Interview by Corrado Serri CCS and Mirco Sgarzi CCS
The film Central Europe by Gianluca Minucci was recently presented at the Torino Film Festival. The screenplay is by Gianluca Minucci and Patrick Karlsen. Cinematography by Carlo Rinaldi CCS. Editing by Ian Degrassi. Production design by Csenge Jovari. Costumes by Stefano Ciammitti. Music by Zbigniew Preisner. Sound by Emanuela Cotellessa. Cast: Paolo Pierobon, Tommaso Ragno, Catherine Bertoni de Laet, Matilde Vigna, Angelica Kazankova, Levente Molnár. Production: Aldo Minucci, Monica Galantucci, Gianluca Minucci, Romano Reggiani, Mario Gianani, Lorenzo Gangarossa for Wildside, Danubio Film, m74. Contact: Danubio Film, danubioproduction@gmail.com.
Corrado: You’ve known Gianluca Minucci for a long time. I’m reminded of Chimeras, the beautiful short film that earned you both a feature in American Cinematographer. How did this relationship begin? And how did it evolve to this film?
Gianluca and I met on a set where I was working as the director of photography, and he was an assistant director. He was impressed by my work and confided that his dream was to move to the United States to work in the film industry. Interestingly, I also ended up moving to the U.S., and we reconnected in Los Angeles a couple of years later. Gianluca had a project for a short film to shoot in America, and we decided to make it together. That’s how Chimeras came to life. We were young and just starting out, but as you mentioned, that short film brought us to the attention of industry professionals and got us featured in American Cinematographer. From there, we stayed in Los Angeles for years, mostly working on music videos and commercials. Gianluca, who is incredibly talented, began working on his first feature film, but it took longer than expected. After a few years, Central Europe came together, and we were finally able to make it happen together.
Mirco: Why did you choose to shoot in the 4:3 format?
For Gianluca and me, the 4:3 format was a perfect fit for the sense of claustrophobia we wanted to convey, as well as being a classic format that helped us recreate the atmosphere of the historical period. But more than anything, it’s a format that frames faces beautifully, and faces are a central element in the film. The story takes place almost entirely inside a train, and we needed a format that would enclose the characters in a kind of “box” to heighten the tension and anxiety. We had no doubts about this choice, which was made right from the film’s conception.
Corrado: I noticed that the colour palette is very defined, with only a few dominant tones. I was struck by how you handled the moonlight. The film is mostly set inside the train, except for a flashback scene on the platform. Yet the outside is very present, especially in the scenes viewed through the windows and in the moonlight you chose. There’s an interesting contrast, and I imagine this was intentional. It’s unusual to see a film set in the 1940s with such a modern approach to moonlight. Could you tell us more about this choice?
It was a deliberate choice. I didn’t want to make a typical 1940s-style film with the colours commonly associated with that period. I wanted something different, especially because the train where the night scene between Paris and Ljubljana takes place has an almost metaphysical dimension. I wanted to step away from reality a bit, and my initial inspiration was the Technicolor three-strip process, with its strong contrasts of red and cyan. I wanted the primary colours to stand out boldly, but during the process of defining the look, I realised that the red interfered too much with the faces and with materials like wood and velvet. So, I decided to reduce the red, and as often happens in these cases, removing one component made the other colours more pronounced. In particular, the cyan, which was already present in the LUT and the lighting, became even more intense. I began to see a harmony between the blue of the moonlight and the yellow of the train, which is made of wood and warm materials. The blue moonlight thus became a central element, a visual constant that accompanies the journey. The choice of the 4:3 format and this combination of colours contributed to creating a unique and coherent atmosphere that evolves throughout the film, like a sort of visual symphony, with changes in rhythm and colour, while always maintaining that blue moonlight.
Mirco: What kind of lights did you use to create this moonlight? And to illuminate the interior of the train?
The lighting system was a mix of various technologies, but primarily we used the ASTERA range, particularly Titan, Helios, AX3, AX5, and Pixel Bricks—the entire ASTERA line. Additionally, we used Sky Panels, which were essential for achieving the consistent moonlight effect. For more intense effects, we also used Orbiters and PAR 64s, which allowed us to create hard, sharp, and direct light. The whole system was controlled via a console, with a brilliant technician programming these effects. Inside the train, we favoured smaller lights, such as the Astera Helios tubes and Pixel Bricks with a diffuser sphere on top, which creates a sort of micro Chinese lantern effect. Only in some carriages did we use LiteMats, which were hung from the ceiling. What’s unique is that we shot in a real train, stationary inside a hangar that served as the workshop of the Budapest Train Museum, which we blacked out and transformed into a set. The space inside the carriages was incredibly tight, so the main challenge was positioning the lights, especially since sometimes even the cameras couldn’t fit into certain parts of the train. For example, a Pixel Brick with its sphere—just a small cube—was already too large for some shots. In some cases, I had to use tiny lights, and even for an Astera tube, I had to flag it or use a grid to control the intensity. Outside the train, on the other hand, we used larger lights with movements programmed via the console.
Mirco: You mentioned that you filmed at the Budapest Train Museum. How did working in a real train, which is also a museum piece, influence you? Were there any constraints or challenges?
It was a really bold choice on Gianluca’s part. He wanted the protagonists and cast members, like Tommaso Ragno, Paolo Pierobon, Matilde Vigna, and Catherine Bertoni, to fully immerse themselves in the train’s atmosphere. On a soundstage, everything is convenient and adjustable, but filming in a real train, where the characters are confined to a compartment, creates an entirely different experience. There were moments when I said to him, “Gianluca, are you sure? Only you would think of filming a movie in a real train.” The most challenging aspect was working inside a vintage train. We couldn’t move the seats, remove the windows, or take off the doors, so to perform certain camera movements, we had to use a crane to pass through the window. The openings were so small that we needed to use a special type of remote-controlled camera head—just to execute a simple tracking shot. The exterior, which was an industrial hangar, was completely blacked out to create the night effect. We had to build the entire lighting setup from scratch. It was autumn, so it was cold, and the location was far from comfortable. The preparation time was long, but it was worth it. Initially, we had considered using green screens or rear projections for the exteriors. However, since it was a low-budget film, we had to abandon that idea. What we see outside the windows is the result of another creative solution, developed in collaboration with post-production studio M74. We found a way to create nighttime landscapes where, in reality, there was nothing but absolute darkness. In some cases, I used a small green screen, but in most instances, we worked with black backdrops. This was also because there was practically no space for any rear projections.
Corrado: I felt that the film’s dialogue is very sharp and harsh—it reminded me of Melville’s noirs and Harold Pinter’s theatre. At one point, I noticed a strong connection between the harshness of the dialogue and the harshness of the lighting. It seems like you chose to go against the current trend of soft lighting, opting instead for hard lights. Was that a deliberate choice? Additionally, I noticed that in some scenes, the light fell directly on the characters’ faces instead of being backlit, as is often done. Did you have a kind of “theatricality” in mind with this approach, tied to the theme of the film, where the characters are being observed, scrutinised?
Our aim was to light the film in a “classic” way while creating something modern—or rather, contemporary—especially given the themes addressed, which made it a challenging task. I would have loved to use only pure incandescent lighting, like PAR lights or Fresnel projectors, which provide very direct and raw illumination. However, it would have been difficult to manage the entire set with old-style lights. So, we chose to use modern lights, such as LEDs, which gave us more control over the colour and temperature of the light while still maintaining that hardness typical of “classic” lighting. As for theatricality, the lighting followed the same philosophy. We decided to incorporate dynamic changes, much like in theatre, and this added a certain rhythm and tension to the narrative. The lights were never static: they would rise slowly over two or three minutes or fade gradually, creating a more dynamic and theatrical atmosphere that aligned with the acting and the script. The positioning of the lights was sometimes dictated not by premeditated choices but by the constraints of the location and the limited space imposed by the train itself. At times, the light came from the front, creating a particular effect on the characters’ eyes or mouths, such as in the final scene with Paolo Pierobon, where we placed a small strip of light on his eyes to heighten the emotion of the moment. Overall, we tried to avoid the “easy recipe” of backlighting and instead focused on details, small movements, and playing with lighting in a very precise way. This precision was necessary, as the acting was often very intimate, given the location and setting.
Corrado: The first shot of Tommaso Ragno struck me—it’s a true noir manifesto. His face partially hidden by the hat feels more like an homage than a direct reference. Regarding his character, Clerici, I’m curious: “Clerici” immediately brings to mind The Conformist by Bertolucci. Is that a nod?
We’d have to ask Gianluca. Certainly, there’s a connection: we all know Storaro’s iconic train in The Conformist, but visually, there’s nothing similar in our film. Where The Conformist featured the orange hues of a sunset, we moved in a completely different direction. Some people have noted an homage to Storaro in the use of colour. If I did that, it was unconscious. It’s a film that dares to play with colours, even within its bichromatic palette, and that makes me very happy. Gianluca, being well-versed in cinema, might have intended to evoke something, but it all remains unspoken.
Mirco: What camera and lenses did you use?
Gianluca wanted vintage lenses, and we initially aimed for the Baltars, a classic 35mm set from the 1950s. But during location scouting, I realised that the extremely tight spaces required an ultra-wide lens, which the Baltars didn’t offer. I also thought a large-format sensor would be a big help, as it inherently increases the field of view. So, I suggested the ARRI ALEXA Mini LF paired with Canon K35 lenses, which I was familiar with and felt were perfect for the project: bright, equipped with ultra-wide options, excellent close focus, and a unique look. The Mini LF and K35 combination was a winning choice.
Corrado: The film’s look reminded me a lot of Skolimowski’s EO, which also uses K35 lenses in a large-format setup. Was that a reference for you?
That’s interesting, but I hadn’t thought of it. Europa Centrale is so unique that it was hard to find references. It’s entirely shot at night, on a train, in period costume—a very rare context. The only vague reference was Brady Corbet’s The Childhood of a Leader, but that film was shot on film and was very different. Gianluca showed me many references, some in black and white, but in the end, we created everything from scratch. It was an exciting challenge because, without references, you never have a “plan B.”
Corrado: An interesting detail: the actors are constantly sweating, an effect that conveys anxiety and tension. Was this in the script, or did you decide it on set?
It was a deliberate choice by Gianluca, who wanted to convey a sense of sickness and oppression stemming from ideology. The film shows how ideology, whether fascist or communist, can become toxic. Clerici, for example, has skin problems, while the other characters live in constant anxiety, always on the run. This exaggerated sweating highlights their suffering and, for me, was an excellent excuse to make them “shine”: in a dark setting, like a train lined with wood and velvet, it created an extraordinary effect. Someone described it as “oily” cinematography. I like to think that this sweat became an integral part of the film’s visual language.
Mirco: Let’s talk about the budget. You mentioned it was rather limited. How much did you have at your disposal? And how did your name end up among the film’s producers?
The budget was around one and a half million euros, a modest amount for a period film with that cast. Gianluca practically produced everything on his own, with two minor co-production shares from M74 and WILDSIDE, along with support from the Ministry, Rai Cinema, Tax Credit, and a co-production with Hungary. Every euro was put in front of the camera. I was credited as an associate producer thanks to Gianluca’s generosity. He involved me in every phase: from conception to post-production, where we had to come up with creative solutions to make the stationary train “look into the darkness” convincingly. It was a creative endeavour, and Gianluca wanted to acknowledge that I went beyond my role as the director of photography.
Corrado: One camera movement in particular struck me: the run through the very narrow train corridor. How did you achieve it? Was it done with a running rig, a Steadicam, or maybe a skateboard?
It was a Steadicam, operated by Andras Kin, an exceptional professional. The camera barely fit in the corridor. Some minor imperfections in the movements are the result of operating at the limits: I remember Andras with his arm fully extended and the sled held away from his body—a far-from-ideal position. Gianluca insisted on using the Steadicam despite my doubts. When the operator arrived on set, I said to him: “Let’s give it a try, even though I know it’ll be tricky. At worst, we’ll switch to handheld.” Amazingly, he pulled it off. All the runs through the train, the passages through the crowd, and even some shots in the dining car were done this way. In addition to the Steadicam, we had a crane with a small remote head that we called in when necessary for longer movements. We also used a tiny dolly, almost homemade by our key grip, Gabor Popey—a genius. He created a small 40 cm track with skaters on which he mounted a Panther hydraulic column, sometimes even a little stool. With this setup, we could manage movements of two or three metres, the maximum allowed by the space. Otherwise, as you’ve noticed, the film is mostly composed of static shots, a few pans, and occasional sliders. It’s a work of great simplicity in terms of camera movements, but with a strong focus on lens use and image composition.
Mirco: Despite the tight spaces, at times you use long and complex camera movements. One that comes to mind is the three-minute dolly shot during the monologue. How did you manage such a demanding shot in such a confined space?
It was one of the most challenging tasks. Gianluca told me right away that he wanted a push-in for the entire monologue. I replied, “Are you crazy? You can’t do a three-minute dolly shot inside a train!” But he was determined, and in the end, we found a solution. We used a crane with a remote head that extended into the train through a window. Setting it up took hours: we had to build a platform at window height to position the tracks. It was an enormous job for a result we could have achieved in 15 minutes in a soundstage. But Gianluca is a director who always raises the bar, and working with him pushes you to find creative solutions, even when they seem impossible.
Corrado: Your approach to lighting seems equally sophisticated. Can you tell us more about the choices you made?
We deliberately complicated many scenes to enrich the visual storytelling. For example, in the final sequence, there are moments where the lights go off and on again to underscore emotional shifts. Coordinating everything was a challenge because the lighting console operator was Hungarian and didn’t understand the Italian dialogue. So I used the intercom to give him cues, sometimes even blowing into the microphone (since I was also operating the camera and couldn’t speak during takes). It was a primitive system, but it worked! These choices add variety and depth, and I hope the audience picks up on them, even if only subconsciously.
Corrado: I also wanted to congratulate you on the soundtrack. When I read that the music was composed by Kieslowski’s composer, I nearly jumped out of my seat. How did that collaboration come about?
Gianluca, being a great cinephile, took a bold step: he sent the edited film to Zbigniew Preisner, using some of his music composed for Kieslowski as a temporary guide. Incredibly, the maestro agreed to collaborate on the film and, over a couple of weekends in Poland with Gianluca, he created an extraordinary piece of work. It’s not just music—it’s a true narrative element. This is an important achievement for Gianluca, highlighting the intellectual strength of the film. This film isn’t easy—it’s a unique work aimed at those who love cinema, history, and the art of acting. It’s important to take risks, especially for a debut film. Central Europe is a bold gesture, an original and deeply personal film.
