13/12/2024 - The Bulgarian filmmaker speaks about his affinity for places and characters that are off the beaten track while breaking down his third documentary feature

Tzvetan Dragnev, the son of legendary Bulgarian director Zdravko Dragnev, who broke the norms of socialist documentary cinema in the 1970s and 1980s, similarly defies standard approaches in his filmmaking. His latest work, Balkan Black Box [+see also:
interview: Tzvetan Dragnev
film profile], currently competing at the 28th Golden Rhyton Festival of Bulgarian Documentary and Animated Film, follows eclectic Bulgarian musician Kottarashky but goes beyond being a mere portrait, delving into the notion of everyday freedom.

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Cineuropa: Just like in your earlier documentaries, Village People [+see also:
trailer
film profile] (2016) and Passengers (2020), you follow “outsider” characters drawn to sparsely populated places where life seems to have come to a halt. What attracts you to them?
Tzvetan Dragnev: Well, I’ve seen the madness of the modern world. I lived and studied in Los Angeles and Toronto, worked two jobs at a time and survived by adhering to all of the rules of the system. Then, when I returned to Bulgaria, I appreciated what I didn’t have there – time, uninhabited spaces, and diverse people who act naturally, and speak and think honestly. That is especially valuable in times when many of us have started speaking like walking TV sets.

In places where life has seemingly stopped, there is still so much life – not in the sense of careers, jobs or development, but outside the comfort zone of a system. This somehow illuminates people’s characters more clearly and, from the perspective of documentary cinema, offers an endless source of material for observation.

More than a film-portrait of one of the most popular underground musicians in Bulgaria, you’ve made a film about the dimensions of freedom from routine daily life. What is your position in the dialogue with your protagonist and the people around him?
The film is rather a journey capturing one of those moments when someone wonders whether what they’re doing makes sense. We could call it a road movie, although genres are no longer pure these days. I see similarities between myself and the protagonist, as we both work in fields where I don’t know how one survives. It’s tough, but it’s a passion. I love tinkering with and editing films, and he’s constantly composing songs – that’s how it is. That’s freedom, and it comes at a price. There are always moments when you wish you’d done something else, but those thoughts pass quickly. It’s good to love what you do. Regarding viewpoints, the film offers many views from different characters, and I wouldn’t argue with any of them. I prefer to leave things fragmented, just as they are in real life.

Why did you decide to make a film specifically about Kottarashky, considering there are other musicians with a similar lifestyle and worldview?
One day, we were at the seaside and we’d had a beer, and he shared an idea for a film. It was supposed to be about one of Kottarashky’s bandmates who quit when [the band Kottarashky & The Rain Dogs] were at their peak and became a warehouse worker in his hometown. He gave up music entirely. But the film didn’t happen, because that person refused to be filmed.

And that’s how Balkan Black Box came about instead. Why Kottarashky? Mainly for his music, his party lifestyle and the fact that he’s a nonconformist, a seeker. That, in itself, is cinematic. His tracks inspire – they make people dance, let loose and enter a kind of trance, emotionally or mentally. If you like it, it transports you to another world, away from the mundanity of everyday life.

There’s a Japanese man in the film who says that inside every person, there’s an emptiness they strive to fill. Music – and even a film – can do that. Of course, sometimes just eating a meal can be enough.

How long did the production process take?
We started shooting during the pandemic. Bars were closed, and there weren’t many places for a band to play. So, it took quite a while for things to normalise. As is often the case, you have to know how to wait for things to start happening. That was the biggest challenge – not rushing or cutting corners.

The producers from Gala Film, Galina Toneva and Kiril Kirilov, provided the time and flexibility we needed during the filming period. DoP Delian Georgiev worked with great enthusiasm. He wove through crowds of fans, got pushed around and worked in nearly no light, but he did an amazing job. At the final concert, the organisers didn’t want to let us film. We had to pass equipment over fences, but we managed. There were also some aggressive people who didn’t want to be filmed and threatened to break our equipment. But overall, filming it felt like a party with pauses and visits to beautiful places.

Are you currently working on anything new?
My father, Zdravko Dragnev, and I are finishing a documentary that, again, takes place in a small village in Northwestern Bulgaria; there’s a mayor, and various things start – and don’t start – happening. After that, I’ll start working on another film about “flying madmen” who paraglide and other “outsider” characters.