THE LOVEBOX EXPERIENCE In conversation with Daniela Michel & Alexander Kleider

The idea came after our first Burn, Nowhere in Spain. We were especially drawn to the principles of Participation and Gifting: everyone contributes something and offers it to others without expecting anything in return. We wanted to be part of that.

A Burn is a temporary space created by the people who take part, inspired by Burning Man culture and its principles. Participation, Gifting and Immediacy — being fully present in the experience — were particularly important to us.

As filmmakers, we wanted to create a space where two strangers could really connect in a short time. When we first tried out the LOVEBOX, we realised how powerful those encounters could be.

That eventually became the starting point for the film. We wanted to explore what becomes possible in a space people create together, largely free from transactions and expectations of getting something back. And we wanted to find out whether that kind of encounter could also happen beyond a Burn.

Two people, usually strangers, enter the LOVEBOX together — a small spaceship for human connection. They embark on a playful journey through darkness, music and sustained eye contact. Gradually, a space opens up in which they can meet one another.

We only create the setting. We cannot plan what happens within it. Some people laugh a lot, some sit in silence, and others suddenly share something deeply personal. That unpredictability is what makes the LOVEBOX so interesting to us.

Sustained eye contact is a big part of it. In everyday life, we almost never look directly into a stranger’s eyes for very long. For some people, it feels almost psychedelic — their perception begins to shift.

At the same time, the LOVEBOX is playful. In a sense, you step into a spaceship together and set off on a journey. That combination of intensity, play and a space where you feel safe makes it easier to open up. You do not have to perform or try to be especially interesting.

There was no casting process. The people in the film came from our own circles and from the relationships that grew around the LOVEBOX. That mattered to us. We wanted to follow real relationships and situations as they unfolded, rather than find characters to fit a story we had already decided to tell.

We met Eric through the Science and Nonduality conference. We knew Frostie through the Burn community. Luvuyo is part of My Workshop Collective in Langa, near Cape Town, where we built the LOVEBOX together.

They became part of the film quite naturally — as friends, collaborators and people with whom the story developed over time.

Getting permission was a long process. AfrikaBurn and other Burns are cautious about cameras, with good reason. One of the central principles is Immediacy: experiencing the moment directly. Constantly taking photos, filming or posting on social media can get in the way of that.

Consent is also hugely important in Burn culture. For us, that meant explaining our intentions carefully, building trust and making sure people could choose for themselves whether they wanted to be filmed.

We did not want the camera to disrupt the very experience we were trying to capture. That tension stayed with us throughout the shoot.

We cannot know exactly. But even if the situation — or the camera itself — prompts something, that does not make the feelings any less real. They are genuinely happening between those people in that moment.

The camera is inside the LOVEBOX, but we operate it from outside. There is no camera operator or film crew sitting across from the two people. They really are alone together. Nobody asks questions or intervenes.

Of course, the LOVEBOX is a deliberately designed space. We use darkness, music, eye contact and the idea of a shared journey. But we do not prescribe an outcome. We cannot control what people feel, say or do. For us, that is what makes the encounter authentic.

We also know by now that the camera is not essential. You can create the LOVEBOX experience entirely without one. There is a guide on our website, and the feedback from people who have tried it themselves is very similar.

That was one of the film’s central questions. At a Burn, people are already in an unusual environment that encourages openness and connection. We wanted to know what would happen if we brought the LOVEBOX into everyday life.

We found that it works there too. The initial hesitation sometimes lasts a little longer. But when people give themselves over to the experience, a surprising closeness can develop outside a Burn as well. That was one of the project’s most meaningful discoveries for us.

Our first rough cut was eight hours long. So choosing what to keep was quite a challenge.

We had to find a narrative flow that gave very different encounters room to breathe, while making the film feel like more than a series of separate moments. We also wanted to bring along viewers who had never been to a Burn. Humour, music and, above all, silence were essential to that.

We wanted observation and reflection to work together. Reflection is very much part of THE LOVEBOX EXPERIENCE. Eric’s narration runs through the film, returning to the question of what is happening in these encounters — and what they might mean for him personally, and perhaps for us as a society.

We deliberately chose a perspective from within. Eric belongs to this world. He observes, questions, remembers and tries to find words for experiences that cannot be neatly summed up in an argument. We were interested in the kind of understanding that grows through observation, experience and reflection from the inside.

The way we film inside the LOVEBOX is part of that. Because the camera is operated from outside, there is no crew in the room. We can witness a connection as it takes shape, rather than hear someone describe it afterwards: the pauses, the uncertainty, the listening, the laughter, the vulnerability — and sometimes simply the quiet.

Other documentaries contain powerful emotions too. Often, their most intense moments arise from conflict or crisis. In the LOVEBOX, we frequently see emotional intensity growing out of care and openness towards another person. Sometimes the remarkable thing is how little appears to happen — and how much closeness emerges.

The LOVEBOX first creates a space for two people. The film opens that space again, this time to an audience. In a cinema, something else happens: the auditorium itself becomes a place of shared experience.

Viewers experience these intimate encounters together — the silence, the humour, the uncertainty and the emotion. You hear other people laughing. You feel the room suddenly fall quiet. It is almost as if, for 96 minutes, the LOVEBOX expands to fill the entire cinema.

Perhaps that is why people sometimes applaud at the end, even when none of us or the film crew is there. The applause is not directed at someone in the room. It is a response to what everyone has just experienced together.

We feel that everyday life offers too few spaces where we can meet someone without immediately asking: What do I want from you? What do you want from me? What am I getting out of this?

There is also very little room for our playful side. Yet play matters. Being allowed to play often helps us truly relax, and that can make it easier to open up to other people.

We spend much of our lives within our families, friendship groups, workplaces and, increasingly, digital bubbles. The LOVEBOX is interested in the moment before we put someone into a category. What happens if we really see a person before reducing them to an opinion, a background or a position?

Of course, an encounter like this does not resolve society’s conflicts. Differences do not disappear simply because two people meet. But where there is a willingness to connect, perhaps more can happen than either person expected.

We are especially curious to see what happens when the idea travels beyond the Burn community where it began.

We actively want people to copy the LOVEBOX. There is a guide on our website to help them create their own version. If spaces like this start appearing in all kinds of places, they could bring together people who would otherwise never have spoken to one another.

So the film is more than a record of what we experienced. It is also an invitation to take the idea further.

We do not want to tell anyone how to live or what to think. Perhaps it is enough to experience that connection is possible — sometimes with someone you would never have expected to connect with.

If someone leaves the cinema a little more curious about a stranger, a little slower to put people into boxes, or even inspired to create a space like this themselves, that would mean a lot.

The LOVEBOX does not change the world. But it has shown us how quickly something remarkable can happen between two people.