Interview of the Day: Izabela Plucińska

Izabela Plucińska is a Polish animator and director of short films who specialises in clay animation. She has created more than a dozen films, many of which have received festival awards. Her stories are rich in psychological nuance. As she admits, a strong source of inspiration for her is surrealism and the work of Jan Švankmajer, in whose studio she is currently shooting her new film. ‘In my work, surrealism is not about creating a fantasy world, but about subtly shifting reality. I think it is close to me precisely because it allows one to speak about reality through exaggeration,’ Plucińska says in an interview for Anifilm (prepared by Ondřej Kůs).

Your most recent film is Joko. It tells the story of a worker who supports his entire family. One day, delegates force him to carry them on his back through the city. At first, he resists, but eventually agrees for the sake of money. Gradually, the situation turns into an absurd nightmare – people literally start sticking to him, and Joko collapses under their weight. The main theme seems to be exploitation. Why did you choose this theme? Do you think its capitalist form, as outlined by Marx, is still relevant today, or does it take on new forms in the 21st century?

I chose the theme of exploitation because I feel it’s still relevant—it’s just changed its form. Joko’s story is, of course, absurd and grotesque, but I wanted to show something very real in an exaggerated way. This character doesn’t immediately rebel because he wants to support his family, wants to earn money, wants to survive. And that’s a situation with which many people can still identify. I think what Marx wrote about still works, it just doesn’t always look the same today as it did in the 19th century. Modern exploitation doesn’t have to involve factory work—it can involve temporary work, the pressure of constant availability, overwork, or the feeling that a person is merely a tool. In Joko, this situation is pushed to the point of absurdity: people literally sit on the hero’s back. Symbolically, this is precisely what many people feel today—that they are carrying something they can no longer bear. This is contemporary slavery. • This film isn’t just about capitalism as a system, but also about the mechanism of accepting what initially seems unacceptable. What’s most terrifying to me is how Joko gradually begins to accept this situation as normal. And that’s what really interested me – how easily a person can accept something that initially seems absolutely unbearable.

In the film, there is no solution to this oppression. Although the theme is serious, the film often approaches it in a grotesque way. The loss of integrity of the main character even takes on a physical dimension…

I didn’t want to create a story that would give the viewer a sense of relief or a simple answer. Joko’s world isn’t a just world, but one in which the absurdity grows and, at a certain point, ceases to be just a metaphor. Therefore, the protagonist’s loss of agency and integrity becomes physical—his body becomes a puppet. He only listens to the voices of the delegates. For me, the grotesque was a way to talk about something very serious without moralising. And the grotesque is a little funny, a little terrifying, and that’s precisely why it stays with me for a long time.

How challenging was the production of the film? Could you briefly explain how it was made?

It was a rather demanding and unusual production, mainly because the film is based on a simple idea that proved very complex in execution. First, we worked on the script, an adaptation of Topor’s wild short story with Justyna Celeda, to find the right tone – between drama, grotesque, and animation. The number of themes in Topor’s stories is enormous, and the drama is based on dialogue, which is very dense and powerful. It was difficult to choose one version. We juggled these themes until the end. Then, rehearsals and visual preparation took a long time. The film’s animation process itself was quite lengthy and complex. Playing with perspective and size differences was challenging but interesting to execute. First, we sketched out the most difficult scenes, frame by frame. Marta Magnuska sketched all the phases of movement. This meant that for a single second, we sometimes needed between 12 and 20 clay puppets. The puppets are semi-dimensional, made solely of Plasticine, without a metal structure inside. The puppets lie on a windowpane, with a digital camera above it—a so-called multi-plane approach. We cast some elements from silicone moulds. I think creating the puppets was more difficult than the animation itself, but the most challenging animation was brilliantly done by Martin Pertliczek from Pilzno. For the first time, a 3D city was animated in Blender. Lecturer Rafal Pietrowicz from the Szczecin Academy of Art created a real 3D world from Plasticine houses and streets, which he brilliantly combined with analogue animation. Tomasz Siwinski added dynamic camera movement and lighting; the effect is incredible. The editing of Joko was unusual; Nikodem Habior spent over a month fiddling with it, translating and re-arranging the story. We cut a few minutes, and the film truly begins and ends differently. Aliaksand Yasinski from Prague composed the beautiful music, which won an award at the Annecy Film Festival. The film is a Polish-German-Czech co-production. And here I was fortunate to have collaborated with the Prague-based Maur Film studio and Martin Vandas. On the Polish side were Paulina Ratajczak’s Forest of Art, Piotr S. from Animoon and Karstern Matern from Berlin. The process took four years in total, including two years of animation and post-production.

After Suzanna’s Portrait, this is your second adaptation of a Roland Topor work. What makes this versatile artist appealing to you? Do you also enjoy surrealism or his provocative visions? Polanski’s The Tenant, based on Topor’s story, is unforgettable…

Topor fascinates me primarily because he manages to speak about very serious matters in a seemingly light, ironic, and humorous way. His texts and drawings are simultaneously funny and cruel, highly visual, simple, yet incredibly unsettling, provocative, and erotic. Topor tempts. He easily infects with his obsessions. In my work, surrealism isn’t about creating a fantastical world, but rather about a subtle shift in reality. On the surface, everything looks normal—the characters are ordinary, the situations are everyday—but suddenly something begins to change: a gesture becomes exaggerated, the character’s body reacts in an unnatural way, emotions take on an almost physical dimension. It’s at this point that something surreal emerges. I think surrealism is close to me precisely because it allows us to discuss reality in an exaggerated way. And The Tenant is a great example of how Topor’s world can be brought to the screen in a very evocative way—it’s a film that truly stays with the viewer for a long time, with its claustrophobic atmosphere and obsessions.

From the beginning of your career, you have focused on Plasticine animation. Why did you choose this medium, and might you experiment with something different in the future?

Clay animation has always seemed the most ‘human’ of all animation techniques. You can see the touch, the traces of hand work, you can see that everything is soft and can change at any moment. And most importantly, this medium is playful and grotesque. This fits the stories I tell very well, because they also have something distinctive – strange relationships about unusual people who don’t always communicate with each other. I feel that clay gives me the greatest freedom. I can very quickly change a character, their face, their body, their reactions. And in films that primarily deal with psychology and relationships, that’s the most important thing to me. I’ve also made two films drawn in charcoal, animated directly under the camera. I draw with my left hand and erase the charcoal with my right, or vice versa. I absolutely love this charcoal drawing technique. This technique is rich in nuance, subtle and powerful, simple and intricate, dirty. And what I really like is that it leaves traces of worn charcoal on the cardboard. Additionally, during the animation, fragments of charcoal remain on the paper, which animate by chance. I like these kinds of coincidences. It’s a process of observation, a fleeting animation where you only have one chance, which is both cool and terrifying. I’m currently starting to draw a new film near Prague; I have a residency with Jan Svankmajer, which is amazing. I should be finished in a year. I’m curious to see how this film will change and develop.

Psychological themes, especially interpersonal relationships, dominate your work – particularly relationships between men and women. Films like Morning, Afternoon, Evening, Jam Session and Sexy Lingerie revolve around these topics. They are like ‘scenes from married life’, exploring stereotypes, alienation, or misunderstandings. Why do you focus on this, and how does Plasticine animation allow you to portray these issues?

Relationships between people seem to me the most interesting topic, the broadest, the most profound. Relationships in particular are full of tension, understatements, like a labyrinth of emotions where you can get lost. I try to avoid stereotypes. Clay animation allows me to portray these relationships in a slightly more grotesque way. I can exaggerate gestures, change character proportions and show emotions in a very physical way. Mistakes are great, as they lead you to new solutions. Sometimes a single change in a character’s face says more than a realistic scene with actors. This allows me to talk about something very everyday, but at the same time sharpen it a bit and show it from a different perspective.

Your longest film to date is Esterhazy, a peculiar allegory about migration and the search for the ‘promised land’. The main character is a rabbit looking for a place full of carrots in Berlin (a kind of rabbit paradise), but it turns out to be a location near the Berlin Wall, guarded by soldiers, which will soon fall in 1989. How did the idea come to make this film about ‘nature versus civilization’?

It’s an adaptation of the wonderful book by Irene Dishe and Hans Magnus Ensensberg, which she received from Bartek Konopka and Piotr Rosolowski. They were making a documentary about rabbits in Berlin in 1989. I fell in love with this story. Four years later, the documentary Rabbit à la Berlin and my Esterhazy were made. Their documentary was nominated for an Oscar, and ours also won a number of awards. The idea actually came from a very simple image – rabbits had their paradise between the walls. They felt safe. After the wall was torn down, all the rabbits were terrified of freedom. It’s a great metaphor. I really like this film. It’s probably my favourite.

I don’t know if anyone has told you this before, but your visual style has elements of caricature and reminds me of Martin Velíšek, especially in connection with the Fimfárum films or the work of the music group Už jsme doma. What do you think of this comparison? :)

Yes, this comparison is certainly very pleasing to me, as I’ve always been interested in aesthetics that aren’t entirely realistic. I like characters to have something exaggerated, a bit caricatured, because it makes it easier to convey the emotions and tensions between the characters. Roland Topor’s drawings are my masters. Each one has a powerful, provocative story, a powerful stimulus for the imagination, and a contagion of obsessions.

Where do you find your main sources of inspiration? I read that Jan Švankmajer has had a significant influence on you…

Yes, Svankmajer has had a profound influence on my work, on my Plasticine. I first saw his films in 1997, and he remains my master. The themes he explores remain powerful, universal, full of serious social, existential, and philosophical themes. I love surrealism, which rejects realism and logic in favour of imagination, dreams, and the subconscious. Into Svankmajer’s world is a bottomless pit. His manifesto, Desatero (the Ten Commandments), is my compass. Bringing the inanimate to life, revealing inner life, hidden meanings, where matter undergoes constant metamorphosis. It unleashes imagination and creative power. I’ll share that I’m incredibly fortunate to be working in the studio in Knoviz, at Svankmajer’s studio, for the first time, for three months, as a residency. This is an extraordinary time. I have a huge bag of emotions. Enthusiasm. Curiosity, a little fear, and a lot of joy. Please keep your fingers crossed.

Your longest film is 25 minutes. Have you ever been tempted to make a feature-length film, or is that too big a challenge for you?

Of course I’ve thought about it, because every director does at some point. On the other hand, I really like the short film format because it allows me to tell a story in a more focussed way, without unnecessary elements. A feature film is not only longer in length but also a completely different way of working and thinking about a story. I don’t rule out trying it someday, but for now I’m more interested in developing shorter forms, their freedom, and exploring new possibilities within them.

Where do you find new ideas? Do financing sources play a role in this, or do you simply follow your vision relentlessly? :) And what are you currently working on?

Ideas often emerge very inconspicuously – as a single sentence, a single image, or a very simple situation. Only later do I begin to wonder if it’s possible to turn it into a film. Sometimes I simply feel like drawing or animating a simple situation, which multiplies and develops. I set boundaries, a symbolic wall, and between them I build, create the impossible. The most important thing for me is that the story is personal and that it truly interests me. If the idea is strong enough, it’s easier to convince other producers and animators to take on the project. We just finished a children’s film called Porridge Monster. A Polish-German-Azerbaijani clay animation. It’s an adaptation of Justyna Celeda’s fairy tale, animated in Szczecin at the Academy of Art, where I teach. This is our first collaboration with Azerbaijan. The music, sound and dialogue were created in Baku. I’m very curious to see how children will react to this film, as we’re just beginning our journey with this new film. And now I’m slowly starting another short film for adults in the Czech Republic with Svankmajer: Eroticon, a charcoal animation drawn under camera – again, it will be something very simple in form, but I hope it will also be sensual, subversive and funny.