At the end of June, Korek Bojanowski’s debut feature, Loss of Balance [+lee también:
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Cineuropa: Your film exposes the raw psychological pressure and even physical mistreatment within a drama-school environment. What inspired you to focus on this specifically in Loss of Balance, and how did your own experiences – or those of peers – inform the narrative’s intensity?
Korek Bojanowski: In early 2020, a graduate from the Łódź Film School posted on social media about what she had endured during her acting classes. She described how professors had abused their authority, even resorting to violence during lessons, justifying it as part of their pedagogical method. Her post triggered a wave of responses. Many actors and actresses, including well-established ones, came forward to share how they had been treated.

While researching Loss of Balance, I spoke to around 30 actors and actresses about the violence they had experienced in their training. What struck me most was that the most damaging form of abuse wasn't necessarily physical or verbal; it was psychological. The subtle manipulation that students are gradually drawn into, often without realising it, was the most corrosive. That’s the form of violence I chose to focus on in the film because it's the hardest to recognise, to name and to fight.

The movie’s climax centres on Maja’s breaking point as she oscillates between submission to her director’s demanding approach and the urge to expose him. How did you develop this balance in the screenplay, and what does it say about power dynamics in creative mentorship?
The story follows Maja, a young woman on the cusp of adulthood. She's about to graduate from acting school, facing a future of uncertainty. She considers giving up acting altogether to pursue a career in marketing and management. But everything shifts when a new director arrives just weeks before her final performance.

With his arrival, Maja seems to be reborn. He rekindles not only her passion for acting, but also her confidence. However, with each rehearsal, his methods become more aggressive, more violent. Maja finds herself caught between admiration and resistance. She is both drawn into his manipulative game and struggling to resist it, constantly seeking a balance. Eventually, she begins to lose herself, shifting from victim to defender and, ultimately, to oppressor.

While writing the script, I was determined that Loss of Balance shouldn't be didactic or simplistic. I didn’t want to make a film that simply condemns abuse from a distance. I wanted to stay close to the characters, to immerse the audience in their experiences and to navigate the moral complexities with them, even if that meant getting lost in the emotional maze of the story.

Loss of Balance premiered at Gdynia, where you received a Special Mention for your directorial debut [see the news]. The film has also sparked renewed conversation about abusive teaching practices. How do you feel this recognition and reception have shaped the discourse in Poland’s theatre and film training communities?
The first wave of change in acting schools began five years ago, after that student's social media post. Many believed that by now, the issue would have lost its relevance, but the opposite turned out to be true.

Loss of Balance became a springboard to re-examine what progress has, or hasn’t, been made. Around the time of the film’s premiere, we were invited to participate in numerous discussions on television, radio and in the press. The focus extended beyond the film itself: we were talking about the state of education in the arts and whether meaningful change had really occurred.

What surprised me most was how widely audiences related to the film’s themes. Whether they worked in courts, hospitals, schools or other institutions, many recognised the same mechanisms of manipulation and control. It turns out that the dynamics we explored in the film go far beyond the walls of a theatre school; they're part of a broader cultural pattern that still needs to be addressed.