Words and Interview by Alexander Cheves
In Romas Zabarauskas‘s new film Aktyvistas (The Activist in English) a gay man infiltrates a neo-Nazi group to find out who killed his late lover, an LGBTQ activist in Lithuania.
Last October, Variety announced that the French-U.K. genre-bending sales outfit Alief sealed multiple deals for the film’s release, covering nearly 20 territories. In 2026, the film will be released in the U.S. and Canada; in the Baltics, it will appear on HBO Max.
The LGBTQ+ specialised channel OUTtv acquired distribution rights for eighteen countries, including Germany.
Zabarauskas told Variety: “I’m humbled by our first sales, proving a real appetite for cinema that dares to be politically provocative.”
He added:
“My career has always been challenging, especially in Lithuania, where some people reportedly leave the cinemas after our second sex scene, and in Western arthouse circles, whose expectations I don’t necessarily meet either. Yet my stubbornness to do whatever I want opened other doors, and I’m humbled to have gained both public and private backing for it.”
“With my fifth feature,” he said, “I only hope that some in the audience do get offended, across the political spectrum!”
On his last visit to Berlin, I had a chance to sit down with Zabarauskas for an intimate chat about his work, his love life, and what’s next.
Let’s talk about your new film, The Activist.
Together with The Lawyer and The Writer (2023), The Activist is part of a trilogy dealing with queer relationships against a political backdrop. The story turns on Andrius (handsome, intense actor Robertas Petraitis, from The Southern Chronicles, Lithuania’s Oscar bet for 2026), with strong performances from Vaslov Goom and Teklè Baroti.
The Activist opened at No. 2 at the Lithuanian box office on September 2, and the international premiere will happen at Tallinn on November 14, followed by a special screening event, out of competition, at Paris’ LGBTQ+ festival Chéries-Chéries on November 16.
Interestingly, the pivotal infiltration scene—the moment the main character’s loyalty is tested—happens in a club. With its dark, leathery interior and techno, we’re meant to understand this is a Nazi hangout for those in the know, though, visually, it could be any nightspot in Berlin. When I watched it, I thought the space looked cool, then felt some white guilt for thinking so.
The film is a sparse, tense caper—but more of a series of quiet, unsettling dialogues than an action flick. Together, these conversations between people living at the fringes of society become a filmic commentary on loss, revenge, deception, and the modern conflicts of gay life. Released last September, it marks not only the final part of Zabarauskas’s recent trilogy but also the next step in his oeuvre of films about gay and queer rights in Lithuania—a theme the director has returned to in all of his work.
The gay, 35-year-old director has a personal connection to Berlin. “I love Berlin,” he tells me. “It’s a second home to me.”
He tells me he effectively came out during the promotional tour of his first film, Porno Melodrama, which premiered at the 2011 Berlinale, Berlin’s biggest film festival, which began in the 1950s and has been held in the city uninterrupted since 1978.
The Berlinale is one of Europe’s “Big Three” film festivals alongside the Venice Film Festival in Italy and the Cannes Film Festival in France, and it’s also one of the “Big Five“—the most prestigious film festivals in the world. It draws tens of thousands of visitors to the city each year. In other words, it was a very public place to kick down the closet door.
In a speech at Porno‘s premiere in Lithuania, Zabarauskas was emphatic: “It’s not gay people who must change, it’s Lithuania.” Porno Melodrama caused shockwaves in Lithuania, branding him an instant, controversial celebrity overnight.
Can you tell me more about your debut short film, Porno Melodrama?
Porno Melodrama was “created as a reaction to state homophobia in Lithuania,” he tells me. It follows a character named Jonas, who enjoys life with his boyfriend, Matas. But Jonas wants to emigrate from homophobic Lithuania, and to earn money for the move, he agrees to star in a porn film with his ex-girlfriend, Akvile. “And what if some unrequited love for Jonas still lingers in Akvile’s heart?” Zabarauskas says, winking.
The film premiered at the Berlinale, then had its Lithuanian premiere at the Vilnius Film Festival—and made headlines across the country. The headlines were “mostly negative,” Zabarauskas says.
How does it feel to receive negative attention for your work?
The reaction to Porno “did hurt,” he says. “But now it feels like a distant past.”
There were over a dozen reviews—an unusually high amount for a debut short film—and they were “unanimously negative,” he says, including the ones by gay and queer writers. But all the negative press and attention helped the film get seen—and they helped it survive.
“Bad press is still press. Fifteen years after we shot the film in 2010, Porno Melodrama is still being screened.”
Last summer, the film was included in a list of the top 20 Lithuanian films of the 21st century by the Lithuanian arts paper 7md. On the same list was Zabarauska’s 2023 film The Writer, included by a critic who apparently hated Porno Melodrama, he tells me.
In the time since that first film, Zabarauskas tells me Lithuania has changed—and though Zabarauskas is reluctant to call himself an activist, it’s clear he has been part of that change.
Romas Zabarauskas developed the LGBT Friendly Vilnius initiative, a map of LGBTQ friendly cafes in Vilnius, the capital city of Lithuania, where he lives with his partner. The initiative aims to promote openness to all sexualities, races, disabilities, and nationalities within the city. He regularly takes part in social actions against the country’s widespread homophobia; he even published an open letter to the Lithuanian president regarding the country’s partnership law. Along with other Lithuanians, he gathered at the Seimas, the seat of government in Lithuania, to campaign for the law to be passed, where he addressed the crowd.
What other causes are close to your heart?
He champions other causes, too—like supporting refugees in Lithuania, namely in partnership with the Lithuanian Red Cross—and he is a vocal advocate of animal rights and has been vegan since 2014.
All this is in addition to his film career. A member of the European Film Academy, he completed his film studies at the University of Paris 8 Vincennes-Saint-Denis. Later, he founded his own production company to produce his first five films, all of which explore themes of queerness and persecution. All are set in Lithuania and address the country’s conservatism and homophobia.
At the time of Porno Melodrama, “there were only a couple of public figures who were out, so I became a visible voice,” he says. His relationship with his partner, Kornelius, was one of the first public queer couples in the country. TV appearances followed. It was a lot of visibility and scrutiny—and pressure.
“There was a period of life where I wouldn’t complain if I was presented as an activist, but I never joined a human rights organization. Activism was never my full-time job.”
Zabarauskas says he is, first and foremost, a filmmaker. But this reluctance to label himself as an activist makes his latest film all the more compelling.
The Activist was your first film premiere in your home country. What was that like?
It was really meaningful, he says—and it felt like a personal turning point. But he clarifies: “All my films are personal, in a sense,” he says. “I mean, even colours can be personal. Style is personal. So yes, there is a personal aspect, but it’s not about my life.”
Despite its title, it is more of a caper than a protest film. It follows Andrius (actor Robertas Petraitis) as he transitions from twink to skinhead on a revenge quest after the violent death of his partner. In talking about the film, Zabarauskas speaks calmly, confidently, often pausing to reflect mid-sentence. We’re sitting in the Hinterhaus offices in Berlin—he’s vacationing in the city with his partner. “I’m really excited with this one, but also, I finished this film a long time ago, so for me, it’s in the past. But for audiences, it’s just happening now.”
You’ve been in a relationship for ten years and have weathered public scrutiny together. Any dating advice for gay and queer men?
He reflects on this:
“I think a lot of people see relationships the wrong way—they are looking for a particular kind of person. I think about relationships more as a playground where you meet your childhood trauma.”
I ask him to expand on that.
“There’s a strange dance in how that person’s behaviour echoes your own past trauma, or the love you received from your parents. Not only does trauma help connect two people—sometimes in painful ways—but it also becomes a possibility to work out a lot of unresolved issues. If you approach relationships with the intent of doing that, they can be really beautiful.”
He says that means asking questions like, “Is he right for me?” is the wrong move. Instead, he says, you should approach a relationship as something active—a work that both people must contribute to—knowing your imperfections will be dumped on it and will need to be sorted through. “If you both are on the playground, you can play.”
“Of course, we’ve had challenges,” he says. “Every couple does. That’s normal. But you communicate and try to solve some of those issues.”
His partnership has been going strong for ten years. “It helps to be an artist dating an artist,” he says.
“I’m really proud of our relationship, because I think it’s difficult to have any relationship. And I also feel like in big cities, the culture is not necessarily encouraging for long-term relationships.”
The media pressure and spotlight shown on them during the premiere of his second feature, the 2016 film You Can’t Escape Lithuania, and in the years since, have not affected their bond. If anything, they’ve grown closer and navigated the changing terrain of gay rights in Lithuania together.
I notice you shift uncomfortably when I ask personal questions. Why is that?
He tells me that, these days, he no longer feels pressure to represent anyone. “Now there are more people in Lithuania who are out, and they’re more famous than me,” he says. “They can be the voices of the LGBT+ community now, so I can focus on my films.”
His focus, after all, has always been on the work itself. He admits that he is hesitant to do an interview about his personal life.
“Sometimes I want to tell people to stop paying attention to me. Just watch the films.”
Still, his identity has been shaped by culture and politics—as, arguably, every gay and queer person’s has.
“My debut feature had a straight couple at the centre, but there was a gay subplot. After that, yes—my films have centred on queer characters. That’s my world. Those are my friends. That’s my life. That’s what I know.”
Do you make films for gay or queer viewers, or hope gay and queer people will see them?
“I think of my films as quality entertainment for everyone. People in Lithuania have told me, ‘I didn’t expect to enjoy it because of the gay theme, ‘ and then they say they really enjoyed it. That means a lot to me.”
What was growing up gay in Lithuania like?
I ask this because most people—especially in conservative places—don’t grow up to make queer films. All his movies to date, from We Will Riot to You Can’t Escape Lithuania, have queer plotlines.
Zabarauskas was born in 1990, just a few months after Lithuania declared independence from the Soviet Union. He grew up on a street across from the national TV building, where Russian tanks arrived in 1991 during a failed attempt to retake the city.
“The windows shattered in our apartment. There were shots fired at our landing.”
One of the windows was replaced and taken to a museum exhibit to commemorate the event. The other one remained broken for years—bullet mark intact.
Today, the building across the street that housed the national TV station, once the target of violence, now supports his work. “They’ve backed all my features,” he says. “So now I go back there for business and see the apartment I used to live in.”
His upbringing was middle-class. His mother was a journalist, his father a physics teacher and IT worker.
“My parents took me to the theatre and to see films. For them, the arts were part of our new freedom. Growing up, I was encouraged to be creative because it was not really allowed before, under Soviet rule. My parents saw a career in the arts as a political victory.”
At a library, he discovered films by John Waters, Almodóvar, Fassbinder, and Visconti. “The person at the front didn’t check my ID,” he says, laughing. “I saw everything.”
Before film, he tried many things. He took acting classes and performed in French plays at school. One day, he found a family video camera and started making short films.
Do you still have those first home videos?
Yes, he does. “Some have unlicensed music, but maybe I could change it one day,” he says. “If I get very famous, I guess they will be DVD bonuses.”
Though his official, public coming out happened in 2011, he actually came out before that, at age 17, to his friends and family.
Do you remember your first gay kiss?
It happened in the small town of Alytus. “I timed it so I could go to a film festival there. I had a local date with a guy who lived there, and we kissed in the park—I remember the music playing somewhere nearby was Antony and the Johnsons.”
Does he remember which song? No, but: “If I heard it, I’d remember. But it was nice, you know. I remember the atmosphere as if it were yesterday.”
They were nervous teens. “It took time to get to the kiss,” he says. “I was getting closer, inch by inch. It’s so funny how you’re so vulnerable at that time. It’s innocent.”
I share that my first kiss also happened in a park, behind a movie theatre—and we talk a bit about how intense that first kiss is. For gay men, we understand implicitly that there’s an element of transgression and sin in this act, a layer to it that straight people may never understand.
You’re a gay public figure. Has anyone ever reached out for help or advice?
Yes, he says, especially after Porno Melodrama. “Unfortunately, I got a message from one teen boy who later committed suicide,” he says. “That was tough. I wasn’t sure what I should do, but looking back, I don’t think I did anything wrong—I just talked with him.” He also spoke to a mental health professional I knew, who contacted the man.
After that difficult experience, he took a crisis response course.
“I learned to be very direct. Sometimes people are even offended. But that’s what you need to do. Now, if I see a Facebook post that could be interpreted as suicidal, I write them and simply ask: ‘Hi, how are you doing? I saw your post and got worried. Do you have suicidal thoughts? Do you want to commit suicide?’ Then the goal is to lead that person to a medical professional as soon as possible.”
He’s more prepared now, but he gets fewer messages like this.
“I think I’ve inspired some people who aren’t queer, too,” he says. “But ultimately, I don’t feel famous. Yes, I go to red carpet events, people take my picture, and they write down my name. But when I get on a local bus, no one recognises me. If they do, they don’t say anything.”
Though he admits this could just be Lithuania. “It’s a very polite culture,” he laughs.
Your film after The Activist will signal a shift in your career. How?
“I produced these first five features with my own company,” he says. “But now I’m moving away from producing and working with another producer for my next one.”
He can’t tell me much about the next film, except that it’s currently in the works.
Why did you need to self-produce your first five films?
It was about control:
“I opened doors for myself, and I controlled the narrative and the films. I had full creative freedom, and it was important for me to start that way. I wanted to learn from my own mistakes, and I did.”
How many people does a film like The Activist require? When I ask this, it’s clear that it’s a novice question—I have no idea what filmmaking is like. He tells me the number of people working on a film starts small—often just him, an accountant, and some writers—but swells during days of filming.
“My company is just me and my accountant. That’s it,” he says. “When you do a film, there are different stages.”
He explains it step by step. “First is writing. You consult with different people and collaborate. For this film, we had three co-writers, so that’s still a small team. Then there’s development. During that time, we shot a test scene and cast the main actors. This team is a little larger. There are maybe a couple of dozen people involved in the test scene.”
Development on The Activist started in 2018. “We shot the test scene in 2021, then shot the film in 2023,” he says. That’s when things scale. “You have close collaborators like the cinematographer, department heads, costume designer, all starting their planning, sketching, buying props, and making choices.”
“During the days of shooting—the shortest but most intense period—the team might be 40–60 people on set daily. With extras, suddenly you have lunch for over 100 people. If it’s a big scene, maybe 70 extras — then, counting everyone in credits, including backers, day hires, stunt coordinators, and so on, you can easily pass a thousand people.”
After that comes post-production. “Post-production is intimate again. It involves working with the sound director and editor. I’m involved at every stage, watching progress, and making changes.”
And even then, it’s not over. “We shot in 2023, but waited for a good release date, partly because of my schedule, partly to wait for certain answers. Now in 2025, seven years after starting The Activist in 2018, we will premiere.”
What’s next on Romas Zabarauskas’s calendar?
His next film is in development. “We just shot the teaser, but I started writing the script a couple of years ago. So my process is usually about five years per film, sometimes more, sometimes less.”
Then, he smiles:
“I feel very grateful and humbled. I’m living my dream”
How do you stay organised?
“I use an easy system.” He got this system from a book, Getting Things Done by David Allen.
“On one page, I have action items. These are calls, emails, and things to organise. I circle the priority ones, updating weekly. Then I have a ‘waiting on’ list, which includes things I’m waiting for from others, also with circled priorities. Then I have a ‘projects’ page. These are not urgent, just ideas to get them out of my head so I can focus.”
He says this works well. “I do work a lot, but I try not to work weekends or evenings.”
I have to ask about politics—because I see you as an activist at heart.
Carefully, I ask him about the political side of his work—because I don’t believe he’s just doing it to make great films. There seems to be an apparent political motive.
Zabarauskas speaks slowly here.
“The main question in most of my films is whether true political action is possible in modern society.”
This is a question he asks himself often—whether or not an action can be effective on its own, without deceit or corruption. And, without giving away spoilers, it’s a question that sits at the heart of The Activist.
Does he have a personal answer to that question? He shrugs. But after some gentle prodding, I get a fuller answer. “In the past, I’d probably say no,” he admits. “But lately, I’m feeling more optimistic.”
