Yordan Petkov came to cinema through journalism and advertising. After presenting the short film Night Shift (co-directed with Eddy Schwartz) at Clermont-Ferrand in 2021, he is now at the Warsaw Film Festival for the world premiere of his debut feature, Resonance, in the 1-2 Competition. We met him at the Polish event to discuss his archetypal characters and meditative approach to storytelling.

Cineuropa: Resonance approaches corruption and mafia business from a different angle, compared to the aggressive Bulgarian crime movies of the early post-communist years – through meditative contemplation. Was there a real-life inspiration behind the story?
Yordan Petkov: I never imagined this film as a naturalistic piece of social realism. The characters are archetypes with no names, except for the female character. The mysterious stranger who arrives in town and disrupts the arrangement between the corrupt sheriff and the local weaklings: these are classical genre archetypes, filtered through our own reality. In this sense, this film is an Eastern European western. But I could never make a pure genre film either. It has to connect with the world I inhabit. The westerns we grew up watching on pirate VHS tapes are part of it, as are certain filmmakers such as Bogdan Mirică with his Dogs, or our own Ralitza Petrova and Kamen Kalev. None of us were born in a vacuum.

So the genre is your starting point, and the local reality provides the backdrop?
Exactly. The genre gave me a hook, but the intention was to move towards something else. We worked with the production designer and cinematographer to create a sense of timelessness. This could be happening now, 20 years ago, or 20 years from now. I wanted to make a film that relies on atmosphere, emotion and cinematography, with the plot taking a step back. We are so conditioned by plot and causality. Of course, a good screenplay matters, but I think this approach can sometimes stifle a film. I learnt the hard way that a good screenplay does not necessarily make a good film.

The young policeman seems to be the emotional centre of the film. Do you identify with him?
I actually identify equally with the policeman and the stranger. For me, they are two parts of a single character. I am not interested in the kind of backstory that explains precisely why someone became a hermit or a villain. I identify with the feeling of having no way forward. I would not call it hopelessness, but being at a crossroads with no clear direction. Whatever you try, there is no useful move left. When the only possible direction is inward, you have to make decisions and confront yourself. The policeman is part of this environment. He is not innocent or separate from it. He simply has not been forced to acknowledge it until now.

Despite everything, the ending feels optimistic.
It is optimistic, yes. There is a resonance between one generation and the next. There will always be someone who sees what is happening, refuses to accept it and keeps fighting, but the struggle is quiet and inward. I would never want this to become didactic.

The female character offers another possible life. You could even be accused of sexism, because she is sort of expected to support the good guy, stand by him and pass on a good job prospect in the city.
The way I imagined her, she is the only voice of reason here. These men are self-absorbed, they struggle to communicate, and that breakdown gets them into trouble. She is the only character whose name we know, and the only one who seems to have prospects beyond the anger and intolerance in which the others are trapped. She offers the policeman another path, but he has already embarked on his inward journey.

What about the sirens as an alarming recurring element?
The first lines of the screenplay were written towards the end of 2019. Then COVID came along, and I thought I was making a topical, journalistic film. Then the war in Ukraine began, and this feeling strengthened. The sirens captured the anxiety we were living with, which gradually turned into something more concrete – an actual sense of threat. They work as a counterpoint to the stranger, who tells the townspeople something is wrong, but to whom they do not listen, directing their hostility towards him instead. I identify with the policeman, but also with the community. They are silent accomplices, tolerating things, turning a blind eye, collectively ignoring what everyone knows is happening.

The performances feel very natural. How did you assemble the cast?
Hristo Petkov, whom I knew from Night Shift, was the one actor I had in mind for the policeman while writing. He is exceptionally good at working from within. Ivan Savov brought a different nuance to the hermit character. He could have been too soft, almost an idealistic hippie figure, but Ivan added an appealing stubbornness to the role, conveying his refusal to give in without getting an explanation. As for Borislav Chouchkov who plays the local villain, he came to the casting and won the role. The way they all speak was almost more important to me than their looks. I wanted them to sound like real people.