A Shrine for Cinephiles: The Story of Warsaw’s Kino Amondo [Interview]

12_graphics_by_kof_kof_for_movies_screened_at_amondo_kino.jpg, default, Graphics by KOF KOF for movies screened at Amondo Kino, photo: Kino Amondo

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#Culture.pl Interviews

In this exclusive interview, we discuss the inspiration behind Kino Amondo, the challenges of curating unique cinematic experiences, and why, even in the digital age, watching films together still matters.

In a time when streaming dominates and traditional cinemas struggle to stay relevant, Kino Amondo stands as a testament to the enduring power of communal film-watching. More than just Warsaw’s smallest cinema, it is a living, breathing hub for cinephiles, young filmmakers, and cultural rebels seeking something beyond the mainstream. Founded by Paweł Tarasiewicz, Amondo is not just about showing films – it’s about preserving cinema as an art form and creating a space where film lovers can gather, debate, and experience movies the way they were meant to be seen: together, in the dark, with undivided attention.

Agnes Dudek: Amondo used to be the smallest cinema.

Paweł Tarasiewicz: It still is the smallest cinema in Poland.

AD: You’re not only the founder of Warsaw’s smallest cinema, but you also have a background in filmmaking. You graduated from film school. We have to start from somewhere, so let’s start from the beginning. How did you get into cinema?

PT: I started out by taking pictures while traveling. At 18, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life, so I travelled a bit and worked in different places. I eventually started taking photos and realized I enjoyed it. I went to a private photography school, which was an experimental programme that only existed for three years. It combined photography, directing, cinematography and graphic design, so I met a lot of talented young people. That experience inspired me to lean more into cinema.

I grew up in the 1990s, which I think was probably the best time for cinema – both American and European. Directors such as Lynch, Cronenberg, Haneke and Kusturica were releasing incredible films, and waiting for their next work was a big event. My brother, who’s eight years older than I, introduced me to a lot of these movies. At the same time, I’d often visualize images when I listened to music. I wanted to find a way to bring those images to life. A big step for me was starting an artistic collective with a small group of high-school friends. We began by making short films for fun, which quickly grew into exhibitions featuring photography, paintings and more. We called ourselves ODNOWA.

Back then, Warsaw was a very grey place with a lot of violence. Warsaw now is unrecognizable. In the 1990s, the city had a problem with drugs, such as heroin, which was rather new to the city. Therefore, certain public places, Centralna for instance, were quite dangerous – filled with drug users. I was going to high school in Saska Kępa, and next door you had what’s now the football stadium. It was the biggest market in Europe. You could buy everything there and, of course, mainly pirated things: VHS films, CDs, etc. All this sort of inspired us to make a film. We had no idea what filmmaking was, but inspired by La Haine, which was directed by Mathieu Kassovitz – it was really the film of our generation – we decided to make a feature film. So we called this film ODNOWA, shot using a DV home camera in Warsaw. It was around the year 2000. The word odnowa has these two meanings: “renewal” and “from the beginning”. From the beginning and renewal, as in biological renewal.

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Odnowa exhibition in 2009 in Sqwer Hoovera, photo: Ludwik Lis

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The collective was really successful during this time because we were, I think, one of the very few who were doing such things – exhibitions and so on. Hip-hop was also developing in Poland – Polish rap. Tomek from our collective worked in Prosto and introduced me to Sokół. He’s a very well-known rapper as well as a businessman in Poland (the Prosto clothing brand). I did a few photoshoots for him and for other rappers for their albums. My first commercial job was a music video. Sokół had two clips that weren’t great, so I was asked to step in. I created a sample, and he – along with everyone else – liked it. Pierdolę to by the artist Pono became my first official music video, and it was a big success. It stayed on the charts for a long time and was even on MTV back when MTV still meant quality television. After that, I started getting offers from big stars. But somehow I stayed with the rappers. I was young, and fame didn’t interest me. I had a ticket to Marseille, France, and I decided to go.

During this time, I met Kuba Łubniewski, who’s still a very good friend of mine. He was like an older brother and taught me a lot about film. Kuba was an alumni of the famous Łódź Film School, and I thought I’d never be able to get in – what did I know compared to others? Everyone I knew who wanted to go there had been studying for years. Still, I decided to give it a try. I had a few years of experience making music videos, and back then, everything was on film – 35 mm – even photography. It wasn’t easy. The exam was very demanding, and it took me three attempts to get in.

As I mentioned, Warsaw in the 1990s was a violent place, but by the time I started at Łódź, it had already begun to change. Łódź, on the other hand, felt like Warsaw from ten years earlier, when it was tough but had character. The city was rough, almost like a zombie apocalypse, with visible alcoholism everywhere. But in a way, that isolation was a good thing. It allowed me to focus entirely on film and on the people at the school. Now, of course, Łódź has changed a lot.

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Cinephiles gathering for the Amondo discussion film club, photo: CCTV camera

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AD: Łódź Film School was recognized internationally as a good school?

PT: It’s still one of the best. And mostly also because it uses 35 mm. But for foreigners to study there, they have to be really dedicated. First, they have to pay to get in, and then, because Łódź conducts its classes in Polish, they’re obliged to learn the language. And what’s interesting is that most of them come to Łódź because of Kieślowski. David Lynch was also a big fan of Łódź because he liked the dark, hardcore, creepy stuff.

AD: Is Amondo connected to your first collective?

PT: If you see Amondo, it’s actually ODNOWA turned upside down. And it sounds line Monde in French, or Mundo. And I always wanted to make projects around the world, projects that are international. So then, more or less when I was already in Łódź towards the end of my studies, I started Amondo. And I started it with my friends Joaquin del Paso from Mexico and Tushar Prakash from India – now they’re both really successful. There was also Jan Pawel Trzaska, who was already part of ODNOWA and with whom I shot music videos; Clémence Thurninger from France, I can’t mention everyone. I already had the idea to make international movies when I was in Łódź. The three of us had the idea of doing our first project: a feature film composed of four shorts. And the idea was to shoot a short in Warsaw, Marseille, New Delhi and Mexico City.

But it didn’t work out. So I took a different path and made my feature debut, Hel, co-directed with Katia Priwieziencew. Shot on 35 mm in winter on the Hel Peninsula, Poland, it was a student-driven psychological thriller. The film was made after my trip to Australia and after I focused on Amondo – it was Amondo’s first project, followed by the cinema. Hel premiered in 2016, marking the true beginning of my career.

AD: You began with the Amondo Foundation?

PT: Yes. I was in Australia on a school exchange when I started having issues with ODNOWA: first, it was really hard for foreigners to pronounce; second, it was too vague – film, photo, paintings, exhibitions – and I wanted to concentrate on film, so I decided to start Amondo. One of my friends suggested turning Amondo into something more formal, like a foundation, which I did. Around the same time, I came up with the idea of creating a cultural space – a cinema with a café. It was a bit crazy because I had no money, no experience and no idea how to run a cinema.

While still in Australia, I started searching online and discovered that Warsaw was running a contest to support local culture. There were some great spaces in the city centre up for grabs. My friend helped me establish the foundation in Warsaw, and I returned from Australia to apply for the contest. We didn’t win. We tried again – three times over two years – but still didn’t get it.

It was frustrating because I believed in the idea, and I saw that some of the winners already had established spaces. I was angry but determined, so we started knocking on doors. Eventually, we found the right person – someone managing the contest who was also in charge of cultural initiatives in the Śródmieście district. He loved cinema and was excited about our concept. He began showing us potential spaces, but most were in terrible condition. Finally, he showed us the space where the cinema is now. Ten years ago, the street was very different, nothing like the fancy area it is today. At the time, the space housed a foundation, Niebieska Linia (Blue Line), helping victims of violence and abuse.

What caught my attention was the beautiful wood floor, which gave me a lot of hope for the space. We started by building one screening room. There wasn’t much of a plan – it was very step-by-step, learning as we went and making plenty of mistakes along the way.

AD: What did you want this cinema to be known for?

PT: I think I’m at the peak now, of this place. I only wanted to watch good movies and show good movies to people – movies I like, movies that you can’t see in regular cinemas. For the first three years, we were just showing movies three times a week. I was doing the programme with a few other young cinephiles who came out of nowhere: Jan Lubaczewski, Jan Grabowski, Antoni Wiśniewski and Tomek Wróblewski, who was managing the place. In daytime, it was our Amondo film production space, and at night it turned into a cinema, in fact that’s still the case today, but everything grew.

It’s hard to mention all the people who were involved, but Korek Bojanowski, who came 8 years ago at the age of 22, is now my associate in Amondo. We were trying to show cult movies, forgotten movies, movies that inspired big directors that people don’t know. A community formed quite quickly. Still, the screenings had few viewers.

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Kino Amondo crew, 2022, photo: Paweł Tarasiewicz

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AD: But the cinema was small anyway, so that’s good.

PT: We started promoting it on Facebook, and then other people joined the community – among others, a girl creating amazing graphics for the events. Things were going really well until people on Facebook began calling us a ‘pirate cinema’. Even at parties, people would joke, ‘How’s your pirate cinema, Paweł?’ It started becoming a real issue for me. I knew there were underground cinemas like Amondo in cities such as Berlin or Paris, but I knew in Poland with the Polish mentality it wouldn’t last much longer.

Eventually, we shifted to screening films legally. It started when a distributor, Aurora Films, took over the space and turned it into a proper cinema. Before that, we weren’t even selling tickets, nor were we listed in the Warsaw Cinema Centre’s programming. Around that time, I was travelling for documentary projects, which was good for me personally. But when I returned to Warsaw, I noticed the cinema had lost some of its energy. The distributor running the place was mainly showing romantic comedies and similar films, which didn’t align with the vibe we’d built.

A few of the young guys who’d been helping out stuck around – I really liked their energy. One of them, Janek Lubaczewski, became the artistic director of the cinema.

At the same time, COVID hit, and oddly enough, it helped us a lot. Before the pandemic, many distributors didn’t want to work with a small cinema like ours. To them, $100 invoices weren’t worth the hassle. But after COVID, they realized that every dollar counts. That shift made a big difference for us, and the cinema finally started functioning like a real cinema.

It started a whole new chapter – Amondo was run by young cinephiles, or cine freaks, and was legal, so we could advertise the screenings, and that’s when it truly became a hub for young filmmakers, film critics and cinema lovers.

I’ve spent so much time here watching incredible films with friends and colleagues. The people who’ve worked here have gone on to do amazing things. Two of them got into the Łódź Film School. Others moved on to work with Nowe Horyzonty (New Horizons): Jan Lubaczewski, who’s the biggest loss – I can honestly say he’s one of the creators of the cinema; or Michał Konarski, who this summer became the director of Kinoteka – and he’s only 23!

AD: I think they see this place as having a lot of cultural significance. They see it as a place where they could learn a lot.

PT: Yes. Warsaw needs more arthouse cinemas, since many of the best cinemas were destroyed in the past 15 years.

AD: Which ones were destroyed?

PT: Skarpa was destroyed 10, 15 years ago. Skarpa was an amazing cinema, behind Nowy Świat. Kino Moskwa, which was where Mokotów starts. A mall was built in its place. Kino Tęcza, which is next to Wilson Square, next to Kino Wisła, was a very nice, small cinema. Kino Wrzos, which we even had in Anin. There was a cinema in the Old Town, a very small one, I don’t remember the name – amazing. There was one cinema on Foksal, at the very end, near the palace – Kino Femina…

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Jerzy Skolimowski, Kino Amondo, 2023, photo: Paweł Tarasiewicz

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AD: Why were all these cinemas destroyed?

PT: Good question. I don’t really know. Maybe it’s because of the corruption and the hardcore capitalism that emerged. Everyone was selling everything for next to nothing, buildings included. Terrible. So I felt a need to make an arthouse cinema on a micro scale, a place not only to watch but also to meet and discuss cinema. That’s what I wanted to create, and I think I’ve achieved it – here, people can stay after a screening and talk about the film, or meet before the screening and have a conversation, or even just come without seeing anything. They know they’ll run into a friend. For instance, the girl sitting over there – she’s a screenwriter, and she’s here every day, writing scripts.

We also invite people to come and show their films. From the very beginning, it’s been a space for student filmmakers to premiere their short films when they needed somewhere to screen them. We’d host premieres across three screens at the same time – it was enough to make it feel like a proper party. Then I realised we needed to organise film cycles. For example, Jan Luśnia runs a philosophical film cycle, choosing films legally from our library, which we distribute across Poland. Ania Zarzycka, who specialises in horror, curates a cycle on Polish horror films – which are fascinating, as not many are made. We also have the Queer Club. On Wednesdays, Paweł runs Krypta (Crypt) – something like horror, but really just crazy, wild films.

I’m quite proud of this cinema, honestly, mostly of the people who create it with me. Key figures from the world of cinema, such as the arthouse director Carlos Reygadas from Mexico, have visited. I met him in Mexico over coffee, and he actually suggested I open a place like Amondo there. Filmmakers appreciate this place – they understand that it’s genuinely driven by a love of cinema. I even wanted to collaborate with the Mexican Embassy, but that didn’t pan out. Instead, I began working with the French Institute, which turned out to be much easier.

AD: Even when I was in Sudan, I went to the French Institute to watch French films there.

PT: Everywhere, because it’s really a great system, and it’s super smart. We had a French cycle which ran for two years, every Sunday. Almost always sold out. We have a second cycle with the Italian Institute now – commedia all’italiana, from the 1960s. Really funny actually, because last year we had Giallo, and Giallo are crazy Italian horror movies. We’re also working with the Goethe and Cervantes Institutes. So I found a way of showing movies that are not in the mainstream or are unavailable. This is more or less the way we also show semi-new movies, but we don’t have DCP, which is a coding system for movies; there’s Blu-ray, DVD, but DCP is for cinemas, and we don’t have DCP because it’s a whole system, technical stuff, very expensive. We show from Blu-rays, which we have to wait for, but it’s good because not everyone can see a film immediately when it comes out. This way they can still see a newer film in our cinema.

Kino Amondo Over the Years – Image Gallery

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AD: This reminds me of a cinema in my hometown in the United States. We had the mainstream Hollywood blockbuster cinema, and then we had a one-dollar cinema which showed films that had just left the main cinemas. Tell me more about your documentaries.

PT: I was more into fiction. I did my first feature in 2016 (Hel, which I’ve already mentioned), but I couldn’t get financing for my next feature. At that time, the cinema was run by the distributor. My friend from India, Tushar Prakash, called and told me that he wanted to make a documentary film in India and asked if I wanted to do it with him. I agreed, but – I wanted to come by land, not air.

AD: So you drove? Train? Or maybe walked?

PT: Not so much walking. Because in fact I had a deadline, and I had to get there in two weeks. But walking would have been nice – maybe one day. I went to Pakistan, and I found a subject for a documentary in Pakistan. Thus, I made a documentary in Pakistan. Then I had a project in New Caledonia. It was a really nice time. But I knew that I wanted to end up in Mexico. I didn’t even come back to Poland but went straight to Mexico. And I already had a project with Joaquin, who was doing his second feature film, and I got a grant from the Polish Film Institute to co-produce it. So I already had some money. It was cool because I was already someone. I was co-producing a movie in Mexico. And at that time, Paweł Pawlikowski made Cold War, which was a big success, and everybody thought I was Paweł – many people in Mexico were actually confusing us [laughs].

And Mexico – it’s really amazing actually, and the people are amazing, too. It’s psychedelic, a lot of art everywhere, from streets to museums, and a lot of independent filmmakers, much more than in Poland. Of course, there’s this whole contrast happening in Mexico: you have this amazing place, yet it’s super violent. But places with contrasts are the most interesting for me, as Poland or Warsaw were in the 1990s.

AD: I can clearly see how important contrasts are for a filmmaker because without them, everything feels flat.

PT: Some people make slow cinema, and that’s fine, but I’m more energetic – I thrive on chaos. Mexico, in many ways, reflects that energy, and I hope it doesn’t lose its unique character. To me, the biggest danger for Mexico is the growing number of Americans moving there. The thing about Americans, in my opinion, is that they often try to recreate what they had back home. Some parts of Mexico City, for example, are starting to feel like suburbs in the United States, which is changing the vibe.

This kind of transformation reminds me of what happened in Poland. Over time, Poland became more Westernized, and it lost some of its uniqueness. Places such as Ukraine and Belarus, before the war and all the madness, felt more exciting and different by comparison. Mexico still has that special vibe, though, and I love that about it. I even traveled across Latin America to be sure it was the place I wanted to settle. Peru and Bolivia are fascinating, but Mexico stands out for me.

Mexico City, in particular, is incredible. It’s massive, and I love big cities. Sure, I enjoy nature too, but I’m very much a city person right now. The opportunities there are endless – it’s like the New York of Latin America. There’s a rich mix of immigrants from all over the region and a vibrant film scene. I’ve been working on getting my feature made there for years now – almost five years – and I still believe that’s the place to do it. It’s not easy, but they have more grants than in Poland. I mean, the whole film industry is much bigger there. In fact, I’m finishing a documentary that I’ve been making for five years in Mexico.

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Paweł Tarasiewicz, Joaquin Del Paso, Tushar Prakash, Amondo films, 2019, photo: Kino Amondo

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AD: What is your main interest when you make movies or documentaries? Is there maybe something that represents who you are and what’s interesting to you?

PT: I’m interested in people on the periphery of society. In feature films, I’m drawn to exploring the border between dream and reality. It’s something I think David Lynch does well. Film, to me, is the only art form that can truly take you to another dimension, a place where you forget about reality and the present.

As I get older, though, I realize I want to use cinema not just to transport people but also to criticize hypocrisy. I grew up as a punk rocker, with ideals like Robin Hood, and now I want to make films that have a message. Hypocrisy, in particular, upsets me the most. We live in times when no one says what they really think, political correctness became fascism. It’s not about criticizing politics or humanity in general – though I do think humans can be inherently flawed – but about the hypocrisy of people who pretend to help others just to show off. It’s everywhere – like leftists who can be more authoritarian than the right. Everything feels so confused right now. There’s this schizophrenia where some people lean toward communism, while they’re obsessed with money. This place here, for example – everything you see, I’ve made myself. It doesn’t generate a profit, and I never created it for that.

AD: You mean the design? Because I wanted to ask you if you’re inspired by the cinemas of Latin America, since you were posting a lot of really nice photos of cinemas from that region to Instagram.

PT: Yes. About cinemas – it’s my hobby. I soon want to create an album showcasing cinemas from around the world. In the United States, there’s an infinite number of them, which is amazing. When we get a new space, everything is connected and new, which inspires me. I’d like to create a small gallery of cinemas and put together a little magazine, maybe in a newspaper-style format, with short texts and stories about cinemas from different parts of the world. Something people could take for free. That’s the idea.

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Paweł Tarasiewicz in front of Amondo Kino, photo: Ludwik Lis

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AD: So what are your five favourite films?

PT: Wild at Heart is my favourite movie. Why? Because it’s about crazy love, and love is the most important thing. Another reason is personal: when I was young, the only person who introduced me to art was my older brother. He was a metalhead in 1990s Poland and he loved movies like Crash by Cronenberg, Wild at Heart, and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I remember we had a VHS copy of Wild at Heart, but it was a copy of a copy, and it started mid-scene – with Nicolas Cage on the stairs, blood everywhere, right in the middle of the action. That left such an impression on me as a teenager. It was my introduction to cinema, which was wild, intense and unlike anything I’d ever seen.

Denis Côté, a Quebecois director, once said something at a meeting in Amondo I really agree with: when you’re 15, 16 or 18, certain movies affect you so deeply they stay with you forever. That kind of impact doesn’t happen the same way when you’re older. I remember being 14, wandering around Warsaw one summer and stumbling into a cinema to watch 12 Monkeys. I didn’t even know what it was – I just recognized Bruce Willis on the poster. When I left the theatre, I felt completely disoriented, like I didn’t know what was real anymore. Wild at Heart is such a simple story – a love story – but the energy, the setup and the chemistry between the characters take it to another level.

Another film I discovered more recently is Tokyo Decadence. I saw it about six years ago, and I was blown away. It’s a movie about a prostitute who is objectified and overused, but there’s something so tender and soft about her character. It’s a beautiful, moving film.

Another movie that defines what I love and appreciate in cinema is Buffalo ‘66 by Vincent Gallo. I’m not necessarily a fan of Gallo himself – I don’t know much about him personally – but this film is incredible. Christina Ricci is so beautiful in it, and the love story is strange, tender and full of mystery. Gallo’s character is such a weirdo, but he’s also delicate and vulnerable inside.

I also want to mention Crash. I watched it again recently while I was in Mexico City, on a rainy day, alone in the most beautiful cinema I’ve ever been to. Mexico is considered a developing country, but Mexico City is second in the world in the number of museums – they have 180. Their Cineteca Nacional is stunning, and the film community there is incredible. Watching Crash again after so many years, I was worried it might feel dated or tacky, but no – it was even better. The music, the atmosphere – everything still held up perfectly.

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Krzysztof Zanussi at Amondo Kino, 2023, photo: Maja Michnacka

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AD: What Polish film do you love?

PT: I love the Polish film school of the 1950s–60s. Mostly the first films of big directors such as Pętla (The Noose) directed by Jerzy Hass, Pociąg (Night Train) directed by Jerzy Kawalerowicz or Nóż w Wodzie (Knife in the Water) directed by Roman Polański.

I really appreciate Jerzy Skolimowski. Like Polański, he had an incredible career and even went to Hollywood, but Skolimowski always made the films he wanted to make. His work wasn’t commercial; it was personal and unique. He’s an incredible filmmaker. Having him in Amondo was one of the most important events in the history of Kino Amondo.

One of my favourite films of his is Deep End. It’s not a Polish movie – it was made in England – but it’s such a timeless and striking film. It’s about a younger guy falling in love with an older girl at a swimming pool. It’s a simple story but beautifully told, and it still feels fresh and relevant today.

These are the kinds of films that left a huge mark on me in my youth – the ones that really shaped me. Out of everything I’ve mentioned, maybe Tokyo Decadence is the exception, since I discovered it more recently. I have a deep connection to Japan. In fact, I’m planning a project there soon because I feel that Japan is calling me.

AD: What makes a film good?

PT: Cinema has to move you – that’s its magic and its craft. I hesitate to use the term slow cinema because it’s overused, but a film can be both slow and dynamic. A great film weaves together script, acting, cinematography, music, sound and set design into a perfect puzzle, drawing the viewer in emotionally, intellectually and even spiritually. I believe in cinema that can give you a spiritual experience, and that’s when a film becomes a masterpiece – when you truly move the viewer.

I’ve been watching Michelangelo Antonioni’s trilogy lately – one of the perks of owning a cinema is being able to watch films whenever I want. I’m really into Italian cinema right now, but it’s more than that – Italy has the best food, language, culture. I miss films like his.

As I get older – though I hate to admit it – I experience cinema differently. I’ve started walking out of films, something I never used to do. If a film doesn’t connect with me in the first 30 or 45 minutes, I won’t sit through an hour of boredom just for a brilliant ending. My perspective has changed.

We’re living in a bubble – I’m in the cinema world, I’m a filmmaker, I watch films, I talk about films. But most people go to the cinema to be entertained, to relax, to have fun, and I completely understand that. I think that’s what real cinema is about. When I travel and visit cinemas around the world, I’ve noticed something almost spiritual about them. Cinemas are like temples, spaces where generations of people have sat, cried, laughed, loved. You can feel that energy the moment you walk in. That’s why I love old cinemas.

For me, cinema is about giving people emotions. Lately, I’ve been enjoying commedia all’Italiana – comedy infused with sharp social critique. Although it’s the opposite of what I just described, it fascinates me. I suspect I sometimes sound snobbish though I don’t mean to because cinema is for everyone. Anyone can find something special in it.

What makes cinema remarkable is how it merges all the arts: acting, image, sound, music, even poetry. You sit in a dark room, surrounded by strangers, and you feel something. That’s its magic. But who knows the future? Cinema has only existed for a century. Maybe in a thousand years, no one will even know it existed.

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Krzysztof Skonieczny, Tektonika x Hoshii concert at Kino Amondo, 2024 photo: Marcin Liber

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AD: Why should people even still go to the cinema? People have Netflix, they download movies, HBO.

PT: I think this is true now more than ever. Even I find myself doing it. When I watch films on my computer, sometimes I catch myself picking up my phone, checking something, getting distracted. It’s so easy to do. And I mentioned earlier how I’ve started leaving cinemas during screenings. Actually, sometimes I stay at the screening even if I disconnect from the film a bit. I’m still watching, but my mind is wandering. I use that time for myself. It gives me a moment to think about things, such as my projects, in peace. I know no one will call me or interrupt me, and I won’t distract myself as I would at home.

I think COVID changed a lot. On the one hand, it was a disaster for cinema – so many people who regularly went to the cinema were forced to switch to platforms like Netflix or Amazon. A lot of these film enthusiasts became lazy and stopped going to cinemas as often. But on the other hand, COVID also made people crave something more than just sitting at home watching films. They wanted to be part of something bigger. That’s why I think my cinema is a good answer to this. It’s not just about watching a film; it’s about meeting people, talking about the movie before and after. For example, we always have a prelection. Michał, who gives talks before our French screenings, is incredible. If you’ve seen him, you know what I mean.

AD: What is the role of cinema in bridging cultural divides, and how do you try to accomplish this in your work?

PT: I’m trying to show things (the topic, the person I’m portraying) my way – such as my documentary from Pakistan. It’s creative, not a typical documentary. Every topic is different. It was a coincidence that I started making documentaries in Pakistan, where my main character was a transgender person. I couldn’t communicate with my character, only through body language, so my film was more observational. It became something of a fairy tale. I did some interviews, but it didn’t delve deeply into the character.

When I went to Mexico, I wanted to explore the transgender community more. For me, it doesn’t matter if someone is transgender, heterosexual, or anything else – I’m simply portraying a person. That’s what interests me. However, these days, LGBTQ topics are very ‘in fashion’, which has its challenges for me as a straight white filmmaker. In the United States especially, it seems people care deeply about who’s telling a story about which community.

This has made it harder for me to get into festivals. I don’t dwell on it. In Mexico, I wanted to make a portrait of Mexico City from the perspective of women. I started with seven women, two of whom were transgender women for the sake of diversity. But it quickly became overwhelming. Mexico City is huge, and I was working alone with seven characters. It was chaos. I soon realised the transgender women were the most compelling. Their lives were more interesting, and they allowed me into their private worlds.

The other women were harder to connect with – I’d film them at work, and that was it. So I ended up focusing only on the two transgender women – Claudia and Estrella. What I thought would be a one- or two-year project turned into five years. Claudia underwent a full sex change, while Estrella accepted her body as it was. This contrast fascinated me – people often lump transgender individuals together, but these women’s experiences and personalities were so different. One was introverted, the other extroverted. I think viewers will switch between siding with one and siding the other throughout the film, and by the end, they’ll see the complexity of their lives.

Again, political correctness in filmmaking has become a big issue. At a festival premiere for my Pakistani film Well of Dreams, the first question I got was, ‘How do you feel, as a privileged white heterosexual, making a movie in Pakistan about transgenders?’ I wasn’t expecting that. It’s such a predictable question these days. But I made the film on my own – no crew, no big budget. It wasn’t about exploiting anyone. I told her about my time studying in Łódź. There, I was struck by how foreign students could create films about Polish life that I, as a local, never could. They saw beauty and meaning in the everyday things I found mundane. Outsiders bring a fresh perspective to cultures, which is invaluable. It’s not about gatekeeping stories within a community. That mindset is madness to me.

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Jan Lubaczewski at a fundraising event for Kino Amondo, 2022, photo: Paweł Tarasiewicz

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Pakistan is such an interesting country – a clash of Muslim and Indian cultures, ancient and vibrant. The dynamics there are unique. For instance, in a country where women are often hidden from public life, transgender people take on certain public roles, such as dancing to entertain men. It’s fascinating and full of contrasts. I think filmmakers like Herzog wouldn’t be able to make as many documentaries today. Now, everything seems political – whether it’s about transgender issues, Africa or anything else. For me, the goal is to remain as objective as possible, even though I dislike that word. It’s about observing, understanding and portraying, not forcing a political agenda.

AD: It’s very easy to get political very quickly.

PT: I feel there’s much more politics in film nowadays and much less sensitivity – less tenderness, delicateness or softness. You mentioned ‘slow cinema’, but even that seems to lack these qualities now. I think it’s quite sad. That’s why I appreciate having my own little island here, where I can show whatever I want and do things my way. It’s liberating. But when I go to Cannes, I can’t help but feel disheartened. It all feels so fake. It’s not just about the snobbery of Cannes itself but about the kinds of films being showcased. There used to be years when true masterpieces were shown there, but now... less so. Still, maybe this is a sign that we’re on the brink of change. Maybe it’s time for a big shift, and perhaps we’ll see a new wave of crazy, bold films and filmmakers emerge.

AD: If the Łódź Film School is so great, why doesn’t Polish cinema follow suit?

PT: I think the film school is still relying on its legendary status, built on the achievements of past greats such as Polański, Skolimowski, Kawalerowicz and Has. Those names carry a lot of weight, and their first films were masterpieces – simple yet profound. They had to be, especially under censorship and communism, which forced filmmakers to delve deeply into human emotions and struggles. They created films that were all about feelings, about raw humanity, often told through simple, intimate stories. Later, in the 1990s, Kieślowski became the dominant figure, but after the fall of the system and the absence of a Polish Film Institute, Polish cinema shifted in a commercial direction. Many filmmakers began copying Hollywood, which led to a decline in quality.

The film school still capitalises on the legacy of those big names, but what it’s most renowned for today is its cinematography department. It’s arguably the best in the world, and cinematographers trained there are widely recognised. Polish cinematographers continue to have significant influence internationally. For example, my friend Michał Dymek, still in his early 30s, has already achieved remarkable success as a cinematographer. His work has been featured twice in the main competition at Cannes, and he has contributed to two films nominated for the Oscars – IO by Skolimowski and Girl with the Needle by Magnus von Horn.

That said, I feel there’s a broader crisis in cinema today, though I can’t pinpoint exactly what the root of the problem is.

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Odnowa, graffiti by PHIX and CESAR, 2005, photo: Paweł Tarasiewicz

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AD: Poland appears to be gradually losing aspects of its cultural identity, increasingly influenced by Westernisation, which has led to uncertainty about the direction of its film industry. Nevertheless, Polish comedies from the 1970s and 1980s remain particularly humorous and memorable.

PT: This is interesting – my French girlfriend of 10 years, who had some familiarity with Poland but spent most of her life in France, could never understand Polish comedies. You need deep Polish roots to get them. I enjoy these comedies; I laugh and think they’re cool, but they don’t particularly interest me anymore.

Even today, I don’t have a director I’m eagerly waiting for. Back in the day, with filmmakers such as Cronenberg or Lynch, you didn’t need to love their work – you just knew their next movie would be worth seeing. For example, a new Cronenberg film would have you thinking, ‘Let’s go, it’s bound to be interesting’. The same goes for the Coen brothers. I remember watching Fargo as a teenager without knowing who they were. I thought, ‘What the hell is this? This movie is crazy’.

Now, Pawlikowski is making a career for himself and is an internationally renowned Polish filmmaker. His Ida was the first Polish movie to get an Oscar, and I admire his films, but this is not the kind of cinema that brings something new to the cinematic language. His two last films evoke the Polish Film School of the 1950s and 1960s, and that’s what makes them special nowadays.

Of the youngest generation of Polish directors, I believe a movie to see is Utrata równowagi (Loss of Balance), made by my friend from Amondo Korek Bojanowski. It’s in my opinion the best film premiered this year in Gdynia. It tackles bullying in acting schools – a topic I initially found pretentious. I was hesitant to watch it and even more afraid of confronting my friend about it. But when I finally saw it at the premiere, I was surprised in a good way. It’s a really good movie, and my friend is incredibly talented and smart – a great director. And no, it’s not just because he’s part of Amondo. I truly think this film is exceptional, and it might become a film of his generation. Or Wrookly Zoo by my friend Krzysztof Skonieczny, who is currently working on a major series for the U.S. I truly believe he has the potential to build a successful career in Hollywood – his work is bursting with raw energy and originality.

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Angelika Smyrgałas, Korek Bojanowski, Jan Lubaczewski and Paweł Tarasiewicz at the premiere of 'Utrata równowagi' a film by Korek Bojanowski, 2024, photo: Maja Michnacka

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AD: I think Amondo attracts real cinema and good people.

PT: Yes, I think Bojanowski is part of a new generation of filmmakers coming up now. What I didn’t finish saying earlier is that the filmmakers of the 1960s had very different challenges. They dealt with censorship under the communist regime in Poland and, for most of them, the experience of war. It’s interesting to consider the difference between Polański and Wajda in this context. There’s about a ten-year gap between their generations. Wajda’s generation were teenagers during the war – they lived through it as young adults, experiencing it fully, with all its trauma. Polański, on the other hand, was a child during the war, and children perceive reality differently.

You can see this contrast in their films. Wajda’s work, such as Kanał (Sewers), is raw and intense, reflecting the brutal, traumatic experience of war. Polański’s films, on the other hand, often incorporate humour, eroticism and a certain lightness that stems from his different perspective as a child during those events. I think this difference highlights an important point: those filmmakers were incredibly mature, even at a young age. They were making deeply meaningful films at 25 or 30 because they had lived through so much. That maturity shaped their work. Do you like any Polish movies from the past 10 years?

AD: I have to say, I rarely watch contemporary Polish cinema, but ‘Supernova’ comes to mind, by Bartosz Kruhlik. It was intense, kept me on edge.

PT: That’s funny because Zanussi said it’s one of today’s few good Polish films. The biggest problem with Polish cinema is that everything is presented in black and white. I always use Schindler’s List as an example – it’s such an extraordinary film. You can say whatever you like about it, but it’s a masterpiece: the direction, the cinematography, everything. In the film, you have a German who starts off simply wanting to make money but ends up saving Jews. Then there’s another German who’s shooting Jews from his balcony, yet he has a Jewish lover. This is the essence of humanity – we’re never purely black or white. There’s always this grey area, this complexity, this darkness, this something that defines us.

AD: How do you feel about film critics?

PT: I think everybody can criticise, and I think it’s even worse if movies are criticised by filmmakers because films should be criticised by people who watch movies. I was amazed recently by one movie that I have to pitch to you; it’s Emilia Pérez, which won the Jury Prize at Cannes. Jacques Audiard directed it, the French director who did A Prophet. In Emilia Pérez, the filmmaker masterfully re-created the vibrant essence of Mexico City while shooting entirely in a studio near Paris! Through meticulous research, brilliant choreography and an incredible crew, he captured the sound, energy and authenticity of Mexican street life, delivering a visually stunning and culturally rich film that blends comedy with a deep exploration of transgender experiences. When I saw it in the cinema, I thought, ‘Wow, how did he do it?’ He even used some ideas I’d been considering for my own movies. What’s remarkable about this movie – and why it reminded me of my own horror film that critiques society – is that it represents a new path for cinema. There’s this massive gap between artistic cinema and commercial cinema today. The film premiered in Mexico but received harsh reviews – the three lead actresses aren’t Mexican, and it was shot in a studio near Paris by a French director. I debated this with my Mexican girlfriend, and I get their point – imagine a film about modern Poland shot in a Mexican studio, directed by a Mexican, with actors speaking Polish with bad accents. So, who’s right? I still believe it’s a great film.

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Kino Amondo, photo: Paweł Tarasiewicz

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Take someone like Reygadas, for example (the Mexican director I mentioned earlier). If you ask the average cinema goer, even someone who loves films, ‘Do you know Reygadas?’ they probably won’t. But if you say, ‘David Lynch’, even casual viewers – people watching Netflix or whatever – will recognise the name. That’s the gap we’re facing. Emilia Pérez bridges that divide. It’s commercial in some ways, but it also has something meaningful to say. It tells so much about Mexico, its problems and the stark contrasts that exist there – in my opinion in a true way.

AD: Do you ever watch mainstream commercial cinema?

PT: I wouldn’t call myself a film snob – I genuinely enjoy all kinds of cinema. The Joker is definitely on my list. That said, when it comes to mainstream films, romantic comedies aren’t really my go-to these days, though I have nothing against them. It’s funny because, as you mentioned, there’s this running joke about how I rarely have time to watch movies since filmmaking takes up so much of my life. Lately, though, I’ve made an effort to carve out time, aiming to watch at least two films a week, even during the day. I’ve been catching up on classics or revisiting titles we’ve featured in our programme. It’s been a rewarding way to reconnect with the medium I love.

AD: But would you say mainstream films – such as ‘Oppenheimer’ – can be done well?

PT: No, I dislike that director; he’s awful. I think his only good films were Memento and his first movie.

AD: Thank you for answering my questions!

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