From the Conversations with Artists series [3]
A film director or filmmaker is a person who controls a film’s artistic and dramatic aspects and visualizes the screenplay (or script) while guiding the film crew and actors in the fulfillment of that vision. – Wikipedia
Natalia Karav’s short film is available to watch on YouTube. We urge you to watch it!!
Table of Contents –
1. Inside the mind of a filmmaker
1. The placement of elements in the girl’s bedroom such as the jewelry,
perfume, and the picture of Frida Kahlo feels very intentional and
evokes a strong sense of her character. These details suggest she is
bold, unafraid, and raw or perhaps wanting to be so. What inspired you
to present her in this particular way, and what role does Kahlo subtly
play in shaping our understanding of her?
Her bedroom, and the parallel spaces of the two women, are extensions of their
inner worlds. Every object, the jewelry, the perfume, even the picture of Frida Kahlo, is placed intentionally, hinting at facets of their character and emotional universe.
Kahlo, for me, has always been a symbol of female strength: she found beauty and
creativity through her pain, and in Frizz, she looks over both women with a quiet,
almost mournful presence. The younger woman carries her own inner struggles,
vibrant yet anxious, while the older woman bears the weight of time and reflection, both are quietly resilient.
The differences between their spaces highlight these contrasts. The older woman’s
vanity is composed of mature, luxurious perfumes and skincare, almost like “potions” promising youth, a nod to the marketing myths and commercial promises of anti- aging products. The younger woman’s vanity overflows with makeup, reflecting the endless cycle of trends, particularly on social media, where new products are constantly promoted as essential to a girl’s beauty and self-worth.
Flowers play a central symbolic role in both spaces. The older woman’s blooms are dried and muted, reflecting her awareness of aging, self-examination, and the
impermanence of beauty. They do not mirror who she is, but rather the reflection of herself in that moment of intense self-scrutiny. The younger woman’s flowers, by contrast, are bright, vibrant, and full of life, signaling her youth, vitality, and the apparent “prime” of life, yet their cut stems remind us that this beauty is fragile, transient, and ultimately temporary. In the final scene, when the two women confront each other, fresh blooms cross from the younger to the older woman’s space, signifying that vitality and beauty endure when one embraces age, self-acceptance, and the continuity of the spirit.”
2. There’s a clear duality between the older woman and the younger
woman in the story. Why did you choose to use them, at these different
stages of life, to tell this story? What does their contrast reveal?
In many ways, both women are grieving their previous stages of life. The younger
woman mourns the loss of her girlhood, she has outgrown it, yet feels unprepared for the weight of womanhood. The older woman, meanwhile, confronts the disorienting moment of not recognizing herself in the mirror anymore, where every new line or wrinkle feels like a small defeat. Their contrast, paradoxically, reveals their similarity: after girlhood, women are often taught to grieve every past version of themselves, as though each stage left behind were somehow more ideal than the one they are entering.
Susan Sontag captures this with startling precision in her essay The Double
Standard of Aging: “The single standard for women dictates that they must go on
having clear skin. Every wrinkle, every line, every gray hair, is a defeat. No wonder
no boy minds becoming a man, while even the passage from girlhood to early
womanhood is experienced by many women as their downfall, for all women are
trained to continue wanting to look like girls.” Though Sontag wrote this decades ago, and society has in some ways progressed,
these ideas remain deeply embedded. Even when we consciously rebel against
them, they linger quietly in the back of the mind. I despise that part of me that cares about aging, because when I look at older women, I feel admiration and even awe.
But when I turn that gaze on myself, I am harsh, almost merciless.
Frizz became, in this sense, a dialogue across time. It is me telling my future self: I
am not afraid to become you. And it is also my future self responding: I am not afraid to let go of you.
3. What other pieces of art did you use in this film (e.g. on the wall),
what do they represent?
All of the art in the film is mine from my apartment (where the film was shot). In the dance sequence, The Two Fridas hangs prominently on the wall. I chose this
painting intentionally for that moment, as it resonates with their journey, two fears existing in one person at different stages, only reconciled through acceptance of each other. By placing it there, it visually reinforces the idea that the younger and older selves are not separate entities but interconnected facets of the same woman.
There’s also a still of Anna Karina from Made in the USA, a nod to Jean-Luc
Godard’s work.
The image also serves as a subtle nod to the film which is a parody
of the USAs consumerist nature, which aligns with one of the film’s themes: how
capitalism and consumer culture profit from women’s insecurities, particularly
through beauty ideals and the ever-changing trends perpetuated in media. Finally, a painting of a naked woman in despair represents the emotional state of both
characters in that scene, while also reflecting how female suffering is often
hypersexualized in art and media rather than truly represented.
4. What does the free, carefree dancing symbolize in the story? Does it
reflect a longing, a release, or something else entirely?
The dance, for me, was about movement. In the beginning movement that
represents the everyday gestures women are conditioned to perform: graceful
enough to be “feminine,” alluring but never excessive, open but never too closed-off. It’s the choreography society quietly scripts for the female body.
But as the sequence unfolds, the performance fractures. Their gestures become
erratic, less controlled, less “beautiful.” What surfaces is repressed anger, anger at
society for scripting those movements in the first place, and anger at oneself for
having abided by them. The women’s bodies move with an almost primal defiance, as if shaking off years of learned perception. In that moment, the dance becomes a release. No longer about how they are seen, the movements become a raw declaration of being.
5. I notice that the characters do not talk throughout the film? Why?
As a director, I wanted to focus on facial expressions and body movement rather
than dialogue. The story and emotions in Frizz didn’t feel like something the
characters would naturally speak aloud. Many of the thoughts and insecurities
explored in the film are usually kept inside, remaining unspoken in our heads. When the two women finally meet, each encountering a version of herself at a different time, there’s an unspoken recognition. They know who they are in that moment, and words simply aren’t necessary. The silence allows the audience to inhabit that intimate, internal space, guided by gesture, expression, and the music composed by my good friend Yiannis Fratzeskakis.
6. What message are you trying to send to the audience through this film?
I think the message of Frizz is that it’s okay to feel these insecurities, whether they’re about acne, imperfections, or aging. Society has shaped them, often profiting from them through endless products, procedures, and impossible standards. I’m not trying to present a manifesto or dictate what is “right” or “wrong” for women to do with their bodies. This isn’t an argument, it’s a personal excavation. My insecurities aren’t universal truths, they are simply mine, and this film is my way of confronting and understanding them.
In part, it’s a love letter to women who feel pressured to preserve an ideal version of themselves. But it’s also a gentle confrontation: I wanted to turn fear into form, to create something that invites others to look, reflect, and feel, without needing to make any decisions or judgments.
Ultimately, the film is about the continuity of self. The girl within us never truly
disappears, she is always with us, and we need to take care of her, provide her with
comfort, and acknowledge her presence. She carries our early fears, insecurities,
and vulnerabilities that shape who we become. As we grow, the older woman within us emerges, carrying knowledge, experience, and beauty. She guides us, protects
us from repeating past mistakes, and offers perspective. We shouldn’t fear her
simply because she doesn’t look like the younger girl anymore she, too, needs to be nurtured, comforted and thanked.
The third act, where the two women meet, is a celebration of this ongoing inner
dialogue. It’s a moment of recognition and reconciliation: the younger self meets the older self, and both are honored. The younger woman provides energy, hope, and the vibrancy of potential, while the older woman offers wisdom, acceptance, and quiet authority. By bringing them together, the film underscores that these selves are never separate or lost, they coexist within us, shaping how we see the world and ourselves, reminding us that care, gratitude, and acknowledgment are essential at every stage of life.
7. If you could attribute any song to the film, what would it be?
Undo by Bjork, I wont explain it, it’s the first that came to mind.
2. About Natalia
What got you into film making?
It’s hard to pinpoint a single moment. I grew up acting and training as a performer, convinced that would be my path. But around eighteen, I began questioning it. I dropped out of university, where I was studying theatre and performance, and gave myself time to think, to understand who I was outside of that trajectory.
It was then that I fell in love with film in a new way. I had always loved it, but at
nineteen, it became an obsession.
It started with the French New Wave, then moved into more experimental cinema, dissecting films, living through them almost. And slowly, I realised I wanted to be more than a spectator. I wanted to use film to express something inside me that words couldn’t reach, something almost like a poison I couldn’t ignore. I wanted to confront it, face it directly, and even make it beautiful, so that its danger and allure could exist side by side. Like most women, I want to experience it all. To act, to write, to dance, to disappear into solitude, to enter academia. There is a restlessness in me that resists containment, a suspicion of narrowing myself to a single path.
Of course, I know I cannot live every version of a life. But film making offers me the possibility of doing so within one medium, to hold contradictions together, to play and get to know every role, and still to remain the one shaping its form. Sylvia Plath’s fig tree analogy (read our post about it here) has always stayed with me: each fig a possible life, and the paralysis of watching them wither because one cannot choose. What I find in film is a kind of resistance to that paralysis. A way of gathering the figs before they fall, of inhabiting their fullness, however briefly.
How would you describe the process of making a film for any budding
artists?
I don’t feel like I’m the most qualified to answer, since this is the first and only film I’ve made so far. But from this experience, I would say that obsession quickly takes over. It never felt like a 9–5 job where I could switch off, the film was always on my mind. There were erratic moments of excitement, and then moments where I felt frozen, scared to take the step of actually making it.
For me, it was a big deal, I’m a harsh critic of films and of myself, but I realized I
didn’t want to disguise my amateurism. It’s my first film, and that truth belongs to it. It may not look exactly as I imagined, but the important thing was to make it. That’s the advice I’d give to other artists: the first step is simply doing it, even if it feels imperfect. Any artist who takes that step should be proud of themselves.
What was your favorite part of making the film?
My favorite part of making the film was collaborating with my friends. Yiannis
Fratzeskakis, our composer, truly understood the vision and essence of the film,
which is reflected beautifully in the music. Ellie Zagorianakou, my AD, provided
insights and support that made the production process smooth and far more
enjoyable. Pepin Struye, my incredible DOP, taught me so much and offered
invaluable guidance throughout the shoot. Beyond collaboration, of course directing on set, feeling that rush of “this is it, let’s do it” was an irreplaceable experience, one of pure creative exhilaration.
What is one of your favorite films?
Very difficult question as I have many, but I will say in this moment Paris,Texas. It’s an incredibly vulnerable film, absurd, and profoundly beautiful. Nastassja Kinski’s monologue, is one of my favorite lines in all of cinema.
Did you get any inspiration to make this film? If yes, then from where?
The first inspiration was my own insecurities. At twenty, I suddenly developed severe acne, and it completely changed the way I saw myself, especially in the daily act of looking in the mirror and getting ready. During breakouts, I would often pick at my skin, which only made things worse, and it became a painful cycle. One night, in the middle of crying and unable to stop picking, I instinctively reached for my camera and started recording. I didn’t know why at the time, but I think it was a way of saying: this is my pain, I don’t want to hide from it. That moment became the seed for Frizz, a desire to create a film that confronted what had once been my greatest insecurity, it was my rebellion.
Another major influence was Susan Sontag’s essay The Double Standard of Aging, which directly inspired the older woman’s character. She is played by Emily Bouratinos, someone I’ve been very close to since childhood. Since I am only 22, I don’t know what it truly feels like to be the older woman, and I didn’t want to impose my own assumptions. Talking to Emily about her relationship with aging gave me incredible insight. Our conversations, along with her own lived experiences, shaped how I directed her performance. Much of it was improvised in the moment, which gave it a raw honesty. Finally, my dreams. I had several dreams that echoed images and moments later found in the film. They felt like fragments trying to tell me something, so I listened and let them guide the narrative.
What are your future plans for filmmaking?
I’ve started working on my second film. It’s still in very early stages, so I don’t want to say too much, but I’m excited to see where it takes me. Right now, I’m still discovering who I am as a filmmaker, I’m ready to learn, to make more mistakes along the way, and, mostly, to keep using film and creativity as a language of its own, with the hope that someone else might understand it and even speak it back to me.
What makes the act of making a film so great?
For me, making a film is about creating a universe from the ground up. Every choice, from writing the script to directing how a character moves, builds that world. But what makes it truly great is that it doesn’t end with the director or with the rest of the crew.
The audience becomes an active collaborator, bringing their own experiences,
memories, and interpretations. The film is never just the film maker’s once it’s seen, it transforms, and in that transformation it keeps living.
What are the difficult parts of it?
One of the hardest parts of making a film is learning to let go. Knowing when a film is finished, and resisting the urge to keep “perfecting” ,it can be surprisingly difficult. As a filmmaker, you want to keep improving it, , but sometimes that very impulse can be what ultimately diminishes the work. Letting the film exist on its own, outside of your control, is both challenging and necessary.
Many Thanks to Natalia for answering these questions so wonderfully. We gained a lot of insight from this and hope that you did to. Please support Natalia’s film Frizz by liking and subscribing and we can’t wait to see more of her in the future.
If you’re an artist who wants to take part in this series – email thespyderblog@gmail.com!
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