Having been overexploited lately, the concept of therapy through art has turned into a cliché, no matter if it appears as a narrative motif in an artwork or if the artwork itself serves a therapeutic function. Łukasz Ronduda’s third fiction feature, Tell Me What You Feel, covers both bases, but instead of nurturing the cliché, it questions it. On one hand, Ronduda understandingly reflects the tendency and seems to sincerely put himself in the shoes of characters and sympathise with their problems; on the other, he does not soften his critical gaze and, without any patronising irony or finger-wagging, implies that analysis pursued at any cost and to the very end can be just as destructive as ignorance of one’s own nature. This makes his film easy to identify with – both for those who embrace therapy and for those who are sceptical of it – placing it comfortably within the more democratic Big Screen Award Competition at IFFR. Three of Ronduda’s previous works, which also explore the convergence between art and life – The Performer [+leggi anche:
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In the garden of his parents’ rural house, Patryk (Jan Sałasiński) “frames” scenes from life with his fingers while his mother mocks the “artist”, pulling him back to the reality of everyday survival – collecting scrap metal for recycling, for just a few euros. In Warsaw, where he shares a flat, cleans popcorn in a cinema after screenings, and draws anonymously after being rejected by the Academy of Arts and various galleries, Patryk encounters an art project at the Museum of Modern Art that literally pays for poor people’s tears – yet paradoxically, he, who can barely make ends meet, is unable to cry. Nevertheless, this is how he bumps into the seductive and assertive project initiator, Maria (Izabella Dudziak), who tempts him with compliments about his drawings and, sensing his insecurity and susceptibility, convincingly pulls him into her therapeutic, art-based practices. Despite how things seem, she is not a pure manipulator – having left a wealthy home with a schizophrenic father, her engagement with art is her way of processing family baggage, and also of sharing the luxury of soul-nourishing practices with the underprivileged. A bizarre couple starts to take shape — her femme fatale aura paired with his soft masculinity. Under her dominant guidance, they plunge into a relationship built on mutual excavation of their traumas, in which self-analysis and total exposure is rule number one. But some traumas are more burdensome than others, and interpreting them is a fragile endeavour that probes and unsettles the foundations of an even more fragile reciprocity.

Exploring the approach of modern Poles to love is what Ronduda declares as his major pursuit – it’s an intense and selfless love, yet one that also exhausts itself after serving its transformative function. Gen Z’s romanticism lies more in mutual self-reflection than in faith in an eternal connection – or perhaps the characters are simply too young to know that deep commitment happens only once or twice in a lifetime. Therefore, they squander it frivolously, convinced that tomorrow will bring something better. But will it?

Ronduda uses film language delicately yet confidently, keeping a gentle distance even in the most intimate scenes, while pacing or speeding up the editing rhythm to imply a particular mood. Eventually, we are left with an emotionally saturated yet finely wrought romantic drama, where catharsis and meaning go hand in hand.

Tell Me What You Feel was produced by Poland’s Koskino.