THE QUEEN AND THE SMOKEHOUSE. Mrs. Miecia Wins the Hearts

When I hear “Baltic Sea,” I think of childhood summers spent in holiday resorts in Mikoszewo, collecting amber on the seashore, walking through the forest, and going to the local restaurant for pierogi (and to play some billiards on the side). But in her debut The Queen and the Smokehouse, Iga Lis doesn’t tell stories about amber hunting or seaside strolls. Instead, she takes viewers to another corner of Poland — for an hour, we move to Łeba, where we meet the queen of the town, Mrs.

Miecia. And although Lis doesn’t dwell on childhood memories, she still manages to create a deeply nostalgic atmosphere.

For 40 years, Mrs. Miecia has been running a fish smokehouse, beloved by both locals and tourists — in the film, we see long queues of people waiting to buy her products. It’s a true brand she has built over decades, keeping watch over the smokehouse day after day during the summer season. She’s well known in the local community (hence the nickname “queen”), and while she is firm and decisive in professional matters, she never comes across as harsh. Quite the opposite: her witty remarks bring laughter, and her dedication to her craft is genuinely moving. In The Queen and the Smokehouse, we follow her relationship with her closest coworkers. She holds them to high standards, but never looks down on them — instead, she worries about their well-being and offers advice or kind words whenever needed.

Lis also shows how a local business, especially one maintained for so many years, can be a source of both pride and burden. At one point, Mrs. Miecia admits that after decades of standing in smoke — and with a cigarette constantly in hand — she feels like she herself has been smoked. Over the years, she has undergone several surgeries. A portion of the film follows her trip to a health spa, while her son-in-law and other coworkers take over the smokehouse. Through close-ups of her face, Lis conveys, without words, the stress and unease Miecia feels when she cannot personally supervise what’s happening back in Łeba, even though the business is left in capable hands. Anyone who has ever struggled to let go of control will immediately identify with her.

Both the protagonist and the other characters (including her employee Pikolo) seem completely at ease in front of the camera, speaking candidly about their feelings and chatting naturally among themselves. Lis gives them the space to be authentic, and as a result, we quickly grow fond of them, as if we were sitting with them on the benches behind the smokehouse. The place itself is portrayed almost as an autonomous world, separate from the bustling tourist town around it. Life there follows its own rhythm, which might explain why the film feels so nostalgic, despite its contemporary setting. Łeba appears only in brief fragments, often evoking old film chronicles thanks to the chosen music and visual style — we see crowded beaches or boats filled with tourists, always in contrast with the quiet world of Mrs. Miecia. The chaos of the resort never overshadows the personal focus on the smokehouse and its people.

While the documentary succeeds in bringing Miecia to life on screen, it leaves a slight sense of unfinished business. Some threads introduced in conversations — like Pikolo’s love life or Miecia’s mention of alcoholism — are left underdeveloped. Still, it’s clear Lis wanted to keep her focus firmly on her main subject, offering the audience this intimate portrait of a woman and her world.

The Queen and the Smokehouse is an empathetic, heartfelt documentary — one that draws viewers in, builds affection for its characters, and leaves plenty to reflect upon. And if I ever find myself in Łeba, I know I won’t resist trying fish from Mrs. Miecia’s smokehouse.