The chaotic pulse of Prague’s streets takes center stage in Minimum Love, the feature debut of Czech filmmaker Maja Penčič, which had its world premiere this week at the Ji.hlava International Documentary Film Festival. The 76-minute film, assembled from spontaneous street interviews, captures a portrait of young Czechs grappling with love, loneliness, and the state of the world.
Filmed over several months, mostly at night, Penčič’s project began as an experiment in approaching strangers. The filmmaker, a student at FAMU with Balkan roots, roamed metro stations, trams, and concert queues with a small camera, asking direct questions about life and emotions. The result, she says, is a mosaic of “fears, fatigue, love, pain, hurt, toxic relationships, friendship, [and] the future.”
Penčič’s approach stands out in a Czech documentary landscape still shaped by dramaturgical structure and staged moments. “It makes sense to me to make a film directly and without big plans and ideas,” she told Variety. “Life outside is more interesting than we can imagine.”
A candid portrait of youth and disillusionment
The film’s unscripted energy reflects its subjects: young people who, when asked about their lives, move seamlessly from humor to heartbreak. One woman complains about having to explain her sense of humor to potential partners; another expects infidelity as an inevitable part of relationships. Groups of men outside a rap concert share thoughts not just about music but about the war in Ukraine, climate change, and the apparent futility of it all.
Penčič recalls one of her most surprising encounters: when she asked if someone feared war, a young man replied he was “more afraid of snakes than war.” Such remarks, alternating between irony and sincerity, form the backbone of Minimum Love’s depiction of Czech youth — uncertain, skeptical, but deeply self-aware.
“I am also young,” Penčič, now in her mid-twenties, told Variety. “In this film the boys were the ones who at first behaved like idiots and after a while they showed how gentle they are.” Her curiosity extends beyond romantic longing; it becomes an inquiry into empathy itself. “Film is compassion for me,” she said. “It’s important that the film is a unit, made in one breath.”
The director’s minimal intervention style avoids voice-over or reconstruction. Few passersby initially stop to talk, and many seem wary of being filmed. Yet over time, as Penčič gains confidence, her camera finds intimacy among friends and strangers alike, uncovering quiet moments of reflection amid the city’s clamor.
Youth, loneliness, and the need to listen
Beneath the spontaneous exchanges runs a recurring theme: the loneliness of a generation. “Youth is usually full of insecurity, loneliness, and misunderstanding,” Penčič observes. Her film, she suggests, is not about providing answers but about listening — a skill she believes modern society has neglected. “Maybe that is one of the reasons why populism is on the rise in Europe,” she says. “People have the feeling that finally someone is listening to them.”
For Penčič, Minimum Love is both a chronicle and a confession. The questions she asks on Prague’s streets often mirror her own doubts and desires. “In reality, I was interested in things that I myself was currently dealing with,” she admits. That sense of shared vulnerability gives the film its pulse — an unfiltered record of people reaching out for connection in a distracted world.
“Young people are present, they are sunshine, mostly beautiful beings full of potential,” Penčič said. “Society should stop abusing us and start being inspired by us. We need interest, time and, most importantly, love. Without it, nothing will move.”
