Two Romanian films from Berlinale – On Their Own
It may come as a surprise, but the latest films by Paul Negoescu and Tudor Cristian Jurgiu – presented in world premiere at this year’s Berlinale – share more than one might initially assume. Both unfold within insulated, bubble-like worlds devoid of parents – spaces where children and teenagers are largely left to fend for themselves. Their young faces, all remarkable discoveries by the two directors, subtly shift the by-now fossilized paradigm of the Romanian New Wave (and its lingering aftershocks), foregrounding an infectious pleasure instead in simply being alive and being together.
On Our Own screens in the Berlinale’s Forum section, dedicated to auteur cinema, while Atlas of the Universe is part of Generation Kplus, the sidebar devoted to films for younger audiences.
On Our Own (dir. Tudor Cristian Jurgiu) – Melancholy Explorers
Tudor Cristian Jurgiu’s third feature is an unusual coming-of-age story – unusual because its protagonists’ transformative arc remains suspended, almost Peter Pan-like. Forced too early to look after themselves, these children cannot quite take adulthood seriously. Jurgiu frames them in a contemplative, bucolic tone, suffused with quiet melancholy: teenagers bathed in light, shot in a dreamy haze by cinematographer Andrei Butică – at times tearful, at times fluid and evasive. There is no looming deadline, no rite of passage to cross. Instead, they drift through a life steeped in solitude.
Flavia (Denisa Vraja) and Luca (Vlad Furtună), two high-schoolers whose parents have left to work abroad – their only connection now reduced to phone calls and the half-finished houses they’ve left behind – spend their days and especially their nights wandering in a loose-knit gang of peers. Jurgiu adopts a curious vantage point: he glides among them like a floating observer, without probing too deeply into their motives or judging their choices. The film is largely de-dramatized and illustrative; the characters neither clearly evolve nor regress. They simply exist, clustering together like a band of melancholy explorers.
The fragile balance of their household – also shared with Luca’s younger sister (a wonderful Mara Diaconu-Ducica) – is disrupted by the arrival of two runaway siblings whose backstory and intentions remain unclear. For two days, Flavia and Luca assume an almost parental role, offering them temporary shelter. Yet the newcomers’ presence carries something unsettling, almost otherworldly: bright and playful one moment, darkly suggestive the next – especially when the sister casually hints that they may have killed their parents.
Jurgiu seems to construct a self-contained universe of his own, something akin in spirit to Eduardo Williams’ The Human Surge (2017). Life unfolds as a loose, almost suspended network of encounters: confused teenagers who love instinctively and find fleeting joy in small, shared moments. Adults are absent; the city is populated only by ghostly buildings and neon-lit stairwells. The presence of parents – the only figures who might shatter the illusion – survives solely through screens, mediated by phones and unstable internet connections. In their absence, siblings improvise authority, though these gestures remain closer to play than to real responsibility.
Time and place feel deliberately blurred, almost anachronistic – the fleeting appearance of TikTok being the only clear anchor in the present. Nostalgia seeps in through the soundtrack, from songs by Margareta Pîslaru to the dreamlike score by Marco Biscarini and Mihai Ghiță. On Our Own draws on an old-school sensibility characteristic of Jurgiu’s earlier work – rooted in fairy tales, magic, and timeless stories. The “coming of age” unfolds in the forest, with the teenagers sleeping huddled together in caves, as if kin only to lichens and forest creatures.
Atlas of the Universe (dir. Paul Negoescu) – De Sica-Style Humanism with a Touch of Magic
Paul Negoescu’s latest film, co-written with Mihai Mincan, follows a single protagonist whose journey carries the outline of a fairy tale, though grounded in stark realism. It’s less a conventional coming-of-age story than a child’s early and abrupt confrontation with the world.
Filip (Matei Donciu, striking in a restrained, almost Bressonian performance) travels through forests, empty roads, and old villages on the fringes of civilisation. His goal is simple: to buy a pair of football boots. His father allows him to go alone, choosing instead to remain behind with a drinking companion.
Filip’s worn-out shoes – the only pair he owns – undergo several clumsy repair attempts throughout a single day. The new boots seem, at first, like a small victory, only to turn into a disappointment: when he finally buys them, he realises he’s been given two right-footed shoes. So he sets off again, alone, carrying the failed purchase and trying to fix the problem himself.
In its apparent simplicity, Atlas of the Universe accomplishes a great deal. It blends a De Sica-inflected humanism with subtle touches of magic, while sketching a portrait of early-2000s childhood grounded in recognisable details rather than nostalgia for its own sake. At the same time, it treats provincial lives with quiet respect – increasingly rare in contemporary Romanian cinema, where such environments are often portrayed problematically (one might recall, for instance, Three Kilometres to the End of the World).
Negoescu is attentive to these nuances, and Ana Drăghici’s cinematography remains closely attuned to its environment without exoticising poverty. The film evokes a pre-digital childhood – one shaped by games, improvised adventures, and minor mischief rather than screens and devices. Here too we sense echoes of timeless tales: chance encounters that feel almost miraculous, reminiscent of Veronica (dir. Elisabeta Bostan, 1972). Marius Leftărache’s tender, dreamlike score heightens this atmosphere, alongside brief appearances by enigmatic figures – such as the forest beggar who calls his donkey a zebra and speaks to it as if to a companion.
There is something quietly radical about this kind of cinema, especially when addressed primarily to children, who are constantly bombarded by aggressive audiovisual stimuli and maximalist narratives steeped in murky conclusions. What we see here is a return to classical, unpretentious storytelling – and in the times we inhabit, that alone feels remarkable.
Journalist and film critic, with a master's degree in film critics. Collaborates with Scena9, Acoperișul de Sticlă, FILM and FILM Menu magazines. For Films in Frame, she brings the monthly top of films and writes the monthly editorial Panorama, published on a Thursday. In her spare time, she retires in the woods where she pictures other possible lives and flying foxes.
Journalist and film critic, with a master's degree in film critics. Collaborates with Scena9, Acoperișul de Sticlă, FILM and FILM Menu magazines. For Films in Frame, she brings the monthly top of films and writes the monthly editorial Panorama, published on a Thursday. In her spare time, she retires in the woods where she pictures other possible lives and flying foxes.