THERE IS ALWAYS A WAY OUT

An interview with Małgorzata Zajączkowska, actress and chairwoman of the Main Competition jury.

Mateusz Demski: When reading about your life, the topic of the United States keeps coming up.

Małgorzata Zajączkowska: That’s because it was a significant part of my life. Sixteen years in the US and almost three years in Paris.

Do you remember the day you left?

Not exactly, because at the time, I had only gone to Paris for nine days to visit Joasia Pacuła. On the fourth day, I got a phone call that there was a war in Poland. It was three in the morning. I hadn’t left intending to emigrate; it wasn’t part of any plan. It just happened.

What was your first thought?

I had $150 in my pocket and didn’t speak French. Joasia and I immediately went to the Polish embassy. We met a lot of friends there who were also passing through Paris. That’s how our life in exile began, which had many difficult moments. We didn’t know what was happening with our families. But we were taken care of. The French were fantastic in this situation. When war broke out just beyond our borders, and we started helping Ukrainians, I thought there were many parallels. People in Paris gave us their apartments for temporary stays and helped us financially.

What were the first days of forced exile like?

We began wandering from place to place. Jacek Kaczmarski left us the keys to his friends’ apartment while he went off to a concert. I remember waking up one morning to find a bearded man in a down jacket standing over me, asking what I was doing in his bed.

Jacek and I were great friends, and in fact, the whole group living in Paris at the time was like a safety valve for us. I remember New Year’s Eve 1981/82as incredibly alcohol-fuelled and despairing. All of a sudden, different stories started coming out that night: someone had left behind a pregnant wife, someone else their parents. We were worried about our loved ones back home, and they were worrying about us here. There was no contact at all. But somehow, we managed day by day.

I’m curious how you managed professionally—being in a foreign country, without knowing the language.

In France, we worked as extras on film sets. One time, I got a small part in a film with Maria Schneider. It was a minor role, but still a role. I didn’t speak the language, so a colleague taught me the lines “parrot fashion.” This is how they let us earn. Later, I got a scholarship, and then I left to USA with my future husband. There, I find myself under the wings of Barbara Piasecka-Johnson. We spent the first night in the Bronx, where you could hear gunshots. It was best not to leave the house after 5 p.m.

The shock of arriving in New York must have been intense.

The contrasts were incredible. The apartment in the Bronx belonged to my friend. You couldn’t lock the doors because there was a crazy neighbour who liked to check if he could get into places. He would try the handles, so it was better to leave the apartment unlocked. Meanwhile, there was a grand piano in the middle of the room because my friend studied at a music academy.

When we went downtown, to Columbus Circle, the first thing I saw was a man in shorts walking a ram on a leash. It was like landing on a different planet. Yet at the same time, it was a period in New York when everyone was incredibly kind.

By the time I came under Barbara’s care, I moved from the Bronx to Central Park West in The Ghostbusters Building. I had an unbelievable apartment; my neighbour was Calvin Klein. But I didn’t have a single dollar for the subway. And that’s another contrast. When I got a scholarship to study English at the New York University, I used to walk downtown because I couldn’t justify spending a dollar or a dollar twenty-five on the subway fare. Years later, I would say that such contrasts strengthen you. They show that there is always a way out.

Despite the odds, your career took off.

You can have everything in life, but if you don’t have that proverbial luck, it’s tough. It’s not that I don’t appreciate my own efforts, but it’s good to come across kind people. I was seven months pregnant when Agnieszka Holland called me and said that Paul Mazursky wanted to make a film based on Isaac Bashevis Singer’s Enemies, A Love Story. I was convinced that no one would hire me in that condition. But I read the book and was blown away. I sent them my CV. They got back to me when my son was three weeks old. I went to the audition, read two scenes with Paul, and heard: “You’ve got the part.”

That was a breakthrough moment.

The film made waves, perhaps primarily because I didn’t receive an Oscar nomination, which the press wrote about. That helped me. Suddenly, agents who might never have called started getting in touch. Various offers came in, most of them wanting to recreate the daring scenes from Enemies. I was hungry for acting and wanted to get back in front of the camera immediately. But I had a great agent who said firmly: “No, we’re waiting for another role, or else you’ll play one season and be done.” His name was Richard Schmenner. With a name like that, I assumed he was Jewish, so I gave him pejsachówka—Polish plum brandy—on every Jewish holiday. When we were wrapping up our work together, he invited me to lunch one day and said, “Margaret, I’m not actually Jewish, I’m German.” I asked him why he hadn’t told me sooner, and he replied, “Oh darling, I couldn’t wait for each Jewish holiday” (laughs).

Was he the one who introduced you to Woody Allen?

First, Glenn Close offered me a role in the TV movie Sarah, Plain and Tall, which she co-produced. Then came the meeting with Woody Allen. Initially, we were supposed to make a film with Madonna, but they must not have come to an agreement, and the project didn’t work out. He wrote another script, and that’s how I ended up in Bullets Over Broadway.

What was working with Allen like?

Allen is as neurotic as the characters in his films. Interestingly, as a director, he speaks very little on set. He prefers to relay his notes to the actors through the makeup artist or people from other departments. He never says “cut”; the cameraman does that. He remained in the background. When we finished a scene, we would just see the back of the car as he drove off.

But it’s not that there was no contact with him. While we were shooting a scene, there was a basketball game going on. We had a small TV under the table. Every so often, Allen would come over and ask what the score was (laughs). But that’s not all. We finished the film, and six months later, my agent called, saying Allen wanted to reshoot one of the scenes. Apparently, this happens a lot with him—he notices small details while editing. It turned out everything was fine; he just wanted us seated in a different arrangement around the table.

So he’s quite a perfectionist.

Obsessively so. He gives actors freedom, but only as long as it fits within his framework. The audition for that first film was like this: I walked into a room where there was soft, moody lighting. I read the scene with a lady, while the rest of the room was in darkness. Suddenly, Allen interrupted me from the shadows. He said: “I hear this voice, where are you from?” I replied, “from Poland,” and he just said, “Well, see you then,” and left. Allen, being a radio man, already has a specific voice in his head when he writes. I happened to match his expectations; that character clicked with me.

Recently, you returned to New York to film Late Bloomers. How has the city changed over the years?

It’s even faster. And New York has become incredibly expensive to live in. All those who lived on the Upper West Side—a district that used to be the mecca for artists—have moved to Brooklyn or Queens because they can’t afford to live in the centre. Another thing: in the past, a typical New York homeless person would walk around with a supermarket cart, covered in plastic bags, and sleep on cardboard. Now, they’re often young, well-dressed people, addicted to fentanyl.

It’s a certain atmosphere, the specific vibe of New York. We complain when we visit from Warsaw, where we have peace and quiet. But the access and approach to culture there is absolutely exceptional. I think we’re a bit more demanding than New Yorkers. If someone wants to make a film there, they can’t rely on institutions like the Polish Film Institute (PISF). They just shoot the film on their phone in the street and then go door to door with it. Most of these people don’t work in the industry. I once met a guy who would check into clinics to test medications for money. Others have corporate jobs and make films after hours. I think that’s what America taught me too—if you really want something, you have to fight for it.

This film seems like another adventure.

I was convinced that my American career was long over and that I only went there to visit old haunts. And yet I love New York, it’s my city. The offer came to me through Facebook. I got a message that they were looking for a Polish actress who speaks English. Interestingly, neither the screenwriter nor the director has anything to do with Poland. So I asked them directly where the idea for such a film came from. It turned out that the screenwriter lived in Greenpoint during her studies and one day she broke her hip. She was lying in the hospital in the same room as a dreadful old Polish lady.

It’s really nice to be back on set in New York. We mainly filmed in Greenpoint and Brooklyn. It was a difficult shoot because a lot happened on the street. Closing streets in that city is a nightmare, so we got permits to work in full traffic. As a result, a shot that should have taken one and a half minutes sometimes took half a day: because the fire brigade showed up, or someone approached us and shouted. But it was really a wonderful adventure.

Finally, let me ask about Gdynia and your role at the festival.This year, as the chairwoman of the jury, you will decide which films will receive the awards. Do you feel the responsibility associated with that?

I do feel it, but at the same time the jury helps me a lot. I was afraid that there might be some differences between us, but it turns out that everyone in this group can say what they think, and we draw conclusions together. However, for me, it has to be a film I want to follow. When leaving the cinema, I have to leave with that film; it has to stay with me in some way. It has to make me think. You can watch films made in different techniques, concepts, but ultimately what matters is the emotional connection. That’s what cinema is all about, I think.

Małgorzata Zajączkowska – she made her screen debut in the film Screen Tests directed by Agnieszka Holland, Paweł Kędzierski, and Jerzy Domaradzki. At the end of 1981, she moved to the USA. She is the only Polish actress to have performed on Broadway at the Walter Kerr Theater alongside Frank Langella. She has acted in films by Woody Allen, Paul Mazursky, and Glenn Jordan. After returning to Poland, she collaborated with Janusz Morgenstern, Andrzej Wajda, Kasia Adamik, and Leszek Dawid. For her role in Walpurgis Night by Marcin Bortkiewicz, she received the Best Actress Award at the Youth and Film Festival in Koszalin.

Interview by Mateusz Demski

Photo: Tomek Kamiński

This interview appeared in the festival newspaper KLAPS