Europa is a near-legendary work among pre-war avant-garde films whose far-reaching influence inspired a wealth of interpretations and reconstructions. Yet few could have expected this poetic short, long considered lost, to resurface nearly 90 years after its premiere. Stolen by the Nazis in 1940 from the Vitfer Film Laboratory following the occupation of Paris, the original nitrate was placed in the Reichsfilmarchiv, and by the 1950s, unbeknownst to researchers, was in the collection of East Germany’s Staatliches Filmarchiv. In 2019 the film was identified in the Bundesarchiv by Anna Bobczuk, a researcher from the Pilecki Institute in Berlin, in two copies: the 35mm nitrate left by the filmmakers Franciszka and Stefan Themerson in 1940, and a preservation print made by the Bundesarchiv. Although Europa was considered lost early in the War, its impact on contemporaries was so powerful that those who had seen it continued to discuss its importance; its rediscovery fills a crucial gap in the history of experimental cinema.
Franciszka Themerson, née Weinles (1907-1988) and Stefan Themerson (1910-1988) were artists whose transdisciplinary approach was central to their oeuvre. They first entered Warsaw’s art scene in the late 1920s, incorporating photography, film, and illustrations into their all-encompassing experimental vision. They married in 1931. In the winter of 1937-38 they moved to Paris. Following the outbreak of the War Franciszka emigrated to London, where she was joined by Stefan in 1942. There they expanded their activities with book illustration and filmmaking, in 1948 launching the Gaberbocchus Press, which allowed them to further branch out as artists and authors (novels, philosophy, essays, opera).
Europa was one of their first films together, adapted from Anatol Stern’s futuristic poem “Europa”, which was initially published in 1925 and then reworked and reimagined in an innovative typographical form in 1929. As a manifesto of ecology, feminism, and the need for social justice, the Themersons’ most celebrated film offered a rebellious message, which feels as urgent today as it did when first screened. Made with almost no budget, the short was shot and largely assembled in their apartment, using animated photograms and collages and working with reverse-motion and multiplications. Given their limited resources, Stefan was forced to invent a special table that allowed them to move lights and create shadows from shapes placed on the glass top, while he and Franciszka were lying underneath.
The results placed the couple at the forefront of the experimental community in pre-war Warsaw, where they were central to the debates around film and art. Their position was cemented when in 1935 they became co-founders of the SAF (Stowarzyszenie Autorów Filmowych [Society of Film Authors]), which organized workshops, screenings, and discussions; soon afterwards they launched the short-lived magazine f.a. [Film Artystyczny / Film Artistique]. Looking towards Paris as the centre of the contemporary art scene, the Themersons knew that Europa was their ticket to opening international doors; theirs was one of the first East European voices to take direct inspiration from the achievements of Man Ray, René Clair, Luis Buñuel, and others. Indeed, the response from the avant-garde community was so impressive that had it not been for the War, when both Themersons were fighting as volunteers, their cinema career would probably have gone further. Even so, their impact on the local scene cannot be overestimated. As filmmakers their period of creativity lasted 15 years, during which they made a total of 7 films: Apteka (Pharmacy, 1930), Europa (1931-32), Drobiazg melodyjny (Musical Moment, 1933), Zwarcie (Short Circuit, 1935), and Przygoda człowieka poczciwego (Adventure of a Good Citizen, 1937), in Poland, and Calling Mr. Smith (1943) and The Eye and the Ear (1944-45), in London. Their plan most probably was to continue developing ideas addressed in Europa, and it’s known they were working on an anti-war film in 1944, Dziecko Europy [Child of Europe], dealing with the psychological impact of the War on children. Although this project was never finished, its themes, and Europa, were still important to them. In 1962 they published a facsimile edition of Stern’s poem in English, translated by Stefan Themerson and Michael Horovitz, which reproduced surviving stills from the film alongside early reviews. At the request of Polish artist and filmmaker Józef Robakowski, they reconstructed the film’s storyline, and in collaboration with the London Film-Makers’ Co-operative, the Themersons created a 9-minute reconstruction of the then-lost film via slides, with sound on tape (1983). Five years later Piotr Zarębski made Europa II, a reconstruction based on discussions he had with Stefan, who died that year.
It’s therefore surprising that the original version of Europa from 1931 is significantly different from what the creators remembered. Lyrical, delicate, and rhythmic, it leads from subtle gestures to a dramatic climax. Neither as brutal nor radical in form as Stern’s poem, the film is nuanced in its expressions of sadness, hope, and dreaminess, its imagery offering a call to revolution led by Nature herself, with the Earth placed at the heart of political issues as relevant then as they are today. Europa cries out against intolerance and violence, advocating for a continent that’s welcoming to all. Its rebellious message has lost none of its bite, prodding us to question what kind of equitable Europe is possible.

Adriana Prodeus