How Glitter Kiss finds the humanity in hate

What was the inspiration for the film?

I grew up in a small town, where I attended a Christian school for two years. There was a strong idea there that being different, standing out, or being part of the LGBTQ+ community was wrong. I had a close friend there who was gay and was hiding it. His homophobic parents even kicked him out of the house for couple of nights. 

There are still brutal attacks – violence driven by hatred is still among us. 

That experience became the starting point for the film. Later, I became interested in a bigger question: what would someone who is homophobic have to experience in order to genuinely question their beliefs? 

Did the script change much in development?

The script changed quite dramatically in the early stages of development. Originally, it was much more of a dramedy genre. I rediscovered an earlier draft of it in 2024, while preparing for my graduation film at the Lithuanian Academy of Music and Theatre. I started thinking about the idea again and wondering whether it was still as relevant as it might have been when I was at school 15 years previously. 
In some ways, open homophobia is perhaps less common. But there are still brutal attacks – violence driven by hatred is still among us. 

Even in very difficult situations, people can be funny, absurd, warm and vulnerable.

Once I was writing the script in a café and I overheard a group of men talking  aggressively about the LGBTQ+ community. I didn’t have the courage to say anything to them – there were five of them and I was alone. I went back to the question that had originally inspired the film: what would have to happen to people like this for them to confront their own beliefs? 

For a dark story about transphobia it is full of heart and even a bit of humour, how did you set about establishing the tone?

Even now, while preparing for my next film, I’ve been trying to move away from humour and make things more serious. But humour keeps finding its way in. Maybe it’s simply my style, something that comes organically makes its way into my work, perhaps because I’m an optimistic person by nature. 

I think humour allows the audience to get closer to the characters.

Even in very difficult situations, people can be funny, absurd, warm and vulnerable. I don’t want the film to feel like a depressing lecture about hatred. I’m much more interested in finding the humanity. I also think humour allows the audience to get closer to the characters. You can laugh and then suddenly realise that you care about them. And when the story becomes darker, that emotional connection makes those moments hit harder. 

How has the film been received?

I think what surprised me most was how differently people connected with the film. Some responded to its political and social themes, while others connected with it on a more personal level. I’m especially grateful when people tell me that the film made them uncomfortable in a good way - that it made them reflect on themselves, or on people they know and love. 

I wanted to make a film about empathy, but without making empathy feel like a moral lesson.

It’s genuinely very rewarding to receive messages from people, or have them come up to me after a screening to share their thoughts on the film. 

What did you hope to convey with this film?

I wanted the audience to think about both Rolandas’ dark life and Klaudijus’ painful fate, rather than simply judging either of them. I wanted to make a film about empathy, but without making empathy feel like a moral lesson. I’m interested in what happens when we are forced to see another person as a human being rather than as an idea or a category.

I also wanted to show that prejudice doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It is often inherited, taught and reinforced by the people and environments around us. We see this with Rolandas: his neighbours dislike him and have already made up their minds about what kind of person he is. But in reality, he is also deeply lonely, left to stew in his own bitterness and beliefs. I think that is one of the things that interested me most: where does responsibility begin and end? And if prejudice can be learned, perhaps it can also be unlearned.

Can you share how you cast the film and what did the actors bring to it, particularly Rolandas, who is magnificent?

I worked on the casting with casting director Lukas Kacinauskas and we cast every single role - all 17 characters in the film - rather than only the main roles. When I was writing the script, I already had one particular actor in mind for Rolandas. When I found out he wasn’t available I thought the film wasn’t going to happen.

Then Valerijus Jevsejavas [who plays Rolandas] came into the process and made me realise that, actually, I had written the role for him. He found all these different colours and nuances and turned Rolandas from a written character into a real human being.

From the very first rehearsal, Valerijus had already figured out so many of the small details - what Rolandas is like when he is alone, how he behaves around other people, how he changes when he feels threatened or has to defend himself. That sense of his inner life really enriched the film.

Can you share details of the shoot? Did any unexpected challenges arise?

The shoot was incredibly challenging, but also rewarding. One of the biggest challenges was that we were shooting mostly at night, while the clinic and hospital locations we were using were naturally operating during the day. We also had quite a lot of moving between locations, which brought its own logistical challenges. We were working with a very small budget, so we constantly had to find creative solutions.

What made a huge difference was the crew. Everyone was incredibly helpful, dedicated and willing to go the extra mile. Nobody complained, even when things were difficult, and that created a really positive atmosphere on set.

What's your background and route into directing?

I realised I wanted to work in cinema when I was about 11 years old. I grew up in a very small town Kretinga, Lithuania, where there wasn’t even a cinema, shopping centre or many other forms of entertainment, so during the colder months I had to find my own ways of keeping myself occupied. I didn’t have many friends I would just want to get home as quickly as possible and watch films. I could watch two or three films a day. I was completely fascinated by these worlds, stories and characters that other people had created.

At first, I wanted to become an actor. I thought that would allow me to live someone else’s life, even if only for a couple of hours. But aged 14, I realised that what interested me more was creating those worlds myself - inventing stories and characters, then I discovered that there was such a person as a director, and I thought, “Oh, this is it.”

When I was 16, I made my first short film in Kretinga. I gathered a volunteer crew and even created my own little production company. Unfortunately, the volunteer cinematographer lost the footage, so the film never saw the light of day.

After that, I started directing school events - proms, graduations and so on. It was much closer to theatre than cinema, but it gave me my first experience of bringing people together and bringing an idea to life.

When you’re working with limited resources and things don’t go according to plan, you have to make decisions quickly and creatively.

I decided I wanted to study directing at the Lithuanian Academy of Music and Theatre KIMO, which is the only film school in Lithuania and is hard to get into. I didn’t get in on my first attempt. The other applicants were older, had more experience, and many had attended cinema programmes. I was completely self-taught and, apart from what I had figured out by myself, I knew almost nothing about filmmaking.

While waiting to reapply I studied photography in Vilnius and also worked as a production assistant and on a Lithuanian features. So, by the time I went back to the Academy entrance exams, I was more prepared and got in with a perfect score of 100.