“Be Quiet, Be Quiet, Pay Attention”: Julia Loktev Discusses My Undesirable Friends: Part I — Final Breath in Moscow

      Note: This interview was first published as part of our 2024 NYFF coverage. My Undesirable Friends: Part I – The Last Air in Moscow will be released in theaters on August 15.

      For a particular type of film enthusiast (like myself), it’s been over a decade of pondering Julia Loktev's journey. The talented director known for Day Night Day Night and The Loneliest Planet has remained mostly out of the spotlight since the latter’s 2011 release, although occasional interviews hinted at her work on a new project; it eventually felt necessary to come to terms with her career leading a brief yet intriguing existence.

      Thus, imagine the surprise and joy when My Undesirable Friends: Part I — Last Air in Moscow emerged, an expansive five-and-a-half-hour documentary detailing Russian journalists grappling with their nation’s repressive politics and the newly commenced war in Ukraine. With its premiere at this year's New York Film Festival, and as the film continues to screen in search of distribution, I spoke with Loktev about her efforts to create a new feature, the formal ideology behind this ambitious project, and the future direction of its second installment.

      The Film Stage: It’s great to see you again. We had a brief chat during NYFF’s Opening Night.

      Julia Loktev: Yes, we did!

      I remember chatting with you at a Phantom Thread screening, wanting to resist asking if you were working on a new movie.

      Oh, I love that story!

      I didn’t want to assume you’d grown weary of the question "Where have you been? What have you been working on?" So just to clarify: were you tired of people asking, “Where have you been? What have you been working on?”

      It’s amusing—your way of asking is polite. [Laughs] For the first few years after The Loneliest Planet, I felt truly lost. I wasn’t certain what was significant to pursue. At that time, when it was difficult to determine my path, that question became extremely painful. I would often try to steer clear of industry gatherings where someone would ask, [in a high-pitched voice], “So, what are you working on?”—and I'd think, "Please, just end it." Or when people inquire why writers or filmmakers haven’t been active for a while, it’s like stepping into a large room of discomfort.

      Initially, I genuinely didn’t know what I wanted to do, and the projects I began didn’t resonate with me as worth continuing. Then, I co-wrote a fiction film that I adored, and it was receiving positive feedback. But COVID hit, and it was a film set in three different countries. Just as we were gaining traction, we couldn't shoot it anymore during the pandemic, and it never really regained momentum. And of course, this new film has taken three years so far.

      Do you still hope to complete that project?

      Oh, that’s a tough question. Perhaps in some reimagined form, yes. But I certainly want to pursue another fiction project, which will be influenced by the experience of making this film, a process that was exhilarating and freeing. Especially after dealing with writer's block for so long, this experience has been remarkable. It reminds me how much richer reality is than… well, at least my imagination, and probably for most people too. Observing scenes, you realize how much of writing can be overly straightforward. In real life, people shift from discussing serious subjects to inappropriate humor; the details are rich, like when you enter someone’s apartment and notice quirky things, like cat-themed furniture. If I had a production designer create that, I might say, "That's too much!"

      I don’t know why I’m concentrating on material details—it’s part of every conversation. We visited a young journalist’s home; her fiancé is imprisoned on treason charges. She welcomed us wearing a black-and-white striped sweater emblazoned with “Paris” in bright letters, offering muffins while narrating how police searched her apartment and asked, “Where’s the safe? In the bathroom?” She quipped back, “It’s certainly not hidden among my Maxi Pads.” She resisted turning on the air conditioning for them while they rummaged through her belongings and arrested her fiancé. The depth, personality, and contradictions in that moment are exactly what I aspire to capture in fiction—if I can ever write with that depth and humor, I’ll be thrilled. This filmmaking journey has been the most extraordinary experience, navigating between fiction and documentary.

      This film is clearly not produced like a conventional documentary. Many documentaries viewers are accustomed to are informative: featuring someone in an unfamiliar setting providing formal interviews, with their voice detached from their image, accompanied by B-roll and voiceovers. I endeavored to film it like a fiction piece—following characters and capturing them in their natural environments, whether in their kitchens or cars—focusing on their humanity. Even during editing, my co