KONTINENATAL 25, by Radu Jude

by Luigi Vitali

One of the new geniuses of European cinema, fresh off the breakout success of Do Not Expect Too Much from the End of the World, instead of scaling up—as any director in his position might—strips everything down, shooting in just 10 days on an iPhone 15, with no lights, no grips, no budget. He relies entirely on dialogue and sharp situational humor, crafting another brilliant absurdist comedy-drama infused with his signature sardonic wit, once again dissecting Romania’s contradictions in its uneasy transition from socialism to capitalism—this time through the lens of its housing market and a conflicted middle class caught between past and present. It’s a testament to his ability to create magic on a zero budget, a fascinating experiment that, while more austere than usual, still carries Jude’s razor-sharp commentary and biting satire.

We are used to his irony, and raw provocation to dismantle national myths and expose the fractures of history. His films blur the lines between fiction, documentary, and essay, rejecting conventional storytelling in favor of bold, confrontational explorations of power, memory, and ideology. Whether tackling Romania’s past in Aferim!, skewering social hypocrisy in Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn, or experimenting with archival footage in Uppercase Print, Jude refuses to offer easy answers. Instead, his work thrives on contradictions, forcing audiences to confront uncomfortable truths with biting humor and relentless formal invention.

Kontinental ’25, opens with long sequences following an elderly homeless man, surviving on scraps, drifting through the city—a classic introduction for a protagonist. But as he returns to the basement he occupies, we meet Orsolya, a former law professor turned bailiff, sent to evict him after the building is purchased by a German firm. The plan is to demolish it and replace it with a sleek, upscale boutique hotel named Kontinental. Hopeless and cornered, Ion ties himself to a radiator and takes his own life.

From here, the focus shifts. Orsolya becomes the protagonist, but that opening sequence makes it clear, Ion—or more precisely, the void he leaves behind—remains the film’s true gravitational pull. His death consumes Orsolya with guilt, sending her into a spiral. Things only worsen when she learns from the media that Ion was once an Olympic athlete, a forgotten national hero. As an ethnic Hungarian in Romania, she quickly becomes an easy target—vilified online as the Hungarian woman who drove a patriotic Romanian icon to his death.

Paralyzed by guilt, Orsolya cancels a planned family vacation and instead roams the city, bouncing between tense, cutting two-shot conversations. She searches for understanding, for someone to validate her remorse, but the more indifferent her listeners are, the less she can absolve herself.

Kontinental ’25 wears its inspiration on its sleeve—its title, the movie poster, its central arc all nod to Rossellini’s Europa ’51. Like Ingrid Bergman’s character, Orsolya is shaken by a personal tragedy, setting off a spiraling search for meaning. In one scene, our protagonist drinks a beer at a bar, with a Europa ’51 poster on the wall—a silent reminder of its main reference.

The dialogues are sharp, darkly funny, and unrelenting, shifting between tragedy and absurdity in a way only Jude can pull off. He dissects European and national idiosyncrasies with his signature bite, exposing the absurdity of nationalism through grotesque irony.

There’s a hyper-local grievance tied to the town and its history, mostly unknown to international audiences, yet Jude renders it so effectively that it feels universal. “Romanians stole Cluj and Transylvania from the Austro-Hungarian Empire,” a character declares, part of an ongoing game of historical rivalry between the two countries. Beyond the online hate messages she receives as an ethnic Hungarian, the protagonist’s mother—an Orbán supporter and proud Hungarian —dismisses Romania’s higher GDP with a sneer: “Civilization isn’t measured by GDP.” Nationalism also takes on a purely utilitarian edge in some of the film’s sharpest moments. A former law student, now a food delivery cyclist, wears a backpack that says “I’m Romanian” as a survival tactic, explaining that drivers will run over Bangladeshis and Sri Lankans without hesitation.

Through these continuous sharp social commentaries, the story follows Orsolya in search of relief. She meets an old friend, donating the money she saved from canceling her holiday to their charity, as if redistributing her privilege might ease her conscience. She gets drunk with her ex-student and ends up having sex with him in a park. She meets a priest, hoping for final moral clarity, but his response is blunt: Suicide is a sin against oneself, and no one bears responsibility but the person who took their own life.s responsibility but the person who took their own life.

Her guilt is real, her motivations sincere, and she tries to do her best—but if no one is responsible, then who is to blame? Kontinental ’25 offers no easy answers. It’s a film about displacement—political, personal, and moral. Orsolya searches for clarity but finds only contradictions. In the end, there’s no catharsis, just a slow sequence of anonymous new buildings under construction—homes for Romania’s emerging middle class. As if the entire film is built around a single lingering question: At what cost?