Slovak-born, Berlin-based filmmaker Paula Ďurinová embarks on a journey through grief and geology in her feature debut, Lapilli [+lee también:
tráiler
entrevista: Paula Ďurinová
ficha de la película], the title of which refers to rock fragments ejected from a volcano. This film, premiered in the Proxima competition at the Karlovy Vary IFF, intertwines personal loss with environmental contemplation, creating a reflective, intimate documentary essay. Ďurinová’s previous work, the short film Constant – an Homage to the Apartment, was a tribute to her grandparents and the apartment where she shared many cherished moments with them. Lapilli serves as a spiritual sequel, revisiting her grandparents’ memory in their absence. Their deaths during the COVID-19 pandemic provide the impetus for the film, where Ďurinová employs a visual medium to navigate her grief, interweaving her family’s history with the enduring nature of geological formations. The thematic convergence of personal and environmental narratives is mirrored in the film's structure: it progresses through the stages of mourning, paralleled by the geological processes.

Ďurinová belongs to a new generation of female Slovak documentarians who embrace a more experimental approach to the medium. She aligns with contemporaries such as Viera Čákanyová, known for her personal documentary essays such as Notes from Eremocene [+lee también:
crítica
tráiler
entrevista: Viera Čákanyová
ficha de la película] and White on White [+lee también:
crítica
tráiler
ficha de la película], which also delve into the experimental nature of first-person documentaries. Notably, Čákanyová served as a creative producer for Lapilli. In addition to directing, Ďurinová takes on the role of cinematographer, capturing natural landscapes that range from the desolate remnants of the Aral Sea and volcanic deserts to dark caverns. The film’s contemplative pacing, with its slow rhythm, underscores the exploration of time and memory.

The docu-essay is largely non-figurative, focusing on the observation and capturing of geological formations. Ďurinová occasionally interjects with voice-overs that oscillate between letters to her grandparents and philosophical musings on geology and ecology. Midway through, the narrative shifts from surface-level observations to a speleological journey through claustrophobic chambers and underground crevasses. As the film progresses, Ďurinová makes a subtle physical appearance, complementing her disembodied voice with her presence on screen. This transition deepens the connection between personal and environmental grief, as the director’s mourning for her grandparents evolves into a broader contemplation of ecological transformation and the impermanence of matter.

The non-figurative close shots of geological formations, often fixed and lengthy, make the documentary shift towards an endurance viewing experience that leans towards video art. Although Lapilli was filmed in various locations, it is less a travelogue and more a contemplative exercise characterised by long, unbroken gazes. The speleological scenes, including the director crawling through tiny crevasses – one of the few figurative shots in the film – provide tense, claustrophobic moments on a visceral level. The film’s structure mirrors the five stages of grief, which Ďurinová alludes to through different shots of stone formations on the surface, underground, in the mountains and around water, using subtle symbolism. This thematic alignment provides the blending of personal sorrow with the natural world’s immutable processes, ultimately creating a meditative exploration of loss.

Lapilli was produced by Slovak outfit guča films and was co-produced by Paula Ďurinová herself.