Tag Peter Korday

Our film Soft Floating in the Fields of Spheres has won Best Experimental Film at the Hollywood Gold Awards.

RTL.hu has once again reported on the success of Kristina Lorent Goztola and Peter Korday’s film, its premiere at the International Film Festival de Hague, and the award received there.

Hungary’s leading news portal published a detailed article about the premiere of Soft Floating in the Fields of Spheres and the creators’ international presence, highlighting the film’s professional reception and its unique French artistic background.

Link here. https://rtl.hu/kultura/2025/11/12/ujabb-dijat-nyert-a-magyar-vilagsztar-goztola-kristina

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RTL.hu a de nouveau rendu compte du succès du film de Kristina Lorent Goztola et Peter Korday, de sa première au Festival International du Film de La Haye, ainsi que du prix qu’il y a reçu.

Le principal portail d’information hongrois a consacré un article détaillé à la première de Flottant légèrement dans les Champs des Sphères et à la présence internationale des créateurs, en soulignant l’accueil professionnel du film ainsi que son caractère unique et son ancrage artistique français.

Le lien: https://rtl.hu/kultura/2025/11/12/ujabb-dijat-nyert-a-magyar-vilagsztar-goztola-kristina

Vision and Philosophy

You describe the film as “born from silence.” Can you elaborate on what this silence represents — artistically and personally?

The film is not based on real events — it is fiction. Yet it was inspired by deeply personal experiences, pain, and loss. As a director, the deeper I delved into Rebecca’s story, the more I felt that I was touching on a profoundly human and universal question — one that demands a sense of reverence, not only from the audience, but from me as the creator as well.

This story is not about what happens to Rebecca or around her, but about what happens within her — in her soul, her mind, her subconscious. The film is a visual expression of this inner world. In order to portray it truthfully, I had to create silence within myself — and I asked the same of the actors: to turn inward and find the truth of the character from within.

Einstein’s quote about time being an illusion resonates throughout the film. How did that idea shape your approach to storytelling and editing?

Albert Einstein, one of the greatest minds of our time, said, ” Time is an illusion, albeit a stubborn one.’ This idea was a guiding principle throughout my approach to storytelling. The film unfolds across four different timelines, and this structure was a conscious decision built around the nature of time and perception.

The first timeline is the reality — the present moment — where we see doctors fighting to save Rebecca’s life in the hospital. The second timeline represents her soul’s subconscious state, her inner struggle as she hovers between life and death. It explores what might be happening within her — in her mind and spirit — while her physical body lies in a liminal space.

The other two timelines imagine alternate realities: what might have happened if the accident had never occurred. What if she had survived, kept her baby, continued her life uninterrupted? These are timelines that will never happen — and yet, in a way, they still exist within us as unrealized possibilities.

While working on the film,  a thought came to me that stayed with me throughout: this film is also about the lives we never lived — those paths we never took, yet still carry somewhere within us.

The film moves between black-and-white and color. What guided your decision to use this visual duality — was it emotional, temporal, or symbolic?

Since the film unfolds across four different timelines, I felt it was important to support the viewer visually in navigating between them. For this reason, I used distinct color palettes and visual styles for each of the four timelines.

The scenes set in the present are depicted in a realist style, with a modern color tone that reflects contemporary reality. Rebecca’s journey as she hovers between life and death — her soul’s path — is shown in black and white. As she progresses through this internal process of purification, these black-and-white images gradually shift into color. 

The two alternate realities — the “what if” versions of her life — each have their own distinct aesthetic. One is rendered in a picturesque, almost painterly visual style, while the other adopts a vintage aesthetic.

Symbolism also played a very intentional role. For example, the color red symbolizes feminine power, sensuality, and confidence. Similarly, fire appears as a symbol of purification.

Rebecca’s apartment is placed in a deliberately stylized, minimalistic space — not as a realistic environment, but rather as a reflection of how her soul perceives the world around her.

Soft Floating in the Fields of Spheres doesn’t offer clear answers, but rather emotional questions. Why do you believe ambiguity is essential in cinema?

The film is a psychological drama, with elements of a monodrama and meditation. In its theme and tone, draws inspiration from the tradition of contemporary French auteur cinema – yet it uses a completely unique, personal visual language.

This film does not aim to teach, to guide, or to convince anyone of anything. It is not about ideology or religion. It does not seek to impose any worldview on the viewer. It simply invites the audience to turn inward. Through Rebecca’s inner journey, the film invites the viewer on their own inner path – to search for answers within themselves, or at the very least, to ask questions.

I’ve always believed that cinema is not merely about entertainment, but also about gently giving space to the viewer – the opportunity to guide themselves along their own path, and to be touched on a personal level. And since every viewer arrives from a different place, in a different stage of life, this journey can mean something entirely different for each person.

That’s exactly why I believe that ambiguity, openness, or even uncertainty is one of the most important layers of cinema – because it doesn’t close anything down, but rather opens things up, allowing the viewer to discover their own answers.

You explore alternate timelines and unrealized lives. Do you see this as a commentary on human regret, or on spiritual acceptance?

It’s important for me to emphasize that the film is not a religious doctrine, but rather a philosophical and metaphorical visual interpretation of an inner journey.

For me, it is more a matter of spiritual acceptance. I chose the film’s title consciously with this in mind: Soft Floating in the Fields of Spheres.

The title refers to an ancient philosophical and cosmological concept that already appeared in classical Greek thought. Plato and Aristotle taught that the Earth is surrounded by a series of concentric spheres. These spheres are not merely physical layers, but representations of cosmic order and energetic fields. The expression “music of the spheres” also originates from this idea — suggesting that the universe itself operates according to a kind of harmonious order.

Quantum physics and spiritual philosophy, in many ways, arrive at similar insights: that the Earth is surrounded by layers of energy fields — so-called spheres. These are often referred to as vibrational levels, each resonating at a different frequency of consciousness.

The film follows the idea that when the soul is leaving the Earth, it passes through these spheres — as if ascending toward higher and higher frequencies. This is the origin of the image that “the soul rises” — departing from the dense material sphere and moving toward lighter, more subtle, more luminous fields.

On Directing and Collaboration

How did you work with your cinematographer, Paul S. Hammary, to visually capture the film’s dreamlike atmosphere?

From the very beginning, we agreed with Paul S. Hammary that we would move in the direction of slow cinema. The use of still frames and a slow, meditative rhythm was meant to reflect Rebecca’s inner state — her sense of uncertainty, hesitation, and emotional immobility.

My intention was for the images to feel realistic, romantic, poetic, and meditative all at once. I entrusted Paul Steve entirely with the lighting, as he is not only a brilliant cinematographer, but also an exceptionally sensitive lighting designer. I felt that in this film, the cinematography and the lighting had to work in complete harmony.

We also intentionally used color as a symbolic element. As I’ve mentioned earlier, the red, yellow, and purple tones each carry deep symbolic meaning in tracing Rebecca’s spiritual journey.

At the same time, I also aimed to preserve authenticity on the level of realism. That’s why, for the surgical scenes, I asked a real surgeon to participate in the film. My goal was to ensure that the rhythm, precision, and physical presence of the movements would be exactly as they are during an actual life-saving procedure. The surgeon was not acting, but was present in the scenes as an authentic representative of his own profession.

The performances are quiet yet deeply charged. What was your process in directing actors to achieve such subtle emotional resonance?

The film is built upon an extraordinary artistic commitment: the presence of a single actress who, for  sixty minutes — without dialogue, scene partners, or a traditional narrative arc — holds the viewer’s attention and sustains an emotional connection.

Although the film includes several characters, its structure is essentially that of a monodrama — and it is carried almost entirely by a single actress: Kristina Lorent Goztola. What makes her performance even more remarkable is that she could not rely on traditional acting tools. There are no dialogues, no scene partners, no interactions to respond to. She had to exist in a nearly stripped-down environment, with almost nothing external to support her. This role simply couldn’t be approached through conventional acting techniques.

It’s also important to point out that Kristina is not portraying Rebecca as a character in the classic sense, but rather Rebecca’s soul — her inner journey, her emotional and spiritual transformation. In this, Kristina was exceptional. From the beginning, we agreed to build our work around the Meisner technique — and more specifically, the simplicity-based mode of performance. This is a subtle, introspective form of acting, and it demands a great deal of discipline, training, and emotional intelligence.

Most actors, when stripped of the usual tools, tend to compensate — with gestures, overplaying, or relying on mannerisms. Kristina never did that. She stayed fully grounded, working inward, with profound emotional precision. This is the kind of high-level, less showy but deeply refined acting that I personally admire in arthouse cinema. It may appear quiet or minimal on the surface — as if the actor is “just present” — but in reality, an enormous depth of inner work is taking place.

There is, for instance, the so-called “teddy bear scene,” in which Rebecca gently covers a stuffed bear with flower petals. The bear symbolizes her lost child. This scene could not be played with external cues — no loud crying, no dramatic gestures. Because it isn’t Rebecca the character who mourns the child — it is Rebecca’s soul that is grieving. And Kristina brought that to the screen with immense sensitivity and truth.

The Witch of the East Wind is both mystical and human. How did you and Thomas Langlet collaborate to create this balance between reality and allegory?

Yes, there is a figure in the film — a puppet called the Sorcerer of the East Wind. This character represents an angelic presence, a personification of Rebecca’s inner voice or conscience. It is this voice that accompanies her on her inner journey toward purification.

There was a long and thorough casting process for finding the right actor for this character. I was looking for a male voice that was firm yet warm in tone — one that carried both emotional depth and a sense of intellect. A voice that would immediately reach the viewer’s soul. I listened to many French actors, and eventually chose Thomas Langlet, which proved to be an excellent decision. His presence adds a great deal to the film’s atmosphere.

With his voice, he brought a depth and calm to the character that was essential to the film’s meditative, spiritual layer.

We had already worked together before — he appeared in both of my previous French short films. In France, Thomas is mostly known for musical theatre and lighter performances, but I had already sensed that he carried significant dramatic potential. I’m glad that, in this film, he had the opportunity to show that side of himself.

How did music composer Martin Lukas contribute to the film’s meditative tone — did sound come before or after the image in your process?

Since I began my career as a director in  theatre — working on operas and musicals — music has always been a natural medium for me. I deeply believe that music plays a fundamental role in filmmaking. In this particular film, I felt even more strongly that the music shouldn’t simply accompany the story, but should express its emotional dimension as well.

I spoke with many composers — I would even say I “auditioned” them — before finally choosing Martin Lukas. I was looking for someone who was not only technically skilled, but also deeply sensitive and capable of connecting to an arthouse film in a subtle, intuitive way.

With Martin Lukas, we worked in extreme precision — we discussed the music frame by frame. It wasn’t simply a matter of handing over the task; I stayed closely involved throughout the entire composing process. Every piece of music was shaped in collaboration. The score was composed only after the visual material was fully edited — a deliberate decision to allow the music to align closely with the film’s emotional arc.

We intentionally used a variety of musical elements — from classical to jazz and swing — yet we made sure that a meditative rhythm and tone ran consistently throughout the entire film.

Working closely with writer-producer Kristina Lorent Goztola, how did you balance your shared creative visions during development and production?

This was not my first collaboration with Kristina — we had worked together several times before, including in theatre, and we’ve always been able to create effectively together. The writing originally came from Kristina: she wrote the outline of Rebecca’s story, which — while fictional — was inspired by a series of personal family tragedies. It wasn’t intended as the basis for a film, but simply as a way for her to release her pain.

It was then that I suggested turning the story into a film. At first, Kristina was very much against the idea — she couldn’t imagine how it could be translated into cinematic language. But once she agreed, I joined the writing process, and together we worked out how to visually represent Rebecca’s inner spiritual journey on screen.

As the producer, I’ve primarily taken the lead on the production side. Of course, Kristina and I consulted closely on everything — not only during the development phase, but also throughout production and shooting. At the same time, I made sure to take as much weight off her shoulders as possible, so that she could fully concentrate on her work as an actress.

Style, Influence, and Identity

You’ve said your style is “Fellini dreaming through Truffaut’s lens in a Tarkovskian silence.” Which of these influences felt strongest during the making of this film?

It’s very hard for me to single out just one influence, because all three filmmakers — Fellini, Truffaut, and Tarkovsky — have deeply shaped my artistic vision in different ways.

Fellini’s playfulness, his surrealism, and his constant blurring of the line between dream and reality have always fascinated me. Truffaut’s sensitivity, humanism, and the subtle way he portrayed human relationships resonate very strongly with me. Tarkovsky, on the other hand, had a profound impact on how I understand silence, space, and time in cinema — through him, I first truly realized that film is not only about telling a story, but about creating an inner vibration.

Coming from a theatre background, silence, gazes, and stillness have always been essential tools for me. In that sense, Tarkovsky’s influence might have been the strongest in this particular film. At the same time, as this is my first feature-length work, I felt that Fellini’s boldness and Truffaut’s empathy also accompanied me throughout the process.

Your past in theatre spans several countries. How has that stage experience informed your sense of movement, rhythm, and emotional presence in film?

The rhythm, acting, and dynamics that work well in theatre can often come across as artificial, overly verbal, or theatrical on screen. I had to relearn how to translate all of that into the language of cinema — and that’s not an automatic process. As a film director, I had to rethink my approach to time, presence through the camera, and the much more intimate relationship with the viewer.

What I was definitely able to bring with me from my theatre work is emotional presence, inner focus, discipline, and precision — all of which are essential when you’re an actor standing in front of thousands of people. Theatre people are not afraid of silence — they understand the weight and space that silence can hold on stage. I deliberately applied this trust in silence in the film as well.

In terms of movement, my background in stage direction gave me a strong sense of physical awareness and a choreographic mindset, which helped structure scenes with clarity and rhythm — especially in a film like this, where stillness and slow motion play a central role.

And perhaps one more thing: coming from the world of theatre also fosters a deep empathy — a constant search for the truth of the moment and of human presence. That’s the mindset I carried with me behind the camera.

You’ve lived and worked in both Los Angeles and Paris — two vastly different artistic cultures. How have these environments shaped your cinematic voice?

I spent several years living in Los Angeles in the early 2010s, and during that time, I happened to live in the former home of Frank Capra — the legendary Hollywood film director. He built that house himself and lived there for many years. At the time, I had no connection to filmmaking whatsoever; I wasn’t even considering directing films. But looking back, I now see that period as a subtle, symbolic sign from life — as if something was quietly guiding me toward this path.

Although I was impressed by the openness, professionalism, and technical precision of the Los Angeles film world, I’ve always felt a deep affinity for European — and especially French — cinema. Since childhood, I’ve loved classic French films: Jean Gabin’s work, timeless films like A Man and a Woman, and the visual worlds of Truffaut or Jean-Pierre Melville. These works influenced me not only aesthetically, but on a human and emotional level as well.

There’s a spiritual stillness that runs through your work. Do you see cinema as a kind of healing or meditative act — both for you and for your audience?

I can’t say that every film is inherently a healing or meditative process — many films are created primarily for entertainment and lighthearted escape, and that is perfectly valid.

However, in the case of Rebecca’s story — I do feel that a certain openness is required on the part of the viewer. As with most arthouse cinema, it’s important that the audience doesn’t engage with the film purely passively, but instead opens themselves to its atmosphere, rhythm, and internal world.

If someone allows Rebecca’s story to pass through their own emotional filter — if they connect with her on a personal level and let the imagery, the silences, and the music guide them into a meditative state — then I do believe this film can offer a kind of emotional balm. Or at the very least, it can offer a space for stillness, for reflection, for quiet inward movement.

After completing your first feature film, what personal revelation or lesson has stayed with you most strongly from this creative journey?

As I moved forward in the creative process, especially during editing and post-production, a thought came to me — that this film is, in a way, both a remembrance and a reverence for those who are no longer with us — those who have left, yet left their love behind.

Source by macofilm.org

We are pleased to share that Soft Floating in the Fields of Spheres has been awarded the Red Movie Awards “Best Cinematography” prize, recognising the artistic strength and uniqueness of the film’s visual language.

The cinematography plays a central role in shaping the film’s meditative and psychological depth, and this award reinforces the power of that artistic vision.

A heartfelt thank you to the creative team, whose exceptional craftsmanship and artistic sensitivity brought the film’s visual universe to life.

Introduction: International Success and Acclaim

Hungarian–French actress Kristina Lorent Goztola has received significant professional recognition at the Hague International Film Festival, where her performance played a key role in drawing both audience and jury attention to the film in which she starred. She won one of the festival’s most prestigious awards, the Alternative / Mystery of Souls / Experimental Award.

The work, directed by Peter Korday, holds a special place in today’s international film landscape, offering a bold and profound contribution to the genre of meditative and psychological drama.

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Presentation of the Film: Soft Floating in the Fields of Spheres

The French-language film, featured in the competition section, is Peter Korday’s first feature-length work and has received exceptionally positive feedback. Its central themes revolve around human consciousness, self-discovery, and crossing personal boundaries.

In the leading role, Kristina Lorent Goztola portrays a woman suspended between life and death after an accident. The film offers not only artistic sophistication but also a deeply symbolic and meditative journey for viewers.

The director aimed to create a work that balances intimacy with a monumental visual world. The film’s tone and imagery carry strong echoes of Tarkovsky, yet it achieves uniqueness through its own poetic and philosophical depth. This complex visual and soundscape creates a distinctive atmosphere characteristic of works that explore psychological and spiritual questions.

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Success and Professional Recognition

Following its success in The Hague, the film also made a strong impression at the Red Movie Awards in France, where it won two categories: Best Actress and Best Cinematography, further elevating its international standing.

Critics highlight the film’s profound psychological and meditative content, as well as its nuanced portrayal of the complexity of the human inner world—one of its greatest strengths. Kristina Lorent Goztola’s performance is especially noteworthy; her authentic and powerful character portrayal plays a significant role in the film’s success.

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Background and Impact of the Film

The work directed by Peter Korday exemplifies many qualities that highlight the effectiveness of French–Hungarian collaboration. The film represents contemporary artistic trends through its distinctive tone and visual style, while exploring metaphysical questions. It serves as a spiritual journey delving into self-reflection and the depths of human consciousness.

Beyond the awards, the film has contributed to the growing trend in contemporary cinema that foregrounds the exploration of inner worlds and meditative themes. The work of both the actress and the director may have a lasting impact on the development of international cinema, especially in the realm of psychological drama.

Source by portadoholanda.com

Critical Analysis from Los Angeles and New York on Soft Floating in the Fields of Spheres.

Source: Macoproject

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Analyse critique de Los Angeles et de New York sur Flottant légèrement dans les Champs des Sphères.

Source : Macoproject

Soft Floating in the Fields of Spheres had its world premiere at the International Film Festival The Hague, where the film received the award in the Alternative Mysteries of Souls / Experimental category.

The award was presented by Dr. Avnish Rajvanshi, the festival director, and Andrew van Esch, the representative of the Hague Council responsible for cultural programs.

The screening was followed by an open Q&A session, during which the audience engaged with the film’s visual language and thematic focus, marking the first public dialogue surrounding the work. At the closing block of the festival, the cultural representative of the city highlighted that the evening brought together two different cinematic cultures, as the program concluded with a French film and a Dutch film presented side by side.

We are grateful for the thoughtful, warm, and attentive environment that framed the film’s first encounter with the public.

Soft Floating in the Fields of Spheres

Hartelijk dank. 🤍

“For Hungarian cinema, Goztola Lorent Kristina’s U.S. recognition symbolizes more than individual success. It reflects how Hungarian talent continues to resonate across borders.”
– Budapest Reporter

Los Angeles and New York film portals celebrate the Hungarian actress-producer whose career embodies the balance between commercial storytelling and auteur vision.

A rare moment of transatlantic recognition has put Goztola Lorent Kristina in the international spotlight. The Hungarian-born actress and producer, who built her career across the United States, the United Kingdom, and France, has recently been profiled in-depth by two major American film outlets—IndieWrap and Macoproject. For any European artist, especially one with Central European roots, this level of attention from the U.S. industry press is remarkable. For Goztola, it feels like both a professional homecoming and a validation of years spent navigating between continents and cinematic cultures.

“It feels as if I’ve come full circle,” she told IndieWrap. “America was the beginning for me—and now I’m here again in the spotlight, but with very different experiences and inner strength.”

That sense of circular motion defines Goztola’s career. After training at the New York Film Academy in Los Angeles, she landed her first screen roles in American television productions before gradually expanding her work into Europe. Today, she divides her creative life between Hollywood and France, maintaining what she calls an “essential equilibrium” between mainstream storytelling and arthouse expression.

Between Two Cinematic Traditions

The U.S. interviews delved into Goztola’s unique position at the crossroads of two powerful cinematic traditions. While her American education gave her a grounding in craft and professionalism, her years working in French auteur cinema have deepened her sensitivity to nuance, mood, and emotional detail.

“In recent years, I’ve worked intensely within the French cinéma d’auteur tradition—and that’s where I feel most at home artistically,” she explained. “These films require openness and sensitivity from both the actor and the audience. The mainstream and the arthouse are two different worlds, but together they form the balance where I truly belong.”

Her ability to move between these worlds mirrors a broader trend in global filmmaking: the erosion of borders between art cinema and international co-productions. Goztola’s career path—Los Angeles to London to Paris—illustrates how transnational cinema is increasingly driven by personal storytelling and the creative agency of multilingual artists.

A Legacy of Hungarian Filmmakers in Hollywood

Goztola’s story also revives a proud, if sometimes overlooked, chapter in film history. The early founders of the Hollywood studio system—Adolph Zukor, William Fox, and Michael Curtiz (Kertész Mihály)—were all Hungarian-born. They carried with them the ambition and visual flair that helped shape the American film industry itself.

“I look at that rich Hungarian cinematic legacy with great respect,” Goztola said. “It adds something unique to my own artistic perspective.”

Her acknowledgment of that lineage places her within a continuum of Hungarian filmmakers and actors who have left a mark on world cinema—from Béla Tarr and István Szabó to Rév Marcell, the cinematographer behind Euphoria and Joker: Folie à Deux.

Depth and Discipline

In both interviews, Goztola discussed her training, her artistic discipline, and the fine line between external performance and internal truth. Whether she is on a blockbuster set or in a minimalist European production, her craft remains grounded in the same principles she learned from her American mentors.

“Whether I’m in a Hollywood production or a French arthouse film, I rely on the same acting tools I was taught by my teachers,” she said. “In the arthouse world, subtle gestures and internal vibrations are simply emphasized more strongly.”

Her latest French feature has already been registered by the CNC (Centre national du cinéma et de l’image animée)—a formal recognition by the French National Film Center that marks a project’s professional standing in the industry. For Goztola, that recognition carries deep meaning: “As both an actress and a producer, artistic credibility is what matters most to me,” she emphasized.

Next Projects: Between Drama and Comedy

Goztola hinted that she and Hungarian director Korday Péter have completed two new screenplays—projects that reflect her growing role as a creative producer and storyteller.

“I can’t reveal much yet,” she teased, “but one is a lyrical drama, and the other a comedy with vaudeville elements. Both are very special and aimed at an international audience.”

This new phase—developing content as well as performing—positions her among the growing ranks of European artists who refuse to be confined by national film industries. It’s a model increasingly visible across streaming and theatrical landscapes: actor-producers who treat their careers as global studios of one.

For Hungarian cinema, Goztola Lorent Kristina’s U.S. recognition symbolizes more than individual success. It reflects how Hungarian talent continues to resonate across borders. From service productions shot in Budapest to Hungarian creatives gaining traction abroad, Hungary has become an active participant in the international conversation about the future of storytelling.

In a time when American industry publications rarely devote space to emerging European voices, Goztola’s dual feature in Los Angeles and New York media marks a meaningful cultural moment. It’s not just a personal milestone—it’s a reminder that Hungarian artists remain deeply woven into the global film tapestry that their predecessors helped build over a century ago.

Source by BudapestReporter.com

We are proud to announce that our feature film Flottant légèrement dans les Champs des Sphères (Soft Floating in the Fields of Spheres), directed by Peter Korday and starring Kristina Lorent Goztola, has been selected as a finalist and will celebrate its world premiere at the International Film Festival The Hague (The Netherlands) this November.

This unique arthouse drama, filmed in Paris and Budapest, explores the boundaries between life and death through a deeply meditative visual and emotional journey.

The Hague, known worldwide not only as a cultural center but also as a symbol of international dialogue and values, provides an exceptional stage for the world premiere of our production.

We are honored by this recognition and look forward to sharing the film with international audiences.

Kristina Lorent Goztola’s career is as international as it is multifaceted. Born in Hungary, trained in London, New York, and Los Angeles, she has performed in four languages across television, film, and theatre — from Hollywood thrillers to French arthouse dramas. Today, she is not only an accomplished actress but also the co-founder of Gold Wood Pictures in Paris, a company recently recognized by France’s National Film Centre (CNC).

In this conversation with Indie Wrap, Kristina reflects on her beginnings in musical theatre, the lessons she learned from legendary acting coaches, the transition into screen acting, and her growing passion for producing and writing. Above all, she shares why she believes the most personal stories often become the most universal.

From musical theatre stages in Hungary to red carpets at Cannes — what first sparked your love for performing, and how has that passion evolved over the years?

I grew up in a family where music was at the heart of everything. From an early age I studied piano, solfège, and voice, and my parents encouraged me every step of the way. Even though my father was a mathematician and physicist, he believed in exposing me to the arts—he sent me to folk dance, ballet, and later I graduated from the Conservatory in Budapest with a major in classical singing. By the age of sixteen I was already on stage, playing leading roles in musicals and I played ingénue roles in comedies.

At first, I imagined my career would continue on a musical path internationally as well. When I moved to London in my mid-twenties, I thought I would remain within music and musical theatre. But then came a turning point: I was admitted to the Actor’s Centre, where my London agent sent me to train with Jack Waltzer in New York—the legendary coach who worked with Sharon Stone, Dustin Hoffman, and Susan Sarandon.

I’ll never forget that moment. Despite my years of stage experience, I had butterflies in my stomach. After only ten minutes, Jack looked at me and said: “Christine, you are a dramatic actress.” He added that my place was in screen acting. It was a revelation. Suddenly, I had to make a difficult choice: to leave behind leading roles in Hungary and start from scratch in an entirely new world. My agent warned me it wouldn’t be easy, especially as a Central European actress trying to enter the international film circuit, but he also saw potential in my Mediterranean look.

The transition wasn’t simple. On stage, you have to project with grand gestures for hundreds of people. In front of the camera, it’s all about intimacy and honesty in the smallest glance. Learning that shift required not only training but humility—to line up for auditions after having already played leads back home. Still, that encounter with Jack Waltzer truly shaped my destiny. It set me on the path of becoming a film actress.

You trained in London, New York, and Los Angeles with legendary acting coaches like Jack Waltzer and Bernard Hiller. What lessons from them still guide you on set today?

Indeed, meeting Jack Waltzer and Bernard Hiller was a turning point in my career. They were not only extraordinary masters of the craft, but they also reshaped the way I saw myself as an artist and as a person. To study the Meisner technique directly from Jack, who himself had learned it from Sanford Meisner, was a privilege. But beyond technique, what he gave me was belief, kindness, and self-worth. I can honestly say I became a different person after working with him.

Bernard Hiller, who has guided actors like Cameron Diaz, taught me something that stays with me every day: Hollywood is not some faraway dreamland. It’s a beautiful neighborhood in Los Angeles but what makes it magical is not the geography, but the people who dare to believe in themselves. Success, he reminded me, begins in the heart and the mind, not on a map.

From both of them I received more than training; they helped me transform my identity. And that is essential, because an actor always builds from their inner truth.

Your first major screen role was in the American-Canadian series Painkiller Jane. How did it feel to break into international television so early in your career?

I was very young when I was cast in Painkiller Jane, and I knew right away that I was chosen largely because of my appearance. Still, I was deeply grateful for the trust, and I also sensed that if I worked hard, it could become a stepping stone. I’ve always had a touch of fatalism in me, and I felt this was a sign from fate pointing me toward the path I was meant to take.

The series itself was a Canadian–American action show, and I enjoyed every moment of it. I remember standing on set the last day, and when it was over, I felt a kind of emptiness. I realized how much I loved this work and thought: “This is it. This is what I want to do with my life.” Of course, questions followed—would there be more opportunities? Would this momentum continue?

By that time, I had already studied at the New York Film Academy in Los Angeles,  so I had both training and passion behind me. But deep inside, I felt a sense of trepidation about whether there would be a next step. Looking back, though, Painkiller Jane confirmed for me that screen acting was not only possible, but necessary.

You speak English, French, Italian, and Hungarian fluently. How has being multilingual shaped the kinds of roles you’re offered — and the way you approach character-building?

As European actors, we know very well that we don’t have the luxury of speaking only English. Luckily, I grew up learning several languages, but I quickly realized that speaking a language well is very different from being emotionally authentic in it as an actor.

When you say words like mother, death, or flower on screen, they must trigger the same subconscious associations and emotions as they would in your native tongue. That takes years of work. And beyond language itself, every culture expresses emotions differently. The joy of an Italian or Spanish character has a different rhythm than the joy of a Northern European one.

I’ve also noticed that when I act in English, French, or Italian, I almost think and feel differently, as though each language opens a new window in my mind. Being multilingual has not only shaped the range of roles I can play, but it has also deepened the way I build characters — from the inside out, through both words and culture.

You’ve played in everything from Hollywood war dramas to French avant-garde theatre. How do you adapt to such different creative worlds and styles of storytelling?

What I love most about my career is the multicultural aspect — working in different countries, meeting people from all over the world, and building friendships in places like Los Angeles, New York, Paris, and Rome. Travel opens you emotionally, and that openness is essential for an actor.

I’m deeply grateful that my work is so diverse. Whether it’s a Hollywood war drama, a French arthouse film, or an avant-garde play on stage, I always try to approach it with the same depth. Of course, each format demands a different technique — you act differently for a big action movie  than for an intimate arthouse film, and differently again for television. Even though I’ve never played in sitcoms or daily soap operas, my training gave me the confidence that I could adapt if needed.

At the New York Film Academy in Los Angeles, we were taught to move between genres with ease, so that no matter where you find yourself, you feel at home in the work. That versatility is a gift — even if you don’t pursue every genre, the knowledge that you could is empowering.

Your role as Christine Wiegel in The Man with the Iron Heart placed you alongside Jason Clarke and Rosamund Pike. What did you take away from that experience of working on a large-scale international production?

The Man with the Iron Heart was a remarkable experience. Although it was a film headlined by Hollywood stars like Jason Clarke and Rosamund Pike, it was directed by the French film director  Cédric Jimenez, who gave me the opportunity to play Christine Wiegel, the mistress of Heinrich Himmler, who was portreyed by Jacon Clarke in the movie. 

My agent told me this role would be a defining one, and he was right. Professionally it was a major step, but even more so on a human level. When you enter such a large-scale production, you realize: this is the standard I want to work at from now on. It’s not only about sharing the screen with world-renowned actors, but about the precision, professionalism, and calm focus that surrounded the set.

Cédric Jimenez impressed me deeply, what struck me most was how he directed actors — always precise, confident, and calm. For an actor, that sense of steadiness is invaluable. I remain grateful for the trust and the chance to be part of a project of that caliber.

In 2015, you performed at the Festival d’Avignon in a powerful two-person play about the Yugoslav wars. How did that experience influence your artistic sensibility and your love for French cinema?

In 2015, I was invited to perform in Matei Vișniec’s powerful two-person play Du sexe de la femme comme champ de bataille at the Festival d’Avignon. Before that, we premiered in Paris, then performed every day for a month at Avignon. Performing on the Côte d’Azur, surrounded by its magnificent beauty, was a truly uplifting experience.

Out of more than 1,200 performances, our play received the recognition of being the second-best production – an honor that made me incredibly proud. 

I still remember being in Rome on a film shoot when the audition call came. I had to learn three monologues by heart in French in less than a week – it was a real challenge.0

To be honest, my French then was nowhere near as strong as my English or Italian, so I went into the multi-round audition with the calm of someone who had nothing to lose. To my surprise, almost at the same time, I received two offers: one for a major TV series in Italy — which would have meant months of shooting in beautiful southern Italy — and the other for the role of the American psychiatrist in Vișniec’s play about the Yugoslav wars. My agent told me it wasn’t even a question which one I should choose, and he was right. That decision became a turning point in my life.

During rehearsals in Paris, I would often slip into cinemas after work and devour French films. It didn’t feel like discovering something new, but like a continuation — the natural next step in my artistic journey. That’s when I truly fell in love with French cinema and culture. So much so that by 2018, I had produced and starred in my first French-language short film, followed by a second, Le Collier, both shot in Paris with French casts and crews. To this day, many of the friendships born during that period remain alive and precious.

You’ve founded your own Paris-based company, Gold Wood Pictures, which has now received official recognition from the CNC. What does this milestone mean to you as both a producer and an artist?

I’m truly proud and happy about this milestone, because CNC recognition is like a quality seal in France — it’s not automatically granted to every film. With my co-founder, film director Peter Korday, we feel this acknowledgment is worth as much as several awards. It reassures us that we’re on the right path.

For me, it’s also a reminder that if you do something with love and faith, you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. I’m an actress first, not a typical producer.  When I write a script, I don’t begin by running numbers or calculating how much money it might generate. I approach it with an artistic mindset, from the heart.  Producing, for me, is driven by passion rather than business.

Of course, running a production company also means handling contracts, legal matters, and all the details that come with it. But Gold Wood Pictures was never created to take on outside commissions. From the start, our mission has been to develop and produce our own independent projects — original scripts, personal visions. Naturally, many of these works lean toward French arthouse cinema, which I feel is the artistic home where I belong.

Your latest feature, Flottant légèrement dans les Champs des Sphères, is described as a meditative psychological monodrama. What drew you to this project, and how did it challenge you as an actress?

The story of Flottant légèrement dans les Champs des Sphères (english title: Soft Floating in the Fields of Spheres) is fiction, but it grew out of a painful family tragedy. I wrote it to get the pain out of me—I never intended to share it. When Peter Korday read it, he wanted to make it into a film.

At first I resisted. I knew, with a certainty, that playing this role would force me to reopen that wound again and again. It felt like agreeing to die a little every day for the duration of the rehearsal and shoot. 

Peter convinced me by showing that the piece, while born in a private place, spoke to universal truths. When I finally accepted, I also accepted that the performance would demand complete vulnerability. The challenge was terrifying — and transformative. In giving myself so fully, I discovered that the most personal stories often become the most powerful for others.

You’ve also started writing screenplays yourself. What inspired you to move into writing, and how does your perspective as an actress influence the way you write?

I’ve always written as an actress. For me, it’s never just words or dialogue on a page — I think in situations, in emotions, in the living reality of a scene. That’s the foundation.

I work closely with Peter Korday, my co-writer, and we’ve been collaborating for years now. Earlier in his career he also worked as an actor. That gives us a shared perspective. Often, before we write a scene, we literally get up and act it out, improvising together until it feels alive. Only then do we put it on paper. I don’t know anyone else who works this way, but for us it’s natural, and we love it.

Because we both know the actor’s side of the craft, we’re always asking: is this line playable? does this dialogue help the actor? does it support the building of a character? That perspective shapes everything we do.

So far, this collaboration has led us to develop two major projects that are now at the heart of our creative journey: a lyrical arthouse drama and an arthouse comedy with touches of vaudeville. These are the stories we feel ready to bring to life next.

Looking back at your journey so far, what moments have defined you most — and what would you tell your younger self just starting out in this industry?

When I look back, a few moments stand out as truly defining. Meeting my masters — the great teachers who shaped me — was life-changing. And the invitation to perform in Avignon in 2015 became a turning point in my career.

Of course, talent and perseverance are essential in this profession. But just as important has been the love I’ve received from my mentors, my colleagues, and the people I work with every day. That love carries me forward.

I’m also a bit of a hedonist, in the best sense of the word. I adore life — sharing coffee with friends, long dinners with family, traveling, discovering new people and places. If I didn’t truly enjoy what I do, if my work didn’t bring me joy every day and give me something back in return, I wouldn’t do it. For me, art and life are inseparable.

If I could tell something to my younger self just starting out, I would borrow the words of one of my favorite writers, Paulo Coelho, from The Alchemist: “And, when you really want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”

Finally, what kind of stories do you hope to tell next — and what do you most want audiences to feel when they watch your work?

As an actress, I continue to receive invitations to work on outside projects and films. But my dream now is, of course, to bring our two screenplays — the ones I mentioned earlier — to life. They are my passion projects.

Of course, I could say that I hope for awards or recognition, and those things matter. But what truly matters to me is the audience. 

I want to make cinema that lingers — stories that continue to live in the audience long after they leave the theater.

If a film can stay with you the next day, in your everyday life — if it can give you strength during a difficult moment, or simply bring back a smile from a lighter scene — then it has meaning. My greatest wish is to create films that audiences carry with them, not just for a night, but for years, as part of their own journey.

Source by IndieWrap