Speaking at the 38th edition of European Film Awards, where he was nominated for Best European Actor for his performance in Franz, German actor Idan Weiss reflected on the unusual process behind Agnieszka Holland’s fragmented portrait of Franz Kafka, a role that resists both hagiography and psychological shorthand.
Weiss admits that his first encounter with Kafka came early, and without much comprehension. “I read The Metamorphosis when I was probably in sixth grade and I understood nothing,” he recalls with a laugh. Like many readers, he knew Kafka first as a cultural monument: omnipresent in school curricula, heavily staged in German theatres, and long since absorbed into the canon. What Franz offered instead was the chance to approach Kafka not as an icon but as a living contradiction.
“It was completely new for me to really read all his books and dive deep into him, not just as a writer, but as a character,” Weiss explains. Rather than anchoring his preparation in biographical chronology, he gravitated toward the texts themselves. “I wasn’t so interested in what he did step by step. But when I read his books, it became very clear how he was. How he searched for acceptance. How he saw the world.”
That inward approach aligned closely with Holland’s own method. Weiss describes their first meeting as an immediate connection. “It was directly clicking,” he says. “She was sitting on the floor, waiting for me. She was very kind, very open.”
The casting process itself reflected the film’s conceptual looseness: the first audition took place online, with a deceptively simple instruction, introduce yourself as Kafka. “That was quite funny,” Weiss recalls. “But it already said something about the freedom of the project.”
Kafka’s image, Weiss notes, has long been flattened by cultural shorthand. “Like musicians who die young, Kurt Cobain, Ian Curtis, people stamp them with one label,” he says. “Kafka got stamped as the depressive, crazy writer.” What interested him instead was Kafka’s sensitivity and humor, qualities often overshadowed by the mythology. “He was shy, yes, but he also had a very special sense of humor. He saw things differently.”
That difference was key, particularly given how far Weiss’s own temperament stands from Kafka’s. “I’m very extroverted, loud, also a musician,” he says. “Kafka was introverted, living much more inside his own world.” The tension between those dispositions became productive rather than obstructive, especially once shooting began.
Although the script initially appeared to follow a recognisable biopic trajectory, Weiss says that illusion dissolved on the first day on set. “The camera operator told me: ‘Look into the camera, throw a cherry into the camera, do what you want.’ And I knew immediately, this is going to be different.”
That openness, he insists, came directly from Agnieszka Holland herself. “She has this very high energy and strength, but at the same time she gives so much freedom,” he says. Improvisation was not only permitted but encouraged. “You know you’re doing something important, but you’re free. For an actor, that’s the best environment.”
The film’s political undercurrents, though never foregrounded, were also carefully calibrated. Weiss points to a brief but telling moment involving Max Brod and a Nazi officer. “There’s just a head shaking,” he says. “But it’s so important. It reminds us how things can change, and that we still have to be afraid of what can come.”
Given the extent of improvisation, Weiss admits he was surprised by the final cut. Watching the film alone in a cinema, he says, the running time seemed to collapse. “It felt like one hour,” he recalls. “And we did a lot of crazy things, screaming into the camera, shaking the camera, sticking out the tongue.” Yet what emerged, he believes, was a carefully balanced portrait. “It shows Kafka as a human being, not as a crazy stereotype.”
For Weiss, the film’s fragmented structure, its refusal of linear biography, its absence of dates, was essential rather than decorative. “It doesn’t matter what year it is,” he says. “We wanted to show as many sides as possible.” The camera’s occasional voyeurism, he adds, only reinforces that intimacy, positioning the viewer as a witness rather than a historian.
On a personal level, the role resonated deeply. Weiss speaks candidly about his own career uncertainty leading up to the casting. “I had over 160 auditions and nobody trusted me,” he says. “Six weeks before the Kafka casting, I wrote my agent that I wanted to stop acting.” Holland’s trust, he adds, changed everything. “That’s probably the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Kafka’s troubled relationships with women, central to Franz’s structure, also demanded careful handling. “For Kafka, sex was almost a punishment,” Weiss observes. “He was searching for someone who could understand him, but there was never a solution.”
The production worked with an intimacy coordinator to ensure clarity and comfort, a process Weiss describes as essential rather than restrictive. “The most important thing is that everyone feels comfortable. That was handled very professionally.”
Weiss’s background in experimental theatre, years spent watching and performing in extreme conditions, continues to inform his screen work. “I learned everything there,” he says simply. When asked about influences, he names directors rather than actors: Lars von Trier, Terrence Malick, Gaspar Noé, filmmakers who push performers beyond safety. “I like that feeling of standing on a cliff and jumping,” he says. “Kafka felt exactly like that.”
Letting go of the role took time. “Three or four months,” Weiss admits. “I didn’t even realise I was still inside it.” That lingering disorientation, he suggests, is part of the cost, and the value, of such immersion. “You lose yourself, and then slowly you find yourself again. And you learn something.”
Looking back, Weiss is careful not to claim possession over Kafka. “You can’t say you found him,” he says. “That would be stupid.” What he and Holland achieved instead was proximity, a shared search conducted day by day. “It was a journey,” he concludes. “And it was a beautiful experience.”
Cover image courtesy of the 38th European Film Awards Berlin 2026, Sebastian Gabsch.