Imagine a film that uses the absurdity of a hunger strike during a Soviet occupation to explore the depths of human resilience and the complexities of collective action. That’s exactly what Lithuanian writer-director Karolis Kaupinis does in his latest work, Hunger Strike Breakfast—a cinematic metaphor that mirrors the Russian invasion of Ukraine. But here’s where it gets controversial: while the film is rooted in the real-life 1991 Soviet occupation of Lithuania, it dares to peel back the layers of political rhetoric to reveal the deeply personal motivations that drive people to act—or not act—in the face of oppression. Is it truly about freedom and independence, or are there hidden desires and miseries at play? This is the part most people miss when discussing historical resistance movements.
Set in the aftermath of the January 1991 invasion, the film captures the chaos and uncertainty that followed when Soviet troops seized the Lithuanian Radio & TV headquarters in Vilnius, leaving 700 employees jobless overnight. Through the eyes of three characters—Mykolas, a former director grappling with his principles; Daiva, a celebrated announcer determined to resist despite her exhaustion; and Sigis, a young actor torn between activism and family—the film delves into the emotional toll of occupation. And this is where it gets even more thought-provoking: Kaupinis suggests that beneath the political facade of resistance lies a ‘colonization of the mind,’ where people are forced to suppress their true feelings and desires. How much of our collective actions are driven by genuine ideals, and how much by personal escape or connection?
Kaupinis, whose debut Nova Lituania was Lithuania’s 2021 Oscar submission, draws from his own childhood memories of the 1991 invasion and conversations with those who participated in the hunger strike. ‘I remember certain details very vividly,’ he told The Hollywood Reporter. ‘But what struck me most were the personal stories behind the strike. People would rotate every three days, and their motivations weren’t always what you’d expect.’ For instance, some strikers simply wanted to spend time with colleagues they admired, while others sought an escape from miserable home lives. Is this a betrayal of the cause, or a raw, honest portrayal of human complexity?
The film’s parallels to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine are unmistakable. Kaupinis describes the TV headquarters as a metaphor for Ukraine, the indifferent apartment building across the street as Western Europe, and the strikers’ trailer as Baltic societies—‘waiting for Godot,’ yet yearning to act meaningfully despite limited capacity. ‘It’s a metaphor for what we, as Lithuanian and Baltic societies, have found ourselves in,’ he explains. But here’s the bold question: Does this interpretation oversimplify the geopolitical realities, or does it capture the essence of modern resistance?
Produced by Lithuania’s M-Films, with co-production support from the Czech Republic and Latvia, Hunger Strike Breakfast premiered at the Warsaw Film Festival and screened at the Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival (PÖFF). The film’s exploration of human longing and resilience in dark times resonates deeply: ‘In the darkest moments, people long for a hug or a simple conversation,’ notes the PÖFF website. And this is the part that challenges us all: In an era of global conflict, how do we balance collective action with individual truths?
Kaupinis doesn’t shy away from controversy in his personal life either. He’s been vocal against Lithuania’s current ruling coalition, which includes the far-right, pro-Russia Nemunas Dawn Party, accusing it of attacking creatives and cultural institutions. ‘We very clearly see Moscow’s hand in it,’ he warns. His next project? A film about a monastery in provincial Lithuania, symbolizing a divided society struggling to find common ground. ‘Why do you expect the church to be different?’ he asks. Is this a critique too far, or a necessary mirror to society’s fractures?
As Hunger Strike Breakfast continues to spark conversations, one thing is clear: Kaupinis is not just making films—he’s inviting us to question our own motivations, our complicity, and our capacity for change. So, here’s the ultimate question for you: In a world where political narratives dominate, how much space do we allow for the messy, personal truths that drive us? Let’s hear your thoughts in the comments.
