Maja Pencic Explores Pathos and Dreams on the Streets of Prague in Documentary ‘Minimum Love’
When Maja Pencic first set out to hit the streets with her camera as a Prague film student, she was determined to document the reality she found by asking direct questions.
That approach to documentary filmmaking in the Czech Republic, where it’s standard practice to employ a dramaturg and to create scenes to heighten tension or irony, is somewhat revolutionary these days.
But, says Pencic, she instinctively felt that for her feature debut, querying the thoughts of people all around you on camera was the only way to go.
So she and a colleague confronted crowds leaving a metro station, trying desperately to get them to share about how their day was going.
“I needed to stop being afraid to walk around with a camera,” Pencic says. “And I was curious about what was going on in the crowds of people around me, for example on the tram.”
Thus, the first chaotic sequence of her film, “Minimum Love,” competing in the Czech Joy section of the Ji.hlava Intl. Documentary Film Festival this week, was born.
Not surprisingly, few people in this sequence, seemingly in a rush to get home after a long day’s work, stop to share their thoughts.
But Pencic quickly becomes more adept at interview strategy, taking her camera into more intimate environs, getting her friends to speak on camara about what they’re looking for from a romantic partner.
One doesn’t want to have to explain her sense of humor while another says she expects her partner to cheat “because the sex…” We’re left to wonder as she never finishes the thought but soon enough Pencic has settled in on a crowd milling outside a concert venue, many of them young men who love rap.
“The whole movie is spontaneous,” says Pencic. “It makes sense to me to make a film directly and without big plans and ideas. Life outside is more interesting than we can imagine.”
Indeed, guys have more than rap lyrics on their mind and soon share their feelings on climate change and the war in Ukraine. Few have much hope for the future.
But Pencic never leads her interviews other than to pose the initial question, never quite knowing where they will go, she says.
In describing where her questions come from, Pencic says most of them come from her own questions about life.
“In reality, I was interested in things that I myself was currently dealing with, fears, fatigue, love, pain, hurt, toxic relationships, friendship, the future… but if the answer was not interesting and the path did not go this way, I invented another one. The film is about what the passing world is dealing with, not what I am dealing with in my head.”
The resulting amalgam of curious thoughts, heartfelt angst, expressions of longing or dread, make for a raw, touching saga shared by dozens of people, all seemingly looking for meaning.
“When we talk about documentary, I don’t like reconstruction, voice over and so on. I like the direct approach with reality.”
Slowly, gaining confidence at shooting and interviewing, Pencic accumulated remarkable material from all kinds of places, shooting for four months, always, somehow, after dark.
“Time in my film is what makes a film out of random videos,” Pencic says. “I edited the film for over a year and I composed the images in such a way that it has the right tempo, rhythm.”
Sensitivity to her subjects is paramount for Pencic, she says, but also finding a thread that unites them.
“Film is compassion for me,” she says, “and also those images, scenes in the film related to each other. It’s also important that the film is a unit, made in one breath.”
When asked what was the most surprising reply to her long list of questions, Pencic recalls one conversation in particular among the concertgoers standing on the street.
“I asked a group of guys in line for a rap concert if they were afraid of the war in Ukraine, and one of them replied that he was more afraid of snakes than war.”
“Minimum Love” focuses on young people and that’s no accident, the director says.
“I am also young. I was 23 when I filmed it. So as always, people usually surprise me. In this film the boys were the ones who at first behaved like idiots and after a while they showed how gentle they are.”
That discovery may show the value of listening to people who are too often ignored, it seems. And that applies to “all of us, not only the young. It’s the reason why the film begins with scenes on metro, where we asked people at metro station how they are.”
“Maybe that is one of the reasons why populism is on the rise in Europe. People have the feeling that finally someone is listening to them and they go and vote for this false curiosity (in them).”
“I think that today young people, including us, are labeled with many terms” instead of being asked about feelings. “Youth is usually full of loneliness, which is the biggest problem in our world.”
To be young is not to be happy, Pencic says, and “youth is usually full of insecurity, loneliness and misunderstanding.”
If a filmmaker wants to get to the bottom of all that, Pencic can now offer a few useful lessons on strategy: “Look them straight in the eye and honestly listen – people want to share, and me too, so I share, they share.”
Pencic says the things people share with her gave her both hope for the future and anxiety.
“Young people are present, they are sunshine, mostly beautiful beings full of potential. Society should stop abusing us and start being inspired by us. We very are good at self-reflection, we understand our surroundings, we can see things that older people already lost.”
“But we need interest, time and, most importantly, love. Without it, nothing will move. So, it’s about parents…even they have their difficulty, I think, it’s up to you, parents, it’s up to you.”
That approach to documentary filmmaking in the Czech Republic, where it’s standard practice to employ a dramaturg and to create scenes to heighten tension or irony, is somewhat revolutionary these days.
But, says Pencic, she instinctively felt that for her feature debut, querying the thoughts of people all around you on camera was the only way to go.
So she and a colleague confronted crowds leaving a metro station, trying desperately to get them to share about how their day was going.
“I needed to stop being afraid to walk around with a camera,” Pencic says. “And I was curious about what was going on in the crowds of people around me, for example on the tram.”
Thus, the first chaotic sequence of her film, “Minimum Love,” competing in the Czech Joy section of the Ji.hlava Intl. Documentary Film Festival this week, was born.
Not surprisingly, few people in this sequence, seemingly in a rush to get home after a long day’s work, stop to share their thoughts.
But Pencic quickly becomes more adept at interview strategy, taking her camera into more intimate environs, getting her friends to speak on camara about what they’re looking for from a romantic partner.
One doesn’t want to have to explain her sense of humor while another says she expects her partner to cheat “because the sex…” We’re left to wonder as she never finishes the thought but soon enough Pencic has settled in on a crowd milling outside a concert venue, many of them young men who love rap.
“The whole movie is spontaneous,” says Pencic. “It makes sense to me to make a film directly and without big plans and ideas. Life outside is more interesting than we can imagine.”
Indeed, guys have more than rap lyrics on their mind and soon share their feelings on climate change and the war in Ukraine. Few have much hope for the future.
But Pencic never leads her interviews other than to pose the initial question, never quite knowing where they will go, she says.
In describing where her questions come from, Pencic says most of them come from her own questions about life.
“In reality, I was interested in things that I myself was currently dealing with, fears, fatigue, love, pain, hurt, toxic relationships, friendship, the future… but if the answer was not interesting and the path did not go this way, I invented another one. The film is about what the passing world is dealing with, not what I am dealing with in my head.”
The resulting amalgam of curious thoughts, heartfelt angst, expressions of longing or dread, make for a raw, touching saga shared by dozens of people, all seemingly looking for meaning.
“When we talk about documentary, I don’t like reconstruction, voice over and so on. I like the direct approach with reality.”
Slowly, gaining confidence at shooting and interviewing, Pencic accumulated remarkable material from all kinds of places, shooting for four months, always, somehow, after dark.
“Time in my film is what makes a film out of random videos,” Pencic says. “I edited the film for over a year and I composed the images in such a way that it has the right tempo, rhythm.”
Sensitivity to her subjects is paramount for Pencic, she says, but also finding a thread that unites them.
“Film is compassion for me,” she says, “and also those images, scenes in the film related to each other. It’s also important that the film is a unit, made in one breath.”
When asked what was the most surprising reply to her long list of questions, Pencic recalls one conversation in particular among the concertgoers standing on the street.
“I asked a group of guys in line for a rap concert if they were afraid of the war in Ukraine, and one of them replied that he was more afraid of snakes than war.”
“Minimum Love” focuses on young people and that’s no accident, the director says.
“I am also young. I was 23 when I filmed it. So as always, people usually surprise me. In this film the boys were the ones who at first behaved like idiots and after a while they showed how gentle they are.”
That discovery may show the value of listening to people who are too often ignored, it seems. And that applies to “all of us, not only the young. It’s the reason why the film begins with scenes on metro, where we asked people at metro station how they are.”
“Maybe that is one of the reasons why populism is on the rise in Europe. People have the feeling that finally someone is listening to them and they go and vote for this false curiosity (in them).”
“I think that today young people, including us, are labeled with many terms” instead of being asked about feelings. “Youth is usually full of loneliness, which is the biggest problem in our world.”
To be young is not to be happy, Pencic says, and “youth is usually full of insecurity, loneliness and misunderstanding.”
If a filmmaker wants to get to the bottom of all that, Pencic can now offer a few useful lessons on strategy: “Look them straight in the eye and honestly listen – people want to share, and me too, so I share, they share.”
Pencic says the things people share with her gave her both hope for the future and anxiety.
“Young people are present, they are sunshine, mostly beautiful beings full of potential. Society should stop abusing us and start being inspired by us. We very are good at self-reflection, we understand our surroundings, we can see things that older people already lost.”
“But we need interest, time and, most importantly, love. Without it, nothing will move. So, it’s about parents…even they have their difficulty, I think, it’s up to you, parents, it’s up to you.”