkly comic short [https://www.kviff.com/en/programme/film/84/50582-nobody-barks] that explores guilt, family ties and emotional avoidance through an increasingly absurd premise. Presented as her final master’s project, the film follows Candela, a middle-aged woman who accidentally runs over her young nephew’s dog. Unable to tell him the truth, she invents an extraordinary story: the dog has left on a pilgrimage to a sacred tree, and together they set out to find it. The premise is both humorous and unsettling, allowing the director to examine why people lie, especially when deception is motivated by love rather than selfishness. “There is something very human about lying because it is so closely connected to guilt,” Coldwell Serra explains. “We usually lie because we have good intentions and we don’t want other people to get hurt.” As Candela’s invention grows beyond her control, the film gradually shifts between comedy, melancholy and emotional tension, refusing to settle into a single emotional register. FINDING FREEDOM THROUGH ABSURDITY Rather than pursuing strict realism, Coldwell Serra embraces absurdity to reach emotional truth. For her, humour is not simply entertainment but a narrative tool that expands the possibilities of storytelling. A non-naturalistic approach allows her to establish the film’s own internal rules, creating space to address grief, guilt and responsibility without becoming didactic. “I wanted the tone to oscillate,” she says. “You don’t really know whether you should laugh, worry or cry, because life is like that. Tragedies and beautiful things don’t arrive in a convenient order.” The comedy of Nobody Barks rarely comes from punchlines. Instead, it emerges from discomfort, awkwardness and the increasingly impossible situation Candela creates for herself. Coldwell Serra also admits that humour reflects her own way of dealing with difficult moments. “Humour has always been a coping mechanism for me,” she says. “It felt like the most honest way to tell this story.” ROOTED IN A FAMILIAR LANDSCAPE The filmmaker deliberately chose to set the story in the region where she grew up. Beginning with a place she knew intimately gave her a solid emotional foundation before she allowed herself to move into more imaginative territory. She believes that authenticity comes from embracing the local rather than trying to make stories universally recognisable from the outset. The international journey of Nobody Barks has only reinforced that conviction. “The more local and the more specific you become,” she reflects, “the more universal the film can be.” Instead of smoothing away cultural details, she trusted that honesty would resonate beyond geographical boundaries. WRITING CANDELA FOR LAIA CABRERA The role of Candela was written specifically for Laia Cabrera, whom Coldwell Serra had met while working on another production. Even before the screenplay was completed, she knew she wanted the actress to embody the character. What fascinated her was not only Cabrera’s talent, but the quiet mystery of her screen presence. “There is something about her face that makes you start asking questions beyond what is happening in the film,” the director explains. That ambiguity proved essential for a protagonist whose motivations remain deliberately difficult to define. Candela’s guilt, tenderness and desperation coexist throughout the film without ever being fully explained, giving the audience space to interpret her actions. TRUSTING INSTINCT ABOVE EVERYTHING Looking back on the journey of Nobody Barks, Coldwell Serra admits she never expected the short to travel so widely after waiting nearly a year for its first premiere. Its success ultimately confirmed something she had suspected while making it: originality comes from trusting instinct rather than trying to anticipate expectations. Many readers of the screenplay struggled to imagine the unusual tone she had in mind, but she chose to follow her own vision rather than make it more conventional. “I learned not to be afraid of taking risks,” she says. “It was the most authentic film I could make.” That lesson is one she hopes to carry into her future work. GROWING THROUGH FUTURE FRAMES For Coldwell Serra, being selected for Future Frames has been both an educational and deeply personal experience. Sharing the programme with nine emerging filmmakers from across Europe, attending masterclasses and exchanging ideas about filmmaking has strengthened her optimism about the future of European cinema.”We really bonded as a group,” she says. “It’s inspiring to meet so many people who are trying to make films with the same passion. It gives me hope for the future of cinema.” The post “Nobody Barks”, interview with director Júlia Coldwell Serra [https://www.fred.fm/nobody-barks-interview-with-the-director-julia-coldwell-serra/] appeared first on Fred Film Radio [https://www.fred.fm].

“Sister of Mine”, interview with director André Vaara

Selected for Future Frames [https://www.fred.fm/efp-future-frames-2026-returns-to-karlovy-vary-with-europes-next-generation-of-filmmakers/] at the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival 2026, André Vaara presents Sister of Mine, a subtle and emotionally restrained short film [https://www.kviff.com/en/programme/film/84/50583-sister-of-mine] that explores identity through the eyes of a ten-year-old boy. Rather than engaging in explicit dialogue about gender and family dynamics, the film relies on gestures, sound, and physical sensations to immerse the audience in the child’s emotional world. “I wanted to ask what happens when your sibling has access to expressions that you don’t,” Vaara explains. “Is there room to explore another identity as a child?”The story follows a young boy who admires his older sister and struggles with the expectations surrounding his own appearance when the siblings visit a barber. What seems like an ordinary family situation gradually reveals deeper questions about identity, comparison and belonging. SIBLINGS AS MIRRORS The director traces the film’s origins to his fascination with sibling relationships. According to Vaara, brothers and sisters constantly compare themselves with one another, whether over attention, privileges or affection. Gender became the natural extension of that dynamic because, unlike other childhood inequalities, it cannot simply be negotiated. A single visual image became the emotional seed of the project: one sibling secretly cutting the other’s hair during the night. Rather than explaining the gesture, Vaara chose to investigate the emotions that could lead to such an intimate act. LETTING SOUND TELL THE STORY Dialogue is deliberately sparse throughout Sister of Mine. For Vaara, silence reflects the family’s inability to communicate openly, while sound design becomes the protagonist’s inner voice. “I wanted the audience to stay with the boy all the time,” he says. “The sound design was meant to capture what happens inside him.” Physical sensations also play an essential role. Hair, touch and proximity become narrative tools, allowing viewers to experience the child’s emotions almost viscerally. Vaara believes the short film format offers the ideal space for this kind of sensory storytelling, where atmosphere often speaks louder than plot. DIRECTING YOUNG PERFORMERS Working with child actors required extensive preparation before filming. Lars and Alma, who play the siblings, are naturally energetic and outgoing, qualities that contrast with the film’s restrained emotional register. Instead of focusing on dialogue, Vaara developed exercises that encouraged stillness and introspection. Rehearsals often involved quietly acting through scenes accompanied by calm music, helping the performers settle into the family’s emotional rhythm. The process, he says, was ultimately about understanding what each child needed to inhabit the relationship truthfully. LOOKING AHEAD Following Sister of Mine, Vaara is developing his first feature film with writer Erika Malmgren and producers Annika Hellström and Erik Andersson. The project centres on two young boys whose intense friendship gradually becomes destructive after adults decide to separate them by sending them to different schools. Moving from short films to features presents new challenges. “A feature needs much more than one feeling,” Vaara reflects. “It’s about structure, momentum, and earning the industry’s trust to make it happen.” Despite the financial difficulties facing independent filmmaking, he remains committed to telling the stories that matter most to him. His experience at Future Frames has reinforced that conviction. Meeting nine emerging filmmakers from across Europe offered not only insight into different national film industries but also renewed confidence in the value of personal storytelling.”It gave me energy to keep believing in my own voice,” he says. The post “Sister of Mine”, interview with director André Vaara [https://www.fred.fm/sister-of-mine-interview-with-the-director-andre-vaara/] appeared first on Fred Film Radio [https://www.fred.fm].

“Shallow Ground”, interview with director Jozo Schmuch

At the Future Frames [https://efp-online.com/news/a-new-generation-of-european-filmmakers-steps-into-the-international-spotlight] – Generation NEXT of European Cinema 2026, organized by European Film Promotion and the 60th edition of the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival, Croatian director Jozo Schmuch presents Shallow Ground. Shot on 16mm, the film [https://www.kviff.com/en/programme/film/84/50576-shallow-ground] imagines a son who vanished during Croatia’s war of independence returning to his elderly mother three decades later, unaged and unmarked, a reunion whose warmth is shadowed by disbelief. Schmuch’s graduation film, it draws directly on the disappearance of his own uncle. A CLOSURE THAT NEVER CAME Schmuch describes Shallow Ground as “a magical realism drama where there is not a lot of magic, but it’s very present,” built around a grief that was never allowed to resolve. “It’s exploring the theme of when somebody is missing, either in the war or their body was never found, can you ever actually grieve for them?” Asked about reviews describing the film as an honest portrait of grief, Schmuch agreed readily: “It’s a film about grief mostly, but then also it’s a film about love, and about how mothers and sons, in the end, love each other.” AN UNCLE HE NEVER MET The film began, technically, as a graduation project, but its real origin lies closer to home. “My uncle, my mother’s cousin, he went missing during the war. They lived together, he was like a brother to her. He went missing during the fall of Vukovar and his body was never found.” Growing up, Schmuch inherited the loss secondhand. “I spent my childhood hearing about him and missing ever meeting him, having this sort of nostalgic feeling for somebody I never met.” He made the film, he says, for every family living the same unresolved story, in Croatia and elsewhere: “I wanted to make a film for people who haven’t found their loved ones and who are grieving without any concrete proof of their death. REFUSING TO TAKE SIDES It mattered to Schmuch that the film resist being pulled into the nationalistic register that often surrounds war stories. “It was extremely important for me not to let this movie take a nationalistic dimension, because often when movies deal with the war, they can be used for nationalistic and right-wing purposes, and this is something that I’m very against.” The idea took shape while he was editing an earlier documentary short, one that takes a critical look at how the war is taught in schools. “When you hear about the war in these big and large numbers, they are just statistics, the weapons of propaganda and of indoctrination. But when you take it to the personal level, to two people that it happened to, it becomes something that’s much larger than that.” His hope for the film has nothing to do with assigning blame: “The most important part to take out of this film is not hatred for the warring sides of this Croatian independence war, Serbians and Croatians, but rather to see that a thing like that should have never happened and it should never happen again, in any part of the world.” THE PRIVILEGE OF EUROPEAN CINEMA Before studying film directing, Schmuch trained in medicine. “Being a doctor is so much more concrete. But I think the arts, they teach us why life is worth living, and they show us the complexity of human emotions, the messy thing about being human.” Asked about the role of European cinema today, he points to a shared culture under pressure from shrinking public funding. “We are constantly bombarded with funding cuts, investing more into defensive budgets, the European Union turning toward defense but defunding creative media. What makes us both Europeans and, say, Germans or Croatians, it’s our culture. It’s the most basic thing about us, and we must fight by every possible means to stop defunding arts.” The post “Shallow Ground”, interview with director Jozo Schmuch [https://www.fred.fm/shallow-ground-interview-with-director-jozo-schmuch/] appeared first on Fred Film Radio [https://www.fred.fm].