An Interview with Martina Buchelová, Director of 'Lover, Not a Fighter'
In a world where short-form social media content has come to dominate the Gen Z audiovisual experience, Slovak filmmaker Martina Buchelová has answered the call to hybridize formats. Her feature-length narrative debut Lover, Not a Fighter / Milovník, nie bojovník debuted at Karlovy Vary International Film Festival in July 2026, where it won the Grand Prix for PROXIMA, a category honoring innovative new works. The film follows an impulsive 20-year-old named Andrej (Adam Kubala) who lives with his timid cousin and aging grandmother. A fortuitous meeting with Miša (Michaela Kostková), whose family dynamic is just as complicated, turns his life around.
I wrote to director Buchelová asking about the inspiration behind her quirky and tragic film, which is currently in distribution with Aerofilms in the Czech Republic.
This interview with Martina Buchelová was conducted over email. It has been edited for brevity and clarity.
LYDIA SMITH: Lover, Not a Fighter is your debut film. Where did you find inspiration for the premise, and what was your process of developing these young characters?
MARTINA BUCHELOVÁ: I was working previously on an audiovisual adaptation of two novels by Slovak writer Božena Slančíková Timrava, whom I consider one of the greatest writers I have ever read. These novels are from 1905 and 1926 [and] she did also write about very interesting male characters, but the main focus is on women and their lives in the beginning of the 20th century. Somehow, as a contrast to these stories about historical women, I also came up with the story about contemporary young man Andrej, living in modern times. And for some time, I was writing these simultaneously.
In the end, we decided to debut with Andrej’s story. But to be honest, I think that the characters from both projects – Timrava’s historical young women, and modern-times Andrej and the people around him, might have been friends. They are all brave, self-aware and self-doubting people who want to find their place in this world [and] have honest relationships. I like them all.
Also, after finishing my studies at Film Faculty in Bratislava, I was working on three short documentaries about young people, living in various parts of Europe (Slovakia, UK and Turkey) that I co-directed with Debora Pastričáková. They are distributed collectively under the name All good everywhere (2023). I think it also helped me to naturally be more aware of issues young people, but also people around them, deal with.
LS: The movie is divided into chapters that alternate the perspective of the protagonists, fleshing out their relationships to each other in unexpected ways. When you were developing the film, did you always imagine these evolving points-of-view, or were these angles added after you’d conceived the central romance?
MB: It was like this since the beginning of writing the story of the film, even before I wrote the actual script. I wanted to include slightly other perspectives and show different angles of Andrej’s life. I wanted viewers to slowly get to know him better. At first, they might judge him, then understand more, then judge him again, then see that he is still growing as a person and really tries to, even though he really is not perfect. And same with other characters.
LS: Miša’s father Kamil, a doomsday prepper, is a rather complex character. Where did you get the inspiration for his unusual motivation, and did you ever doubt whether he would come off as sympathetic?
MB: I think in some form, we all know a person like him, with very grandiose plans, just for the sake of being grandiose and great. Not really rooted in an honest attitude. He is also very intelligent, charming and funny, which is even weirder and dangerous, mainly for people close to him.
I wasn’t worried, because I saw at rehearsals that Jaro Vojtek, who plays Kamil, knew how to approach this character, and it worked very well since the [beginning]. Jaro understood very fast that Kamil is not confused, not stupid, but he is a player – he likes the rush when things go his way. Kamil overvalues power over people, but to be honest, he also overvalues himself. He also makes stupid mistakes, because he is lazy and thinks he can easily manipulate everyone. But he is so fun and so playful.
LS: The film has a unique visual style that is partially captured on vertical IPhone footage. How did you decide what would be shot through this “Gen Z lens”, and were those choices written into the script?
MB: The Timrava script I worked on is formally a very classical adaptation. I think it fits the concept of that writer and historic setting. So, the more that I was being strict with that adaptation, the more I got playful and bold with the film language in Lover, Not a Fighter.
I was a little bit worried that I overdid it, but somehow I felt it worked. I consulted the form not only with script-doctors, but also editors and all other cooperators, and they all got it: the concept worked for them. To be honest, I focused on [figuring out] the [right] way to do it, not as much on that it was unusual.
I knew very soon I wanted to use vertical shots. I just felt vertical phones naturally fit into the story of this contemporary young man, who lives somewhat isolated from others in his grandma’s room. He connects with others through the computer or phones. I also wanted to use gifs, which was not possible in the end.
It’s interesting for me, how these vertical shots on phones are capturing important moments of our lives. People record when they are happy, sad, scared; sometimes you are being recorded on other people’s phones when you don’t even know it. We watch important news through it, but also use it for fun edits – the form somehow creates its own specific language.
LS: The dark humor and patchwork narrative reminded me a little bit of Alexander Payne’s Election (1999). Can you identify any specific cinematic influences for this film?
MB: I was inspired by Wong Kar-Wai’s Chungking Express (1994), Fallen Angels (1995) and Happy Together (1997) – I feel like his storytelling is very playful, but deep and very precise. His characters suffer internally a lot, although they don’t admit it easily, or instead admit it very easily, so that the viewer gets the information as a joke that [only] starts to hurt later. I also really like his use of voiceovers and music. The director of photography of our film, Adam Mach, and I analyzed the camerawork of Christopher Doyle, who shot all these Wong Kar-Wai films, for this movie.
Another inspiration was Abbas Kiarostami’s Where is the Friend’s House? (1987) – this film about pureness of heart is very important to me. But I also watched works of the Coen brothers. Somehow, although formally very different approaches, I was thinking about these films while writing this film.
I also watched a lot of films of Korean director Hong Sang-Soo. The stories he tells are natural, absurd and somehow horrible, underlined with funky music, as are the stories we live in real life.
LS: Slovak film does not have as prominent of an international profile as some other cinemas from Central Europe. What do you hope to share about Slovak culture through this film? Additionally, can you recommend any other Slovak filmmakers who unfamiliar viewers might want to check out?
MB: I feel like many of my classmates from the Film and TV Faculty of the Academy of Performing Arts in Bratislava are truly very talented and skilled; we all pushed each other forward. Many still haven’t debuted, so I am happy to wait for their debut and see reactions to their work.
Slovak culture is my home, so I am glad when it gets [recognized] internationally and when it brings enjoyment to other people. I am a big fan of the director Peter Solan (The Boxer and Death [1963]), but I also like Dušan Hanák’s Pictures of the Old World (1972), Stanislav Barabáš’s A Song about the Grey Pigeon / Piesen o sivom holubovi (1961), Martin Hollý’s Raven's Route / Havrania cesta (1962) and many more.
From my generation: Roman Ďuriš (Fakir [2024]), Katarína Gramatová (Promise, I’ll Be Fine [2025]), Gregor Valentovič (Nepela [2025]), Michal Blaško (Victim [2022]), Martin Gonda (Flood [2025]) and Martin Repka (From March to May / Od marca do mája [2024]).
LS: You’ve previously worked with short-form and documentary film. What were the differences you experienced in making a work of feature-length fiction?
For the difference between short film and full length film – it really feels four times heavier than the short films. And by no means do I want to say that short films are easy… every story is a challenge to tell properly and honestly.
But feature films need four times more locations, four times more actors, four times longer scripts [and] the editing process is very challenging. We are really grateful that we were able to tell this story, but it was a very challenging and heavy task. We are glad in the end that many people enjoy it.
LS: Have you found an international distributor for the movie?
MB: We have distributions in Slovakia and Czechia, we will see whether we we’ll have distributions also in other countries.
LS: What should viewers anticipate next from you?
MB: I am gradually still working on Timrava’s adaptation and I have another project I am thinking on the side again, so we will see.
Lover, Not a Fighter is currently showing in cinemas across the Czech Republic and Slovakia. Its international sales are managed by Low Light Films.
-Lydia
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