The Cinema of István Szabó: Visions of Europe 9780231850704
The first English-language study of all Szabó's feature films and uses material from interviews with him and his co
186 33 866KB
English Pages 240 [192] Year 2014
Contents
Acknowledgements
Introduction
1. Born Into The Storm
2. Growing Up, Film School and 1956
3. The Early Films
4. The ‘Budapest’ Films
5. Tales from Mitteleuropa
6. New Europe, New Hungary, New Problems
7. ‘The man who comes from somewhere else is always suspect’
8. To Go or Stay?
9. Adaptations
10. The Controversy Surrounding the Events of 1957 and After
11. Szabó, Hungarian Cinema and the Question of Censorship – A Note
12. Some Conclusions
Notes
Filmography
Bibliography
Index
Recommend Papers
- Author / Uploaded
- John Cunningham
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Citation preview
the cinema of ISTVÁN SZABÓ
DIRECTORS’ CUTS
Other selected titles in the Directors’ Cuts series: the cinema of J A M E S C A M E R O N : bodies in heroic motion JAMES CLARKE
the cinema of A G N È S VA R D A : resistance and eclecticism DELPHINE BÉNÉZET
the cinema of A L E X A N D E R S O K U R O V : figures of paradox J E R E M I S Z A N I AW S K I
the cinema of M I C H A E L W I N T E R B O T T O M : borders, intimacy, terror BRUCE BENNETT
the cinema of R A Ú L R U I Z : impossible cartographies MICHAEL GODDARD
the cinema of M I C H A E L M A N N : vice and vindication J O N AT H A N R AY N E R
the cinema of A K I K A U R I S M Ä K I : authorship, bohemia, nostalgia, nation ANDREW NESTINGEN
the cinema of R I C H A R D L I N K L AT E R : walk, don’t run ROB STONE
the cinema of B É L A TA R R : the circle closes A N D R Á S B Á L I N T K O VÁ C S
the cinema of S T E V E N S O D E R B E R G H : indie sex, corporate lies, and digital videotape A N D R E W D E WA A R D & R . C O L I N TAT E
the cinema of T E R R Y G I L L I A M : it’s a mad world edited by J E F F B I R K E N S T E I N , A N N A F R O U L A & K A R E N R A N D E L L
the cinema of TA K E S H I K I TA N O : flowering blood SEAN REDMOND
the cinema of T H E D A R D E N N E B R O T H E R S : responsible realism PHILIP MOSLEY
the cinema of M I C H A E L H A N E K E : europe utopia edited by B E N M c C A N N & D A V I D S O R F A
the cinema of S A L LY P O T T E R : a politics of love S O P H I E M AY E R
the cinema of J O H N S A Y L E S : a lone star MARK BOULD
the cinema of D AV I D C R O N E N B E R G : from baron of blood to cultural hero E R N E S T M AT H I J S
the cinema of J A N S VA N K M A J E R : dark alchemy edited by P E T E R H A M E S
the cinema of L A R S V O N T R I E R : authenticity and artifice CAROLINE BAINBRIDGE
the cinema of W E R N E R H E R Z O G : aesthetic ecstasy and truth BRAD PRAGER
the cinema of T E R R E N C E M A L I C K : poetic visions of america (second edition) edited by H A N N A H P A T T E R S O N
the cinema of A N G L E E : the other side of the screen (second edition) WHITNEY CROTHERS DILLEY
the cinema of S T E V E N S P I E L B E R G : empire of light NIGEL MORRIS
the cinema of T O D D H A Y N E S : all that heaven allows edited by J A M E S M O R R I S O N
the cinema of R O M A N P O L A N S K I : dark spaces of the world edited by J O H N O R R & E L Z B I E T A O S T R O W S K A
the cinema of J O H N C A R P E N T E R : the technique of terror edited by I A N C O N R I C H & D A V I D W O O D S
the cinema of M I K E L E I G H : a sense of the real G A R RY WAT S O N
the cinema of N A N N I M O R E T T I : dreams and diaries E WA M A Z I E R S K A & L A U R A R A S C A R O L I
the cinema of D AV I D LY N C H : american dreams, nightmare visions edited by E R I C A S H E E N & A N N E T T E D A V I S O N
the cinema of K R Z Y S Z T O F K I E S L O W S K I : variations on destiny and chance M A R E K H A LT O F
the cinema of ISTVÁN SZ ABÓ visions of Europe
John Cunningham WALLFLOWER PRESS london & new york
A Wallflower Press Book Published by Columbia University Press Publishers Since 1893 /FX:PSLt$IJDIFTUFS 8FTU4VTTFY cup.columbia.edu Copyright © John Cunningham 2014 All rights reserved Wallflower Press® is a registered trademark of Columbia University Press A complete CIP record is available from the Library of Congress ISBN 978-0-231-17198-4 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN 978-0-231-17199-1 (pbk. : alk. paper) ISBN 978-0-231-85070-4 (e-book) Series design by Rob Bowden Design Cover image of István SzabÓ courtesy of the Kobal Collection
Columbia University Press books are printed on permanent and durable acid-free paper. This book is printed on paper with recycled content. Printed in the United States of America c 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 p 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
contents
Acknowledgements
JY
Introduction: Beginnings 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12
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Born into the Storm 5 Growing Up, Film School and 1956 15 The Early Films 25 The ‘Budapest’ Films 41 Tales from Mitteleuropa 54 New Europe, New Hungary, New Problems 83 ‘The man who comes from somewhere else is always suspect’ 95 To Go or Stay? 107 Adaptations 117 The Controversy Surrounding the Events of 1957 and After 130 Szabó, Hungarian Cinema and the Question of Censorship – A Note Some Conclusions 140 Notes 149 Filmography Bibliography Index 175
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152 166
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I dedicate this book to the memory of my parents; Gerry Coubro of the Film Studies Department, Sheffield Hallam University; and Simon Frearson, theatre director and artist. Take my hand, let us dance in your beautiful blue. All are sorely missed.
For Lesley
acknowledgements
"XPSLPGUIJTOBUVSFJTUIFSFTVMUPGBDPNQMFYDPMMBCPSBUJWFQSPDFTTXIJDITPNFUJNFT goes on unseen or only partly noticed, thus many individuals contributed suggestions, ideas and criticisms to this volume and no doubt there are some names not recorded here who should be; my apologies to them. First of all my thanks to István Szabó, the subject of this book, for taking time out from his busy schedule to allow me to fire questions at him, some of which I’m sure he has heard many times before. Thanks are also due to Peter Hames, Dr. György Kárpati, Kirsten Law, Ronald Harwood, Pier Marton, Ildikó Takács (former director of the Hungarian Cultural Centre in London), Gábor Dettre, Ágnes Péter, David Robinson, Zsolt Kezdi-Kovács, Susan Emanuel, András Szekfű, Laura Lukács, Frederic Spotts, György Gömöri and Csaba Bollók. Thanks to all my dear friends and colleagues in the Department of Stage and Screen (formerly Film Studies) at Sheffield Hallam University, particularly Suzanne Speidel and Tom Ryall. The staff at the Hungarian Film Institute in Budapest were, as usual, very helpful, as were their counterparts at the British Film Institute Library in London and the University of Washington in Seattle. Thanks also to the Scottish Screen Archive and a special round of thanks to all the library staff at Sheffield Hallam University for their cheery efficiency and for all the laughs we had at the Psalter Lane campus (RIP). Henry Bacon of the University of Helsinki allowed me to tap into his boundless knowledge of opera and much appreciation goes to András Bálint Kovács, ELTE Budapest, for discussing, particularly, Szabó’s early work with me and for his book Screening Modernism: European Art Cinema, 1950–1980 XIJDI * GPVOE FYUSFNFMZ helpful and challenging in the best possible way. Ivan Saunders’ review of Taking Sides in Kinokultura was of enormous significance and the work of David Paul and Graham Petrie, as always, proved rewarding and stimulating; my thanks to their scholarship and, likewise, to my former colleagues in the Network of East European Film Scholars in the UK, Ewa Mazierska (University of Central Lancashire), Michael Goddard and Ben Halligan (both, University of Salford), and to César Ballester (Arts University College, Bournemouth) for his ideas about Andrzej Munk and his possible influences on filmmaking in Central Europe. Yoram Allon and all the gang at Wallflower Press were their usual friendly, helpful and encouraging selves. JY
Many thanks to the British Film Institute for supplying the illustrations on pages 35, 52, 60, 64, 69 and 85. Finally, a special thanks to Catherine Portuges (University of Massachusetts at Amherst). Over afternoon tea at Fortnum and Masons in London, the Central Café in Budapest and various watering and eating holes in Toronto, New York and elsewhere, we have jointly chewed over the subject matter of this work, particularly the chapters on Colonel Redl and Sunshine and other aspects of Hungarian cinema. It only remains for the author to make the usual obligatory but absolutely necessary mea culpa: all the errors, stupidities and the other, no doubt, myriad shortcomJOHTPGUIFUFYUBSFIJTDPQZSJHIUBOEIJTBMPOF
Y
INTRODUCTION
Beginnings
In my earlier book, Hungarian Cinema: From Coffeehouse to Multiplex (2004), also published by Wallflower Press, I stated my intention to follow-up the broad brush work of this historical overview with more specific, focused works on aspects of Hungarian cinema, not quite realising at the time that I may well have made myself a hostage to fortune with such a rash promise. The present work is an attempt, in part at least, to fulfil this pledge and in doing so not only focus on a director whose work I admire immensely but one who is central to the perception and understanding of Hungarian cinema and its place in the wider world. István Szabó is, without doubt, one of the giants of world cinema, an artist who has successfully taken his filmmaking onto the international stage, while retaining a cultural and historical sensibility rooted in the turbulent twentieth-century history of his native Hungary and Central Europe. From the keenly-drawn portraits of life in Hungary, particularly of his beloved Budapest, with films such as Father (Apa) and 25 Fireman’s Street (Tűzoltó utca 25), to the much larger canvasses of his so-called Mitteleuropa trilogy, Sunshine or Taking Sides, Szabó has demonstrated time and again the power and vision of a filmmaker immersed in and critically engaged with a particular culture and history but also, crucially, not limited by it. I first became acquainted with the films of Szabó when I saw Mephisto, his Academy Award-winner and the first of his three films set in early twentieth-century Central Europe, many years ago and not long after it was first shown in the UK. At that time, probably in the early 1980s, Szabó’s earlier work was unknown to me. I was not then an academic, nor even a student and no more than a regular, if somewhat eclectic and dilettantish cinema-goer, certainly not immersed in the manner which I am now. An acquaintance with his other films, particularly his early works, would have to wait until I had entered, like the main protagonist of Mephisto, into my own Faustian pact. Fortunately, I have yet to be consumed in the fires of Hell. In 1983, a little late in life perhaps, I entered academia and, with a TUC (Trades Union Congress) scholarship VOEFSNZCFMU FOSPMMFEBTBTUVEFOUBU3VTLJO$PMMFHF 0YGPSE-FBWJOHUIFAESFBNJOH spires’ I then graduated from Bristol University and spent almost the whole of the v i si on s of e u rope
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1990s living and working in Hungary. There I attempted to develop my appreciation and understanding of Hungarian cinema and, although my first major focus was the work of Zoltán Fábri, anyone in a such a position could not help but be struck by the towering presence of István Szabó, and, of course, his contemporaries Miklós Jancsó and Marta Mészáros. It is only in recent years that these illustrious names have been joined and eclipsed by the genius of Béla Tarr. Given all this it was therefore really quite surprising for me to discover that, in a career spanning more than fifty years (and still going), awards too numerous to mention and much critical acclaim, there is still no major English-language study of Szabó’s work as was noted by Peter Hames in his characteristically generous review of my earlier book in the Slavic and East European Journal. There are some fine studies to be found in various FEJUFE DPMMFDUJPOT GPS FYBNQMF %BWJE 3PCJOTPO BOE 1FUFS )BNFT FYDFMMFOU FTTBZ PO Colonel Redl (2004) or David Paul’s insightful chapter on Szabó in the collection edited by Daniel J. Goulding (1998). Zoltán Dragon has more recently added to this body of literature with the translation of his work The Spectral Body: Aspects of the Cinematic Oeuvre of István Szabó XIJDI FYBNJOFT GPVS ëMNT Father, Lovefilm (Szerelmesfilm), Mephisto and Sunshine, from a Lacanian-psychoanalytical perspective (which I must confess I do not share, although reading Dragon’s work has proved stimulating and SFXBSEJOH 6OGPSUVOBUFMZ PUIFSXPSLTTVDIBT+Ø[TFG.BSYT EFUBJMFECJPHSBQIical contribution remain accessible only to those with a comprehensive understanding of Hungarian. Szabó himself has been generous with his time and numerous interviews can be found by trawling through the available literature; I too have benefitted from this generosity of spirit. Despite the richness of much of this material the present work is, I think, really the first to try and bring together most of the various strands of his life and work into one coherent whole and make it available to the English-language reader. The major omissions are any in-depth consideration of his TV work (which is not easily accessible and rarely, if ever, seen outside the country of its production) and his occasional ventures into the world of opera. Although a lover of opera I have not seen any of the performances and, just as important, have absolutely no competence in the field and, in venturing even the most cursory comments, I am fully aware of entering a minefield. As for the scope of the book, I cover Szabó’s work from his very earliest days at the Budapest Film Academy up to and including his 2012 release, The Door (Az Ajtó). To repeat some of what I said in my earlier book on Hungarian cinema, I am critical, in varying degrees, of much of contemporary film theory, particularly the ‘brand’ often referred to as ‘Continental theory’ and have attempted not to place my analysis within any particular theoretical framework. I have found the writings of Emanuel Levinas interesting and thought-provoking when considering notions of ‘otherness’ and its representation in some of Szabó’s films, and on a more general level Raymond Williams remains as inspirational today as he has been throughout most of my adult life. The work of my former colleague at Sheffield Hallam University, Professor Emeritus Tom Ryall, has provided a model of how to write about an individual director and place him/her within the history of their time; as to whether or not I have succeeded in emulating him is, of course, another question. My numerous debts to other scholars 2
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have already been noted. What is attempted in the present work is an overview of 4[BCØTXPSL DPOUFYUVBMJTJOHUIJTJOBIJTUPSJDBMQFSTQFDUJWFBMPOHXJUIBOBMZTJTPGUIF ëMNT'PSBMMBSUJTUT CVUQBSUJDVMBSMZUIPTFGSPN&BTUFSO&VSPQF *CFMJFWFDPOUFYUVBMJsation is absolutely essential, even if sometimes this is achieved, given space consideraUJPOT BUUIFFYQFOTFPGNPSFEFUBJMFEGPSNBMBOBMZTJT'VSUIFS *IBWFBUUFNQUFEUP write in a style which is open, easy to read and non-academic (however that term may CFJOUFSQSFUFE *IPQF UIFSFGPSF UIBUUIFUFYUJTBDDFTTJCMFUPTQFDJBMJTUBOEOPOTQFDJBMJTUBMJLF*CFMJFWFQBTTJPOBUFMZJOUIFFYJTUFODFPGBCSPBESFBEFSTIJQBOEBVEJFODF for serious writing on film beyond the boundaries of academia and its often deadening prose, a readership which academics ignore at their peril. Ultimately, I leave it up to UIFSFBEFS UIFëOBMKVEHFBOEKVSZCVU*IPQFOPUJOUIJTDBTF UIFFYFDVUJPOFS BTUP whether or not I have been, at least, partially successful in these aims. Before closing this introduction it is necessary to make the following observations. Certain aspects of Szabó’s career have, without doubt, evoked controversy, in particular the revelation, in early 2006, that he had been an informer for the Hungarian Secret Police after 1956. Although this book is not a biography (I abandoned this idea in the very earliest stages of the project) to ignore this seems wrong, particularly when it became such a public issue, and I have attempted to discuss this aspect of his life in Chapter 10. During the course of my research I spoke to a number of people, mainly from within the Hungarian film industry, seeking their responses, thoughts and opinions on this topic. A number of them did not wish to be quoted or named and I have, of course, respected their wishes. There is no doubt that some of what was told to me is speculative, quite QPTTJCMZFWFOXSPOHBOE*IBWFUSJFEUPFYDMVEFGSPNNZBDDPVOUUIPTFDPNNFOUTUIBU I am convinced are erroneous. Personally, I felt no desire to go into any more detail than I have, therefore this part of my book should only be regarded as a bare-bones account of what happened and an attempt, in the most general terms, to weigh up and assess a DPNQMFYTJUVBUJPO*MFBWFJUUPPUIFSXSJUFST CFUUFSFRVJQQFEUIBONF UPEFBMXJUIUIJT topic in more depth, should they feel so inclined. 0OBëOBM NPSFDIFFSGVMOPUF BMMPXNFUPSFDPVOUBTNBMMQFSTPOBMFYQFSJFODF On a trip to Turkey a few years ago I found myself in a busy street in Istanbul trying to locate a DVD shop where I could buy some Turkish films that friends had recommended that I ought to see. After quite some time spent in fruitless search under a glaring sun, I eventually stumbled across an emporium which turned out to be a cornucopia of delights. After spending far more than I could afford, loaded up with %7%T *FYJUFEUIFTIPQBOEMPPLFEVQUPTFFXIBUJUTOBNFXBT*UTFFNTFOUJSFMZ appropriate that this cineaste’s goldmine is called ‘Mephisto’. Translation and other notes Hungarian is a very difficult language and despite all my efforts I have never attained the degree of proficiency that I desire. Nevertheless, most of the translations from Hungarian are my own and where this is not the case it is noted in the usual manner. As is common practice I have reversed the Hungarian name order for the Englishlanguage reader. Hungarian capitalisation practice differs somewhat from English but BTUIJTDSFBUFTGFXQSPCMFNT*IBWFSFUBJOFEUIFPSJHJOBM"TNBMMQSPCMFNFYJTUTXJUI v i si on s of e u rope
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the names of married women where the Hungarian practice is to give the name of the IVTCBOEXJUIUIFTVïYAOÏ UIFFRVJWBMFOUPGA.ST ɨVT UBLJOHBëDUJPOBMFYBNQMF Nagy Jánosné is the wife of János Nagy. As this practice renders the woman almost anonymous I have tried to avoid it but in those cases where this has not been possible I have simply used the Hungarian form. I interviewed István Szabó on a number of occasions but I have also used records of interviews by others. Where I use material from interviews Szabó conducted with other writers I have referenced these in the customary manner. In an attempt to reduce UIFOVNCFSPGSFGFSFODFTJOUIFUFYU XIFSF*VTFNZPXOJOUFSWJFXNBUFSJBM*IBWF not followed this practice. On the whole Szabó speaks good English and this was the language we used throughout our discussions. However, in the few places where there JTBMBDLPGDMBSJUZJOIJTVTFPGDFSUBJOFYQSFTTJPOT*IBWFPDDBTJPOBMMZTVCTUJUVUFENZ own interpretation and these are indicated in square parentheses. Also, a problem on one of the interview tapes was the background noise in the Europa Café in Budapest where we usually met. This has rendered some of his words impossible to follow; again this is indicated by the use of square parentheses. In a part of the world where national boundaries have been, to put it mildly, somewhat changeable over the years, it is not unknown for a city or a town to have dual or even triple language names. In all cases I have tried to use the name by which the place is best known. Hungarian film titles can pose a problem when a particular film is distributed abroad. Film titles are sometimes changed for overseas distribution; likewise titles might also be changed when foreign films are distributed in Hungary and the changed title can bear very little resemblance to the original. Where this happens I have, again, tried to choose the title by which the film is best known. Following standard practice, films are dated from their year of release. Again, following standard practice, when a Hungarian film is first mentioned I use the English-language title followed by the Hungarian title in parentheses; any subsequent repetition uses only the English language. For non-Hungarian films I simply use the English title, unless JUTGPSFJHOMBOHVBHFUJUMFJTCFUUFSLOPXO GPSFYBNQMF Hiroshima mon amour. I also use this practice in the case of some periodicals and newspapers. There seems no point, GPSFYBNQMF JOVTJOHPeople’s Freedom for the daily newspaper Népszabadság when the Hungarian name is almost universally employed. Anyone wishing to venture into the terrain of the Hungarian language will find no shortage of teaching books and guides on the shelves of bookshops. Alas, there is no linguistic magic wand readily available, just a lot of hard work. Personally, I have always found the Routledge book and tape Colloquial Hungarian by Jerry Paine very useful.
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CHAPTER ONE
Born into the Storm
Oh, Europe, how many borders And in each of them some murderers – Atilla József, untitled poem, 1927 After watching a number of István Szabó’s films from whichever period in his life, the viewer cannot help but notice the ongoing engagement with history, with Hungary, with Central Europe, with the larger concept of Europe and its various connotations (what might be called ‘Europa’) and with the struggles and plight of individuals caught within that rich but turbulent and often violent history. History is important to Szabó and only a few of his films are contemporary, although all of them are set in the twentieth century (only the opening scenes of Sunshine and Colonel Redl are BOFYDFQUJPO ɨFIJTUPSZEFQJDUFEJOUIFTFëMNTJTBMTPUIFIJTUPSZUIBUIBTTIBQFE Central Europe as we find it today and, indeed, much of the rest of Europe. Central &VSPQF XBT UIF QMBDF XIFSF UIF 4FDPOE 8PSME 8BS TUBSUFE BOE JG XF FYUFOE PVS boundaries southward a little, also where the First World War started. It was the site of much of the Holocaust and of the various tensions of the Cold War, not least the BOUJ4PWJFUFYQMPTJPOJO)VOHBSZJO5PBMBSHFFYUFOUUIJTJTBMTP4[BCØTIJTUPSZ and some of his films, particularly Father and Sunshine, contain numerous autobiographical elements, although Szabó has often played this down in discussions. It is therefore entirely appropriate to begin with a few biographical and historical details, for Szabó is, to borrow the title of Michael Tippets’ 1944 oratorio, very much ‘a child of our time’. That turbulent history to which I have alluded struck down many millions; for the most part in Central Europe these were the ‘other’: the Jews, the dispossessed, the minorities, the weak and, as Leon Trotsky (also, like Szabó from an assimilated Jewish v i si on s of e u rope
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background) asks in the opening paragraph of his autobiography, ‘Life strikes the weak – and who is weaker than a child?’ (1975: 1). Fortunately, weak though he may have been as a child, István Szabó, unlike many of his contemporaries, managed to survive some of the most terrible events in recorded human history, despite being thrust into the hell of war and the Holocaust at a very early age. When Szabó was born on 18 February 1938, in the Hungarian capital Budapest, the war clouds were already forming over Europe. It is difficult to imagine a more inauspicious time to be born nor a more potentially dangerous place to be born in, particularly for someone from a Jewish background. Just four weeks after his birth, the /B[JTBOOFYFEOFJHICPVSJOH"VTUSJB JOUIFNPWFNFOULOPXOBTUIF"OTDIMVTT BOE Hungary’s western neighbour became an openly fascist state. Alarm bells rang in some ears; just five days before Szabó’s birth Hungary’s most famous composer Béla Bartók wrote to a friend in Basle of ‘the imminent danger that Hungary will surrender to this regime of thieves and murderers’ adding that he would ‘feel it my duty to emigrate, so long as that were possible’ (Demény 1971: 267). One of Szabó’s central protagonists, the German conductor Wilhelm Furtwängler, is forced to contemplate a similar dilemma in the film Taking Sides though he ultimately takes a different path to that of Bartók. In September 1938 the Nazis marched into the Sudetenland in Czechoslovakia and two months later the wave of anti-semitic violence, known as Kristallnacht, swept through Germany as synagogues were attacked, Jewish shops looted and houses burned. In Hungary developments did not move with such painful and speedy momentum but all was not well. Head of State, Regent Miklós Horthy, invited Béla Imrédy to form a new government. Previous administrations had already embarked on an alliance with Nazi Germany and Imrédy, accompanied by the Regent, visited Hitler thus affirming the QSP"YJTUSBKFDUPSZPGIJTHPWFSONFOU/PUDPOUFOUXJUIDPTZJOHVQUPUIF'àISFSUIF new government passed the first of a series of anti-Jewish legislation. Law XV enacted on 29 May 1938, better known as the First Anti-Jewish Law, was an ominous sign for Hungary’s Jewish population, but possibly one which the Szabó family felt posed OPJNNFEJBUFUISFBU)JTGBNJMZ XJUIUIFFYDFQUJPOPGTPNFPGUIFPMEFSNFNCFST had converted to Catholicism around the time of the First World War (see Suleiman 2008: 3) and in this respect the family were part of a well-established and widespread assimilatory trend which could be found throughout Central Europe dating back to the middle and late nineteenth century and was particularly pronounced in Budapest. As the historian Paul Hanebrink points out, ‘Budapest was home to one of the largest Jewish communities in Hungary, an assimilated group comprising some 20% of the city’s population’ (2006: 78–9). As an aside it is worth noting that, strictly speaking, Szabó was not Jewish, as both his parents, being converts themselves, were non-Jews. However, as the political situation deteriorated and the rightward drift in Hungarian society became more pronounced, such considerations became increasingly irrelevant and ultimately meaningless. As time went on the ‘thieves and murderers’ of Bartók’s denunciation demonstrated their incapability or unwillingness to make distinctions between converts, assimilated Jews and those Jews who held on to their religious beliefs and practices. 6
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In August 1938, French Prime Minister Edouard Daladier and his British counterpart Neville Chamberlain, signed the infamous Munich agreement with Hitler buying &VSPQF BO FYUSB UXFMWF NPOUIT QFBDF ɨFSF XBT B IJHI QSJDF UP QBZ IPXFWFS BT first the Sudetenland, and then the rest of Czechoslovakia was thrown to the dogs. Hungary was quick to feast on the leftovers and Hungarian forces occupied much of South Slovakia (known in Hungarian as the Felvidék), an area containing a sizeable Hungarian minority, earning it a reputation, in some quarters at least, as the ‘Jackal of Central Europe’ (see Eby 1998: 13). In the following year the Hungarian government followed the policies of its predecessors, maintaining and deepening the alliance XJUIUIF/B[JTBOEUPBMFTTFSFYUFOU.VTTPMJOJT*UBMZ*O'FCSVBSZ)VOHBSZKPJOFE the Anti-Comintern Pact, then, in the following month, resigned from the League of Nations and in May, the anti-semitic screw was tightened further with the passage of the Second Anti-Jewish Law. On 1 September 1939, the Nazis invaded Poland; two days later Britain and France declared war and the Second World War had begun. This would be enough for most people to endure in a lifetime (yet worse was to come) and István Szabó was not even two years old. Initially the war did not directly impinge on Hungary and as the Nazi tanks rolled across Europe the government maintained a formally neutral stance, even allowing Polish refugees to pass through its territory. However, it was only a matter of time before the lights went out – to use Chamberlain’s famous and very apt phrase – in this small nation of around ten million, as they had already done in much of the rest of Europe. There was little at the time to indicate to the majority of the population that the nation would, within a couple of years, be plunged into war and chaos. Hungarian newsreels (Magyar film hiradó – Hungarian Film News) of the late 1930s show a nation at play: a hairdressing competition at Budapest’s plush Gellert Hotel; the Hungarian aristocracy, accompanied by members of the government, hunting deer and wild boar; an ice-skating festival in Budapest; and, somewhat bizarrely, the latest craze to hit the USA – mud-wrestling. Only the occasional item showing German naval manoeuvres or the Italian airforce demonstrating its latest hardware, suggest that, perhaps, all is not well in the world. For many Budapest people, at least for the middle and upper classes, life looked relatively good. Despite the shock and trauma of defeat, the post-First World War regime of Regent Horthy, a former Navy Admiral now head of state in a land-locked country, provided a degree of political stability and some prosperity, although this was accompanied by a steady rightward drift in political and social life. This situation was FYBDFSCBUFECZUIFXFBLOFTTPGUIFPQQPTJUJPO OPUBCMZUIF4PDJBM%FNPDSBUT XIJMF the Communist party had been banned after the failed 1919 Workers Council RevoMVUJPOBOEPQFSBUFEGSPNFYJMFPS QSFDBSJPVTMZ BTBNJOJTDVMFVOEFSHSPVOEHSPVQJOH with very limited support from any section of the population. Hungarian governments of the inter-war years were decidedly right of centre, nationalistic, anti-semitic and authoritarian in varying degrees but never fascist, despite later Stalinist propaganda. Vehemently anti-Communist as they were, they also managed, for most of the period, UPLFFQUIFNPSFPVUXBSEMZYFOPQIPCJDBOEGBTDJTUJDGSJOHFPG)VOHBSJBOQPMJUJDT BU least partially, in check. There was an indigenous fascist movement, consisting of a v i si on s of e u rope
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number of often warring groups and sects. Some of these were cobbled together in March 1939 to form the Arrow Cross Party (Nyilaskeresztes Párt) under the leadership of former army officer Ferenc Szallasi. History, which often focuses on the dying months of the fascist movement in Hungary (particulary the siege of Budapest), can sometimes give the impression that the Arrow Cross were just a bunch of ill-educated, louts and psychopaths. The reality is somewhat different for the Arrow Cross had a substantial base of support, winning many votes in the former socialist-inclined working-class districts of Budapest. Overall it won 25% of the vote in the National elections in May 1939, giving it 31 seats in Parliament (see Lendvai 2003: 416). It is probably true to say that Horthy and most government ministers kept the fascists at arm’s length; in fact they imprisoned Szallasi twice – for three months in 1937 and for three years from 1938 (see Romsics 1999: 185) – but in order to maintain this political distancing they had to move constantly to the right as they attempted to prevent themselves being politically outflanked. Away from the often grubby world of Hungarian domestic politics, there was much to keep the general population occupied and to distract attention from the gathering political storm clouds. Cinema-going was the most popular leisure activity and audiences flocked to see the latest offerings from Hollywood and, depending on the gender of the spectator, to ogle at Hungarian heart throb Pál Jávor (a Magyar David Niven/ Douglas Fairbanks) or pin-up girl Katalin Karady (who bore a passing resemblance to Joan Crawford). Theatre audiences saw plays by Ferenc Molnár, Kálmán Miksáth and others, while operettas also remained popular. The working class watched their favourite football teams, the formidable MTK (once coached by Englishman Jimmy Hogan), their great rivals Ferencváros, or one of the many other teams in and around Budapest. Others went to one of the many Budapest thermal baths and pools but only the wealthy could afford to travel abroad, often spending their summers at such favoured destinations as the Italian resort of Abbazzia (now Opatija in Croatia). Car ownership was very limited and only a dream for most people. Solace, however, could be found at the cinema where one of the most popular films of the 1930s was Dream Car (Meseautó), directed by Béla Gaál. Cars were so rare that the few owners had little trouble adjusting to a new law which ordered driving on the right-hand side of the road as Hungary fell into line with the new (Nazi introduced) policy in neighbouring Austria. Amateur film clubs flourished and those Hungarians who could afford it purchased UIFMBUFTU;FJTT.PWJLPO,PSBO"HGB.PWFY#Z SBEJPTXFSFSFHJTtered in Hungary (television would only arrive in the mid-1950s) and about one in seven of the Budapest population was paying for a radio licence (see Romsics 1999: 180), although radio ownership in the countryside was considerably lower. Those who had a radio might listen on Sunday mornings to the anti-semitic ravings of the Protestant Bishop László Ravasz (see Porter 2008: 37) but no doubt some preferred the fairly high-brow diet of classical music, drama and readings of channels Budapest I and II, the former also offering jazz and two ten-minute slots of sport per day. Reading tastes were catered for by a wide range of magazines, journals and newspapers, from the intellectual A Toll (The Pen) and Nyugat (West – replaced in 1941 by the Magyar Csillag [Hungarian Star]) to the more downmarket Szinhazi Magazin (Theatre 8
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Magazine) or Rádió Ujság (Radio News). Newspapers such as Pesti Hírlap (Pest Newspaper), Uj Nemzedek (New Generation) and Pesti Napló (Pest Daily) flourished and, in all, there were 1,934 newspapers and periodicals printed in Hungary in 1938 (see Romsics 1999: 174). Many of these publications would be read by journalists, socialites, writers and businessmen in Budapest’s thriving coffee-houses, convivial places where the ‘chattering classes’ would thrash out the issues of the day (or at least give UIFNTFMWFTUIFJMMVTJPOUIBUUIJTXBTUIFDBTF BOEFYDIBOHFHPTTJQPWFSBDVQPGDPêFF PSBHMBTTPGPOFPG)VOHBSZTNBOZFYDFMMFOUXJOFT:FU)VOHBSZXBTBDPVOUSZPG often sharp contrasts. It was only a relatively short train journey eastwards but out on the Great Hungarian Plain the prosperity and sophistication of the Budapest middle classes stood in sharp contrast to the grinding poverty and illiteracy of the countryside where impoverished smallholders and landless labourers struggled to make ends meet in a social and economic environment which still bore the traces of feudalism. This was the world described by the writer Zsigmond Móricz or the so-called Village-writers or Populists, as ‘the stormy corner’ where life was hard, brutal and often cheap.1 Budapest is one of the most beautiful European capital cities. A place where peoples BOEDVMUVSFTIBWFNFUBOENJYFE BOETPNFUJNFTDMBTIFE GPSIVOESFETPGZFBST0ïcially the city came into being in 1873 when Buda, Obuda and Pest (the former two on the western bank of the Danube, the latter on the east) were amalgamated. From the late nineteenth century to the end of the First World War – the final years of the Austro-Hungarian Empire – Budapest became a major centre of industry, science, arts and culture. It was a position which declined somewhat after the First World War but even so it was and still remains the centre of Hungarian life, culture and the arts, dominating the country in a way that few other European capitals do. It is probably true that at first the Szabó family felt no immediate threat to their livelihood and well-being. Despite being born in Budapest, István was to spend much PGUIFëSTUTJYZFBSTPGIJTMJGFJOUIFNJOJOHUPXOPG5BUBCÈOZB BQQSPYJNBUFMZLN west of Budapest, where his grandfather, Dr. Emil Vita, had a medical practice. The doctor was particularly well-known in the area as their first doctor and the man responsible for establishing the public baths. It was a happy time: ‘I think my childhood was very beautiful. Certainly the first five years were wonderful’, he recollected in BOJOUFSWJFX .BSY 4[BCØTGBUIFSXBTBMTPBEPDUPSBOEUIFGBNJMZMJWFEJO modest prosperity in Budapest and were one of a large number of assimilated professional families. Szabó has often remarked that if he had not become a filmmaker he would have been a doctor nevertheless the family tradition in medicine was to leave its mark on him, even though he chose a radically different career path. In a number of his films doctors play prominent roles and in three of his four acting appearances (some of which are relatively brief ), he appears as a doctor. Jews, assimilated or otherwise (but overwhelmingly the former), played a vital role in the life of the metropolis; they occupied positions in business, the legal profession, journalism, the arts, academia and medicine. Indeed, it is certainly the case that without Jewish input in so many varied areas of cultural, social and economic life Hungary would not have been the country it was. In particular Budapest would not have been one of the centres of art and culture in Central Europe in the early part of v i si on s of e u rope
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the twentieth century. Some key industries were owned by Jews – the huge Manfred 8FJTTJSPOXPSLTPO$TFQFM*TMBOEGPSFYBNQMFoXIJMF'FSFOD,PSJO UIFIFBEPGBO JOEVTUSJBMBOEëOBODJBMDPNQMFYXBTUIFDPVOUSZTMFBEJOHCVTJOFTTNBO"MUIPVHIJO the 1920s and 1930s successive Hungarian governments had not made life easy for +FXTUIFSFXBT XJUIPOFOPUBCMFFYDFQUJPO OPPVUSJHIUBOUJTFNJUJDMFHJTMBUJPOVOUJM 1938. Assimilation was seen by many Hungarian Jews as the passport to acceptance, security and prosperity and, as the poet Heinrich Heine once remarked, ‘the baptism certificate is the admission ticket to European culture’ (quoted in Lendvai 2003: 346). As a result of this widespread and apparently successful assimilation, Hungary, for many years, was considered a safe place for Jews. It is almost as if there was an informal pact between the state and its Jewish citizens. The latter would abandon many aspects of their customs and religion and assimilate while the former guaranteed their access to some of the levels of power, social status, wealth and respectability. However, the fragility BOEVMUJNBUFMZUIFIPMMPXOFTTPGUIJTBTTVNQUJPOXBTUPCFESBNBUJDBMMZFYQPTFEJO the inter-war years and particularly during the Second World War, something which Szabó’s film Sunshine addresses in a very direct and quite detailed manner. 0SUIPEPY+FXSZIBEBQSFTFODFCVUBTTJNJMBUFE+FXTXFSFEPNJOBOUXIJMFOPO mainstream forms of Judaic practice, such as Hassidism, were confined to the margins and found mainly in the more remote areas of Transylvania, the former Hungarian territory lost to Romania after the end of the First World War. Between the wars the social climate in Hungary became increasingly anti-semitic, fuelled partly by rightwing resentments against the perceived preponderance of Jews in left-wing movements and the emergence of the classic scapegoat phenomenon where the Jews were held responsible for the failure to hold on to ‘Greater Hungary’, dismembered by the Treaty of Trianon after the First World War.2 As one of the characters in Sunshine remarks, anti-semitism was a ‘philosophy of philistines’; alas, it was the philistines who increasingly ruled the roost. The First Anti-Jewish Law (Law XV) was enacted in May 1938, although there had been a much earlier law – the Numerus Clausus – passed in 1920 and designed primarily to restrict Jewish entry into the Universities, something it singularly failed to do as the number of Jewish students actually increased in the 1920s and 1930s. The Numerus Clausus fell into disuse, partly due to international criticism; unfortunately the same cannot be said for the1938 Law. The Law limited Jewish participation in business, the legal profession and the entertainment industry but overall its impact was perhaps limited, not least by the ambivalence of Horthy and a number of his cohort who knew that the Jews were important to the Hungarian economy. Horthy’s attitude towards Hungarian Jewry was ambiguous. Stories abound of his friendly relations with key Jewish families, yet he appears to have done little to stem the rise of anti-semitism in this crucial period, nor did he resist the ever-growing alignment with Nazi Germany (despite his well-attested personal loathing for Hitler), and as the 1930s progressed it is true to say that the situation began to slip increasingly out of whatever control or influence he had.3 When the Nazi tanks rolled into Poland in September 1939 few realised that the Nazi-Hungarian alliance, over which Horthy, perhaps reluctantly presided, was to spell disaster for his country and the almost total destruction of a way of life. 10
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Viewed in retrospect and at a historical distance the events that followed had an BMNPTU JOFYPSBCMF MPHJD ɨF )VOHBSJBO HPWFSONFOU SFGVTFE UP BMMPX (FSNBO USPPQT to use Hungarian territory in their attack on Poland (Hungary having now acquired, UISPVHI UFSSJUPSJBM BOOFYBUJPOT B TIPSU DPNNPO CPSEFS XJUI 1PMBOE CVU DPOUJOVFE to pursue an increasingly anti-semitic policy at home. Economically Hungary was now UJFEUPUIFɨJSE3FJDIBOEXBTBNBKPSFYQPSUFSPGBHSJDVMUVSBMBOEPUIFSHPPETBOE raw materials, for which the Nazi government frequently did not pay. In the corridors of Budapest’s elegant Parliament building diplomats and politicians were divided, admirers of the Nazis were easy to find, but Anglophilia was also a strong current both in government circles and academia. Many writers, such as Antal Szerb and Sándor Marai, were notable Anglophiles. Nevertheless, the desire to regain the territories lost at the Treaty of Trianon, particularly Transylvania, overrode most alignments and sentiments, national or international. Given that Hungary on its own could do little – Hungarian irredentism was once derided by the writer László Németh as ‘sabre-rattling without the sabre’ (see Sándor 1997: 11) – many were drawn into the Nazi embrace, now the only power that could arbitrate on issues of territoriality and sovereignty in Central and Eastern Europe. The dark side of this Faustian pact, a theme which recurs in a number of Szabó’s films, most obviously in Mephisto, was overlooked or ignored by many when, following the First Vienna Award on 2 November 1938, Hungarian troops occupied (or liberated, depending on your point of view) territory previously lost at Trianon. The Felvidék, the southern part of Slovakia, was the first area to be taken over. This was followed by the occupation of Sub-Carpathian Ruthenia in March 1939. The Second Vienna Award on 30 August 1940 returned a huge chunk of Transylvania to Hungarian sovereignty, since the Treaty of Trianon a part of Romania. Regent Horthy used the opportunity to mount, yet again, his famous white horse and lead his ill-equipped and unopposed army, this time through the streets of Kolosvár (Cluj Napoca), where cheering crowds (of Hungarians) lined the streets. The occupation of surrounding territories was so great that by the end of 1941, Hungary had increased its territory from 93,073 to 171,753 square kilometres (see Romsics 1999: 204). To some, the pact with the Nazis was now paying dividends. )VOHBSZT QPTJUJPO IPXFWFS XBT CFDPNJOH JODSFBTJOHMZ DPNQMFY BOE EJïDVMU not helped by the rapidity of change at the top level of government. Béla Imrédy lasted barely a year, being replaced by the most Anglophile of Hungarian Prime Ministers, Count Pál Teleki, a conservative, Head of the Boy Scouts movement in Hungary, but also deeply anti-semitic. Committed to maintaining Hungarian independence and UPBWPJEJOHXBSIFUPPLIJTPXOMJGFXIFO"YJTUSPPQTDSPTTFE)VOHBSJBOUFSSJUPSZ to invade Yugoslavia shortly after Hungary had signed a friendship pact with their neighbour to the south. A few days later Hungarian troops would join in the attack on Yugoslavia and occupy those areas where a Hungarian minority lived – around Szabadka (Subotica in Serbia) and Újvidék (Novi Sad in Serbia) as well as small areas in Croatia and Slovenia. The die was now well and truly cast. Into Teleki’s shoes stepped László Bárdossy and it was he who crossed the Rubicon by presiding over the suicidal decision to join the Nazis in their attack on the Soviet Union (Operation Barbarossa commenced on 22 June 1941). This decision was partly provoked v i si on s of e u rope
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by an unmarked aircraft which dropped some bombs on the city of Kassa (Kosice in QSFTFOUEBZ 4MPWBLJB ɨF BJSDSBGU XFSF QFSDFJWFE UP CF 4PWJFU CVU UIFSF TUJMM FYJTUT some doubt as to their origin. On 7 December, apparently at Stalin’s insistence, Britain declared war on Hungary, followed a week later by Hungary’s declaration of war on the USA, much to the puzzlement and bemusement of White House staff. Rarely in history can tragedy and farce have been so intermingled. 'SPNFWFSZTUBOEQPJOUJNBHJOBCMF UIFEFDJTJPOUPKPJOUIF"YJTBUUBDLPOUIF4PWJFU Union was a disaster but it was now time to repay Hitler. The Devil now demanded payment of the bill, yet Hungary was a debtor that was ill-prepared and ill-equipped to respond. Its ability and potential to wage a long and demanding war was limited JOUIFFYUSFNFɨF)VOHBSJBO"SNZMBDLFEBEFRVBUFUSBJOJOH XBTQPPSMZFRVJQQFE and suffered dreadfully in the terrible conditions on the Eastern Front; morale was low and there was little overt enthusiasm at the front or back home for a war that many thought was none of Hungary’s business. Initially some 40,000 Hungarian troops joined the Blitzkrieg on the Soviet Union but by the end of 1941, when the Nazi offensive had become bogged down at the gates of Leningrad, Moscow and Stalingrad, Hitler demanded more troops. The early part of 1942 saw a huge mobilisation and some 207,000 were in position by the end of the summer. The winter was especially harsh and the Hungarian troops were ill-prepared for either sustained conflict or the FYUSFNJUJFT PG UIF 3VTTJBO XJOUFS XIFO UFNQFSBUVSFT SFBDIFE BT MPX BT ¦ ɨFZ had few anti-tank guns, a vital component in this increasingly mechanised war, while provision of food and other vital supplies was often erratic. Defending a 200-kilometre front just south of Voronezh they suffered huge losses when a Soviet offensive broke through their lines in January 1943. As news of the catastrophe filtered through to Hungary, often via the broadcasts of the BBC, some people started to realise the enormous price they would now have to pay for the alliance with Nazi Germany. Conditions at home deteriorated. As early as September 1941 bread and flour was rationed, followed by milk in May 1942 and meat in January 1943, while the distribution of fuel was already tightly controlled (see Romsics 1999: 207). To add to the gloom, the Allied Air Forces – the Americans during the day, the British at night – began to bomb selected targets in Hungary, particularly in the Budapest region; Hungarians now became accustomed to the blackout and air raids became common occurrences. There was much to grumble about, although eye witnesses bear testimony that many Budapest citizens seemed remarkably unaware of the approach of the Red Army. One such witness was future film director Karoly Makk, then a young man who arrived in Budapest in 1944. The son of a cinema projectionist in the countryside, in the ‘big city’ for the first time, he once told me how he found little evidence of any military threat and that everyone appeared surprisingly calm and peaceful. Even when Budapest came under direct siege there appeared to be a reluctance on the part of NBOZJOUIFQPQVMBUJPOUPBDDFQUSFBMJUZ TFF GPSFYBNQMF 6OHWÈSZ The Soviet victory at Stalingrad was the major turning point in the war on the Eastern Front and from this time on the German Army, along with the remnants of UIF)VOHBSJBO"SNZ XFSFJO NPSFPSMFTT DPOUJOVPVTSFUSFBU"OYJPVTUPTBWFTPNFthing out of the deepening catastrophe, Hungarian diplomats began to seek talks with 12
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the Allies to conclude a separate peace which would get Hungary out of the war. These attempts came to nothing, partly because of Hungarian insistence on maintaining present borders, something which the Allies would not contemplate. With numerous /B[JTZNQBUIJTFSTJOQPTJUJPOTPGQPXFSBOEXJUIJUTFYUFOTJWFTQZOFUXPSLJO)VOHBSZ Hitler was soon alerted. Alarmed at the increasing unreliability of its ally, the Nazis put in motion Operation Margarethe and occupied Hungary on 19 March 1944. For Budapest’s Jewish population what hope there was dwindled rapidly. A Second Anti-Jewish Law was introduced on 4 May 1939 creating even more restrictions for the Jewish population. The Third and final Anti-Jewish Law (introduced on 8 August XBT BSHVBCMZ UIFNPTUA/B[JPGBMMoNBSSJBHFBOETFYVBMSFMBUJPOTCFUXFFO Jews and non-Jews were branded as ‘racial pollution’ (see Romsics 1999: 207) and all Jewish property was confiscated. To add to this burden of suffering many Jewish men, BMUIPVHIFYDMVEFEGSPNNJMJUBSZTFSWJDF IBECFFODPOTDSJQUFEJOUP-BCPVS#BUBMMJPOT for some time. They were often dispatched to the front to perform backbreaking work on inadequate rations, in all weathers and often under fire. It is estimated that between 25–30,000 were conscripted in this way, of which only around 6–7,000 survived. With the occupation of the country by the Nazis the situation for Jews became absolutely desperate. In the wake of the Wehrmacht came Adolf Eichmann’s Sonderkommando (SS Special Units) whose main purpose was to implement the Nazi’s Final Solution. The repression against Jews took a symbolic but also very visible turn when, on 31 March 1944, less than two weeks into the occupation, the authorities ordered the compulsory wearing of the yellow Star of David on outer garments. Jews had to undergo a form of house arrest, only being allowed out for two hours a day to purchase provisions but even this limited concession became redundant when, from the middle of May, ghettoes were established for all Budapest’s Jewish population. Empty Jewish apartments and property were given to Christians or taken over by the authorities; looting and theft were widespread. %FQPSUBUJPOTPG+FXTCFHBOJO.BZBOEDPOUJOVFEGPSBCPVUTJYXFFLT*UJTFTUJmated that between 15 May and 8 July around 435,000 Jews were transported to, primarily, Auschwitz before the practice was stopped by the intervention of Horthy. (This is the figure for the whole of Hungarian territory as it stood in the summer of 1944; the figure for Budapest is around 10,000. It does not include those who died in forced labour. See Stark 1993: 134–43 for a more detailed breakdown.) Quite why Horthy intervened in this way is not known for sure but it is likely that he was prompted by the news of the Allied landings in Normandy (6 June 1944). By the middle of 1944, with the Western Allies established on the European mainland and the Soviet Army at the borders of Hungary, the writing was now on the wall for the Nazis. It would only be a matter of time before the Third Reich collapsed and the thought must surely have been in the back of the Regent’s mind that he might be put on trial for war crimes (he did later appear, briefly, at the Nuremburg Trials). On 27 August, units of the Red Army crossed the border into Hungary through the Oituz Pass. The situation was now moving rapidly towards chaos. The Nazis leaned on Horthy to appoint Szallasi as head of state and although he complied, and at the same time resigned his post, this did not prevent a Nazi Commando unit abducting the v i si on s of e u rope
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Regent who, after ruling over Hungary for almost 25 years, was taken away to Germany and held as a prisoner in Dachau where eventually he was discovered by American forces. )FXBTUPEJFJOFYJMFJO1PSUVHBMBOEOFWFSUPTFFIJTIPNFMBOEBHBJO"MUIPVHI4[BMMBTJ UIF)VOHBSJBO'àISFS XBTCZNPTUBDDPVOUTSFMBUJWFMZTBOF JUEJEBQQFBSBTJGUIFMVOBUJD was now in charge of the madhouse. Budapest descended into chaos and all indications are that Szallasi, by this point, had little control over sections of his followers, many of whom became increasingly ill-disciplined and murderous. What followed was a nightmare of destruction, random killings and brutality. Thousands of Jews were taken from the ghettoes and killed, many of them being drowned in the Danube. Despite the efforts of such people as the Swedish diplomat Raoul Wallenberg, the Swiss Consul, Carl Lutz, who arranged fake passports and other documentation for Jews (see Tschuy 2000), or, more controversially, the dealings of Rezső Kasztner (see Porter 2008), many thousands perished in a reign of terror instituted by often uncontrolled bands of Arrow Cross thugs. The killing became so wanton that even the Nazi military command protested that it was distracting from the tasks necessary to defend the city from the Red Army. In at least one case a Nazi officer actually saved Jews from FYFDVUJPOCZUIF"SSPX$SPTT TFF6OHWÈSZ Although militarily speaking the rationale for defending the city was highly questionable, Hitler insisted that it be defended to the last man and it was only in the final days of the siege that the German military command (ignoring Hitler’s orders) attempted to break out of the encirclement, an action which resulted in almost their entire remaining force being wiped out. The siege of Budapest began on 29 October and lasted 108 days (see Ungváry 2005: 311). Despite the hopelessness of their situation, the German Army fought doggedly and the city was defended house by house, street by street, causing enormous destruction and loss of life, both of the civilian and military populations, Soviet, German and Hungarian. Partly as a result of the intense fighting in and around Budapest, Hungarian fatalities in the Second World War were, as a proportion of the total population, among the highest recorded (see Kenez 2006: 12). &TDBQJOHGSPNUIFFODJSDMFEDJUZXBTFYUSFNFMZIB[BSEPVTUPTBZUIFMFBTUBOEUIPTF who attempted could be fired on by both Soviet and Nazi troops. Often the only way to survive was to hide in cellars and, for Jewish families, to hope that neighbours would not inform the local Arrow Cross. The Szabó family spent much of this time in hiding and with the help of friends escaped both deportation and the attention of the fascist death squads. Szabó’s grandfather and grandmother (on his mother’s side) XFSFQVUJOUIFHIFUUPBOENBOBHFEUPTVSWJWFCVUPUIFSNFNCFSTPGUIFFYUFOEFE family perished in the Holocaust (see Suleiman 2008). The young István went into hiding in a boys’ orphanage from the summer of 1944 through to February 1945. Echoes and reflections of these traumatic events can be found in a number of his films; in Father, 25 Fireman’s Street and Sunshine BOE BMUIPVHI 4[BCØ XBT POMZ TJY JO UIF winter of 1944–45, clearly these terrible times left a deep impression on him, even if the specific memories may be hazy at best. The survivors emerged from their cellars and hiding places to find a city almost totally devastated. Yet the worst was not over, having survived the rigours of the siege of Budapest the Szabó family had to endure another terrible hardship. 14
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CHAPTER TWO
Growing Up, Film School and 1956
Then, one fine day, you’re sitting there with them viewing the rushes of their first film. And among all the stuttering scenes you occasionally notice a spark of knowledge and talent. – Károly Makk As the last shots echoed through a war-torn Europe and the Red Army pursued the Nazis and their few remaining hard-core Hungarian allies to Vienna, the people of Budapest began to rebuild their city and their shattered lives. Tragically, at this very moment, when everyone hoped for a new beginning, Szabó’s father died on 3 April, only 34 years old. ‘My father died just after the war [officially, the Second World War in Europe ended with German unconditional surrender on 7 May] of an illness he had caught from one of his patients. He got diphtheria in the spring of 1945 when I was POMZTJYZFBSTPME 4[BCØ TQFBLJOHPOUIF#SJUJTIBSUT57QSPHSBNNFThe South Bank Show, 12 February 1989). In his film Father Szabó revisits this loss and the weight of its legacy while also making the point that he was not the only one to have lost a GBUIFS UIBUUIJTXBTJOEFFEUIFFYQFSJFODFPGNBOZJOIJTHFOFSBUJPOɨFSFNBJOJOH family, Szabó, his mother and sister (his only sibling), then went to live in Ferencváros (a district in Pest probably best known for its football team), with his grandmother on his mother’s side. At one point there was the possibility of emigrating to the USA as Szabó’s mother’s uncle was well-established in New York. However, nothing came of this; despite a good command of English and an education which included a period of study in London, she had no wish to leave Hungary (see Suleiman 2008). After a couple of years she was able to buy an apartment and the family moved again. Szabó went to school at a Gymnazium, initially aiming to follow the family tradition and become a doctor. v i si on s of e u rope
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Szabó’s childhood was spent living through some of the darkest days in Hungary’s already tortured twentieth century. But the end of the war promised change and initially there were signs that Hungary might follow something like the leftist social democratic path of Sweden or post-war Britain and, as in many European countries, there was a strong feeling that there could be no return to the dark days of the 1930s. Any optimism, however, proved unfounded. The Hungarian Communist Party, although small and hampered by a leadership that had spent much of the inter-war years in fruitless internecine warfare and fratricide in Moscow, was able to manipulate an electoral victory in 1948, although this could not have been achieved without the backing and active support of the occupying Soviet forces. Rapidly, a one-party state was established and industries big and small were nationalised. Significantly, for the purposes of this study, the film industry was among those nationalised (along Soviet lines) and a Film Academy (modelled somewhat after the famous VGIK Film School in Moscow) was also established. Hungary fell under the control of the Soviet Union and, using the jargon of the Cold War, became part of the ‘Eastern Bloc’. The aspiration to follow his father into the medical profession underwent its first DIBMMFOHFTPNFUJNFXIFO4[BCØXBTBSPVOETJYUFFOɨFPQQPSUVOJUZUPBDUJOBTDIPPM drama sparked an interest in the theatre and offered a different vision of what his future might be, possibly directing or writing for the stage. Other factors also emerged at this time. New Hungarian film directors appeared and began to challenge the prevailing Socialist Realist model which had held back Hungarian filmmaking for so long. Around this time Szabó also read The Visible Man, or Film Culture – a major work, originally published in German in 1924, by the prominent Hungarian film theoretician and artist Béla Balázs, one of the many who had returned to Hungary after the cessation of hostilities. Szabó became a regular cinema-goer and this is reflected in many of his films where the institution of cinema and cinema-going feature, in various ways. Early in 1956 Zoltán Fábri released his enormously popular film Merry-Go-Round (Körhinta) which captured the mood of the times with its dynamism and zest for life and was ‘a revelaUJPOUP4[BCØ TFF.BSY ɨFSFXBTBHSPXJOHGFFMJOHGPSDIBOHFJOTPDJFUZBU large and specifically for Szabó the pattern of his life was soon established when, against strong competition, he successfully applied for a place on the Film Directing course at the Budapest Academy of Drama and Film for the 1956 intake. Film direction had only been relatively recently established back in 1946, by Béla Balázs and others, at what was then the Actor’s Academy (founded in 1865). In 1948 it became the Academy of Drama and Film and a Department of Cinematography was added in 1949 (under the tutelage of master cinematographer György Illés). With its intensive five-year course the Academy was a demanding and elite establishment. Each year hundreds of young hopefuls would apply but of these only a tiny fraction XFSF TVDDFTTGVM UIF OVNCFS WBSZJOH GSPN ZFBS UP ZFBS ɨF FOUSBODF FYBNJOBUJPOT and requirements were daunting and designed to be so. There were three strands to the selection process; photography, writing about films, and discussing literature, film BOE UIF PUIFS BSUT XJUI UIF FYBNJOJOH CPBSE &WFOUVBMMZ TJYUFFO DBOEJEBUFT PVU PG BOJOJUJBMUPUBMPGTJYIVOESFE XFSFTIPSUMJTUFEBOEUIFMBTUDPNQPOFOUJOUIFQSPDFTT XBTBEJTDVTTJPOXJUIUIFIJHIMZSFTQFDUFE'ÏMJY.ÈSJÈTTZ DIJFGUVUPSBUUIF"DBEFNZ 16
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Szabó was one of ten finally accepted and joined the class of Mariássy and his deputy Károly Makk (all annual intakes were assigned a particular teacher) in the auspicious year of 1956. Alongside him were Zsolt Kézdi-Kovács, Pál Gábor, Imre Gyöngyössy, Zoltán Huszárik (whose time at the Academy was by no means straight forward), Ferenc Kardos, János Rózsa, the two female students Éva Kármentő and Judit Elek, and the Bulgarian Eduard (‘Edu’) Zaheriev, the only non-Hungarian. The ‘Group’, as they sometimes refer to themselves, met in a café, the Mátyássy Pince, just after news of their acceptance was announced and together they took the unusual step of making a pledge – to stick together and to help each other in their filmmaking endeavours in this industry which was notorious for its cutthroat ‘sink or swim’ mentality and individualistic attitudes. Of particular importance in the Group was Imre Gyöngyössy XIPXBTPMEFSBOENPSFFYQFSJFODFEUIBOUIFPUIFST)FXBTFJHIUZFBST4[BCØTTFOJPS (at just 18, Szabó was the youngest of the cohort) and earlier had fallen foul of the Rákosi regime and spent a few years in prison, which no doubt added to his standing and general ‘kudos’. Meetings and gatherings of one kind or another would often take place in his flat and he became the unofficial provider and ‘father figure’ for the Group nourished by his mother’s frequent food parcels from the countryside. Not surprisJOHMZ4[BCØTTUVEJFTBUUIF'JMN"DBEFNZXFSFUPEPNJOBUFUIFOFYUëWFZFBSTPGIJT MJGFUPUIFFYDMVTJPOPG BMNPTU FWFSZUIJOHFMTF Now it is necessary to make a brief ‘jump’ forward in time. At the 2007 Hungarian Film Week (Filmszemle) Szabó was given a special Lifetime Achievement Award. His BDDFQUBODFTQFFDIDPOTJTUFEPGKVTUUXPXPSETA'ÏMJY.ÈSJÈTTZ UIJT JOJUTFMG JTBOBNQMF EFNPOTUSBUJPOPGUIFFTUFFNJOXIJDIIJTUFBDIFSXBTIFME"T4[BCØFYQMBJOFEUPNF later: ‘There was no need to say anything else; everyone there understood.’ Máriássy (who was 47 years old in 1956) was hugely important for Szabó and the Group and in a number of his films Szabó has paid homage to his mentor and teacher, sometimes by including a photo of Máriássy among the props scattered on a table or a framed picture on a wall (as in Meeting Venus). So, what was it about Máriássy that made him such a central figure in Szabó’s formative years as a filmmaker? As important as any considFSBUJPOXBTIJTDPOTJEFSBCMFQSBDUJDBMFYQFSJFODFJOUIFëMNJOEVTUSZIBWJOHTUBSUFEBU the Hunnia Film Studio in 1939 as editor and assistant director. The first feature film he worked on, as assistant director, was Queen Erzsébet (Erzsébet kiralyné) in 1940 and his first film as director was the ironically titled Mrs Szabó (Szaboné) in 1949. Up to the end of the war he was involved in more than twenty productions in one capacity or another. In the post-war period he directed the Socialist Realist ‘Stakhanovite’ film Full Steam Ahead! (Teljes gőzzel) in 1951 and a number of more important films such BTUIFFYDFMMFOUSpringtime in Budapest (Budapesti tavasz) and A Glass of Beer (Egy pikoló világos), both in 1955. He was married to screenwriter Judit Fejér (see Balogh et al. 2003: 188). His last feature film as director was Impostors (Impostorok) in 1969, after which he made a number of TV films and documentaries. His last work was in 1974 and he died a year later.1 Máriássy became a teacher at the new Budapest Film Academy when it started up in 1948. However, it is doing no injustice to Máriássy to suggest that he was not a leading ëMNNBLFS OPOFPGIJTëMNT FYDFQUSpringtime in Budapest TUBOEPVUBTFYDFQUJPOBM v i si on s of e u rope
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Yet he was, by all accounts, a brilliant and inspirational teacher, and in this respect one could also think of Mikhail Romm at the Moscow Film School (VGIK), who likewise is not usually considered a major filmmaker. Nevertheless, Romm spotted and nurtured the talents of Andrei Tarkovsky, Larissa Sheptiko, Elim Klimov and a generation of other great Soviet filmmakers. There is an intriguing question here – what makes a great film teacher? No doubt most readers of this book will have some idea about what makes an outstanding director, but a teacher? I put this question to Group member Zsolt Kézdi-Kovács: He [Máriássy] was fantastic person but he was an aristocrat […] he came into the classroom, sat down, took out a cigarette. Everybody was very silent, including him for ten very long minutes. Nobody said a word. And then he said ‘Hmm, what’s up?’ and then we began to talk about what had happened to us and, well, we went there, we prepared, where we are in the preparations. ɨFOIFTBJEA0,4POFYUUJNF*NKPLJOHPGDPVSTFCVUIFXBTWFSZ open and did not push himself on us, he was a person who said with half words very important things, he never imposed his opinions, he guided us in a way we didn’t even see. […] He had fantastic taste. He was one of the most cultured people I have ever met. He spoke three or four languages perfectly and he knew cinema very well. He was really a non-compromising person but his moral standing was so high; in that sense too I feel that his influence on us was very strong also. […] He was very open to everybody, he didn’t want to push his style, his thoughts, his opinions on us. *UTFFNTUIBUUIFNBKPSTUSFOHUIPG.BSJÈTTZMBZJOIJTFYDFQUJPOBMBCJMJUZUPHFUUIF best out of his students, without ‘teaching’ them in any overtly didactic sense, a point emphasised by Kézdi-Kovács: Teaching isn’t the right word because they didn’t really teach too much. We had other classes [than directing]: literature, painting, acting – we were very untalented so they gave up. What we learnt is, more-or-less, what we learnt from ourselves. We were in a constant dialogue, discussions, day and night, about everything. We wrote together, scenarios, we criticised our small films that we did. ɨFTFOUJNFOUTFYQSFTTFECZ,Ï[EJ,PWÈDTBSFCZOPNFBOTDPOëOFEUPUIF(SPVQ Gyula Gazdag, who graduated from the Film Academy in 1970 and now teaches in the 64BU6$-" IBTFYQSFTTFETJNJMBSWJFXT TFF1PSUVHFT So far so good; everything was in place for an intense five-year preparation and training for a career in the film industry, but within only a few weeks of starting at the Academy, Mariássy’s eager young students found themselves sucked into the whirlwind of revolution. Ever since the establishment of Soviet-style rule in 1948 Hungary had been a seething cauldron of discontent. Disenchantment with all aspects of Stalinism was rife, whether at the urban proletariat’s miserly wages and appalling, often non18
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FYJTUFOU IPVTJOHPSSVSBMEJTTBUJTGBDUJPOXJUIDPMMFDUJWJTBUJPO PSJHJOBMMZWPMVOUBSZCVU then enforced) or the myriad other discontents of life in the so-called workers’ paradise. With the death of Stalin in 1953, however, there began the possibility of change. Growing resentment and grass-roots pressure led to the growth of an increasingly popular reform movement around the respected figure of former agricultural minister Imre Nagy who eventually ousted the hardline Stalinist Mátyás Rákosi from his posiUJPOPGEPNJOBODF"GUFSTPNFTJYZFBSTPGPQQSFTTJPOBOETPDJBM FDPOPNJDBOEDVMUVSBM stagnation at all levels, Hungary looked set to change. The path of reform was not, however, a smooth one. In December of 1954 and into the new year, Rákosi and other hard-liners were able to rally and counter-attack, and in April 1955 Nagy was removed from all his party posts. This did little to quell the rising swell of discontent and the reform movement continued to grow; intellectuals, artists and writers met in the Petőfi Circle – an open forum for discussion and debate – and condemned Rákosi and the clique around him. Although kept out of the public domain at the time, Khrushchev’s denunciation of Stalin at the landmark twentieth Communist Party Congress must have filtered through to the many reform-minded party members and on 28 June 1956 news of the uprising in Poznan in Poland sent shock waves through the ranks of the Hungarian reformers. Events moved with breakneck speed – on 17 June Rákosi was replaced and on 6 October László Rajk, one-time Party secretary and the most prominent victim of the earlier purges and show-trials, was re-buried as part of the process of his rehabilitation. Students began to form their own, independent, organiTBUJPOTBOEPO0DUPCFSJTTVFEUIFJSGBNPVTA4JYUFFO1PJOUTQSPHSBNNFPGSBEJDBM reforms, including the demand for the withdrawal of Soviet troops. This was followed on 23 October by a huge demonstration of students in Budapest and the pulling down of the Stalin statue later in the evening. Fighting broke out in the streets of Budapest and other cities in Hungary. The 1956 Hungarian Revolution had begun. The students at the Film Academy could not help but be moved by the events going on around them and many threw themselves eagerly into the fray in one way or another. Szabó worked as a reporter for Free Kossuth Radio, one of the voices of the Revolution, while Pál Gábor got hold of a rifle and joined the fighting (more on this later), some of the students helped on the filming of the events of the Revolution, providing assistance to, amongst others, Mariássy, one of the many who lent IJTFYQFSJFODFBOEFYQFSUJTFUPUIFDBVTF,Ï[EJ,PWÈDTXBTMBUFSUPEJTUJMMNVDIPG UIJTFYQFSJFODFJOUPIJTEPDVNFOUBSZThis Day Was Ours (Az a nap, a miénk) in 2002. The insurgents were initially successful in forcing the Soviet forces to quit the city but they regrouped and returned in an enormous and irresistible display of force, deploying more tanks than the Nazis used to invade France in 1940. In the morning of 4 November, Budapest was attacked by massive concentrations of Soviet troops and tanks while in Szolnok a new government under Moscow-loyalist János Kádár was sworn in. Within four days the Revolution was, in effect, crushed, although thousands of factory workers maintained a heroic but ultimately futile resistance right into the OFYUZFBS ɨF3FWPMVUJPOBOEBMMJUTWBSJPVTSBNJëDBUJPOTBSF XJUITPNFFYDFQUJPOT UPPDPNQMFYUPEXFMMPOIFSFBOEOPUFOUJSFMZSFMFWBOUUPUIFDPODFSOTPGUIJTCPPL v i si on s of e u rope
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However, what cannot be stressed enough is the impact that these events had on the lives of those who participated. With the defeat of the Revolution serious questions IBE UP CF BTLFE BCPVU XIFUIFS PS OPU JU XBT EFTJSBCMF UP KPJO UIF FYPEVT PG UIPTF attempting to leave Hungary but the students at the Film Academy, whatever their problems, having achieved their dream of being accepted at the Academy, did not wish UPBCBOEPOUIJTGPSUIFVODFSUBJOUJFTPGFYJMF FWFSZPOFTUBZFE If this had been the end of the story of 1956 then a line could, perhaps, be drawn under the events, but as so often in Hungarian and Central European history things are not so simple or clear cut. Questions of who did what, when, where and why in the uprising and in the repressive atmosphere in the years that followed were to resurface in startling fashion some fifty years later. After the crushing of the uprising life, as far as it was possible in an atmosphere of fear and state repression, began to return to some kind of normality. But it was a normality punctured by a strange and terrible event which, although kept quiet at the time and for many years after, was to have serious repercussions for Szabó in later life. In early 1957 some of the Group were attending a performance of Luigi Pirandello’s play Six Characters in Search of an Author at the Petőfi Theatre in Budapest when, just after the second act, Zsolt Kézdi-Kovács was approached by a man wearing a long leather coat – not a fashion item but a sure sign that he was a member of the dreaded Secret Police, the ÁVH (Államvédelmi Hatóság/State Security Authority). To Kézdi-Kovács’s surprise and bewilderment his first words were ‘Are you armed?’ (Kézdi-Kovács laughed as he recounted this to me). The bizarreness of the situation in the auditorium, mirroring somewhat the nature of what was being offered onstage, was soon overshadowed by the ominous situation that three of the Group were thrust into. Kézdi-Kovács, Ferenc Kardos and Szabó were led away to three waiting cars. Their destination was the ÁVH headquarters (now the Meridien Hotel), where they were separated and taken to the cellars and for three days and nights interrogated. They were threatened that if they did not become informers they would be thrown out of the Film Academy and might even end up as prisoners in the Soviet Union. 8JUIUIFFYDFQUJPOPGCFJOHTFOUUP4JCFSJB GPSXIJDIUIFSFXBTOPOFFE )VOHBSZ IBEBOBNQMFOVNCFSPGEFUFOUJPODBNQTBOEQMBDFTPGFYJMFXIJDIDPOTUJUVUFEJUT own ‘gulag’), these were not hollow threats. In the aftermath of 1956 thousands of )VOHBSJBOTXFSFBSSFTUFEBOEEFUBJOFE NBOZHPJOHUPQSJTPO TPNFFYFDVUFE UPFYQFM someone from the Film Academy would have been a matter of small consequence to the ÁVH and the authorities. 'PS4[BCØBOEIJTDPMMFBHVFTUIFUISFBUPGFYQVMTJPOGSPNUIF"DBEFNZXPVMEIBWF been the end of their dreams; the only other way to pursue a career in film would have CFFOUPPQUGPSFYJMF MFBWJOHCFIJOEGBNJMZBOESFMBUJWFTXIPXPVMEUIFNTFMWFTUIFOCF open to pressure from the ÁVH. Kézdi-Kovács and Szabó agreed to become informers; whether or not Kardos also agreed will never be known for certain, although no documentation has been unearthed which suggests he did. After these terrible events no-one ever spoke about what had happened and Kardos, who died in 1999, was to take his secret to the grave. Later, according to Kézdi-Kovács, the ÁVH increased their pressure by threatening to arrest Pál Gábor and put him on trial for his participation in 20
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UIFVQSJTJOH BOPVUDPNFUIBUXPVMEBMNPTUDFSUBJOMZIBWFSFTVMUFEJOIJTFYFDVUJPOBT Gábor had been involved in street fighting and had been photographed carrying a rifle (a capital offence), although there have been assertions that this is not in fact Gábor. Gábor possibly also appears in footage of the Revolution shot by the director Márton Keleti although the authorities seemed to miss this at the time. Into the early 1960s Szabó therefore acted as an informer for the Secret Police believing he was doing the right thing, however unpleasant, to protect his friend and colleague Gábor. All the available evidence indicates that Szabó never spoke of this to anyone and his secret only came to light fifty years later and the controversy surrounding the revelations – which has not entirely gone away at the time of writing – will be discussed in a later chapter. Szabó has denied ever giving the ÁVH any information that could have been used against anyone, passing on to them only ‘chickenfeed’ (to use the language of John Le Carre’s British spymaster George Smiley), although this claim has been contested. He was thus able to continue his studies at the Academy and protect his friend Gábor, though what price Szabó paid for this, within himself, can only be guessed at by those of us fortunate enough not to have been placed in such impossible situations. Tragically Pál Gábor, an immensely gifted director, died of a heart attack in 1989. His best known film is Angi Vera (1979), undoubtedly one of the most powerful Hungarian films of the whole post-war period and, appropriately, a searing indictment of how individuals become entangled and trapped within the Stalinist system of lies and intimidation. Life and study at the Academy went on. A few years after 1956 another shockwave hit the students at the Academy but this was an altogether more pleasant and JOWJHPSBUJOHFYQFSJFODF*O)VOHBSJBOJUJTLOPXOBTÁKIVMMÈN UIF'SFODIUFSNJT Nouvelle Vague, to the English-speaking world it is the French New Wave. Students at the Academy were often the first to see foreign films (including many not released for public consumption) and the impact of these films from France was like no other. However, not all the French films were shown and those who could obtained permission to travel to Paris and Szabó was able to go towards the end of his time at the Academy. In fact a trip to the home of the New Wave became almost a ‘rite of passage’ for young Hungarian film directors and a homage for some of the older generation as well, Zoltán Fábri and András Kovács to name just two. Szabó was to become enthralled, as so many young filmmakers were, by the films of François Truffaut, Jean-Luc Godard, Claude Chabrol and Eric Rohmer. As Kézdi-Kovács remarked, ‘the French New Wave showed to everybody, to young filmmakers, that it is possible to make films even if you are young and you don’t have to spend long years as an assistant’. Like the young Bernardo Bertolucci in Parma and Jiři Menzel, a long-standing friend of Szabó’s at FAMU, the Prague Film School, to name just a couple, the Group was to be heavily influenced by the New Wave and these influences can be readily seen in Szabó’s early films. It is hardly surprising that young filmmaking students at the Academy were impressed by the new films they saw, and not just those from France. Szabó’s time at the Film Academy, 1956–1961, was to see the release of some of world cinema’s most influential and important films and this cannot be stressed enough. Questions of narrative structure, film style, camera work, editing and such fundamental questions v i si on s of e u rope
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as what kind of stories were worth telling were pushed to the front of the cinematic agenda and filmmaking and film culture around the world was never to be the same again. The most noteworthy influence was the emergence of the already mentioned French New Wave but other films from France such as Alain Resnais’s enormously influential Hiroshima mon amour (1959) were also important. The post-Neo-Realist films from Italy such as Michaelangelo Antonioni’s L’Avventura (1959), La Notte (1960) and L’Eclisse (1962) and, just outside this time frame, Fellini’s 8½ (1963) were also of enormous significance (Antonioni was also very important for the early work of Jancsó). British Social Realist films such as Saturday Night and Sunday Morning (1960) were well-received in Hungary and the importance of Ingmar Bergman, particularly for Szabó, cannot be stressed enough. From within the Eastern Bloc countries, films from Poland such as Andrzej Munk’s Man on the Track (1957), Andrjez Wajda’s Ashes and Diamonds (1958) and Jerzy Kawalerowicz’s Night Train (1959) also impacted in a major way. Wajda’s film premiered in Hungary in May 1961while Kawalerowicz’s film was first shown in June 1962 (see Szekfű 2010: 95). Further east, the situation was also changing: filmmakers in the Soviet Union took advantage of the Khruschev ‘thaw’ to make films such as The Cranes are Flying (Mikhail Kalatazov, 1957) and Ballad of a Soldier (Grigori Chukrai, 1959) which although not stylistically innovative represented major breaks with past practice in terms of subject matter and its treatment. Although, again slightly out of this time-frame, the Czech New Wave was also an influence, particularly the work of Jiři Menzel and Miloš Forman. Finally, to add a trans-Atlantic dimension to this by no means complete list of important and influential films, Alfred Hitchcock’s classic Psycho was released in 1960.2 Students at the Academy were usually able to see many of these films even if they were not put on general release in Hungary; however, the commonly accepted idea that the Academy showed all the new releases to their students appears not to be correct (Miklós Jancsó told me that he never saw any Hitchcock films while at the Academy although he is from an earlier intake). Of the films the students did see, their impact, individually and cumulatively, must have been immense. Of all these directors it is Truffaut who was most influential on Szabó and, like Truffaut, who soon abandoned the New Wave, Szabó was also to embrace New Wave values briefly and, in his case, incompletely and then abandon most of them to pursue a long period of what can be EFTDSJCFEBTFYQFSJNFOUBUJPOɨJTDBNFUPBOFOEJOXJUIIJTëMNConfidence (Bizalom) after which, again like Truffaut, he moved into a mode of filmmaking which JTDMPTFSUPUIFDMBTTJDBMNBJOTUSFBNɨFTFBSFRVJUFDPNQMFYEFWFMPQNFOUTBOEXJMMCF FYBNJOFEJONPSFEFUBJMJOMBUFSDIBQUFST Students at the Academy were required to make a number of short films culminating in their crucial Diploma film. In all, Szabó made four short films at the Film Academy and one at the Béla Balázs Studio (BBS) while Concert (Koncert), his Diploma film in 1961, was made jointly at the Film Academy and the BBS. Unfortunately, three of his films from the Academy are lost (see the Filmography for what details are available). The BBS was an interesting and quite possibly unique venture. It was established in 1959 and functioned for the first two years as a discussion and lecture forum where issues of film culture were debated. The Group worked in the BBS, attended discus22
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sions and lectures and made a number of their films there. From 1961 the Studio was allocated a small annual budget (roughly equivalent to what one feature film would cost); thus an apparently peculiar state of affairs came into being, whereby the State GVOEFEBOBENJUUFEMZTNBMMTUVEJPEFEJDBUFEUPXPSLTXIJDIXFSFPGUFODSJUJDBM FYQFSimental and avant-garde. Alongside the work of the Studio there were the famous Tuesday night discussions where filmmakers would engage in often prolonged debate XJUIBVEJFODFTBCPVUUIFJSXPSLɨFFYJTUFODFPGUIJTTUVEJP XIJDIDPOUJOVFEVOUJM 2004, with its non-conformist ethic, is an illustration that the cultural situation in Hungary was not quite the grey, one-sided prison yard of popular Cold War rhetoric; BTXJUIPUIFSBTQFDUTPGDVMUVSFJOQPTU)VOHBSZUIFSFBMJUZJTNPSFDPNQMFY * BUUFNQUUPFYQBOEPOUIJTPCTFSWBUJPOJO$IBQUFS 3 Alongside the Group worked a number of energetic filmmakers and artists, some JODMJOFE UPXBSET FYQFSJNFOUBUJPO BOE UIF BWBOUHBSEF TPNF NFSFMZ XJTIJOH UP USZ out new ideas. They include István Gaál, Sándor Sára, János Tóth and Márk Novak although the figures most often associated with the Studio – Miklós Erdély, Gábor #ØEZBOE#ÏMB5BSSoQBSUJDJQBUFETPNFXIBUMBUFS*UXBTBSJDIBOEIFBEZNJYBOEPOF of the Group, Zoltán Huszárik, made probably the Studio’s most famous short film, the beautiful Elegy (Elégia), in 1965. For his part Szabó made Variations on a Theme (Variáciok egy témara) in 1961, a 13-minute mediation on war and memory in three parts. The first part consists of archive footage of various war scenes, the second part is shot in a museum displaying weaponry and the final part features a crowd of people enjoying themselves at cafe, while the sound of marching (we never see the source of the sound) gets louder and louder eventually drowning out the café music. These films attracted the attention of critics and one year later he made You (Te – szerelemesfilm), another short of only eight minutes which garnered a number of prizes. According to Derek Elley this was ‘a sustained demonstration of cinematic technique used to convey, visually, a young girl’s moods, character and desires. The style owes much to the French nouvelle vague of a few years earlier’ (Elley 1972: 35). In fact You, which has a number of scenes redolent of both Truffaut and Godard, is a kind of homage to the New Wave ending with a knowing wink at the camera from actress Cecília Esztergályos. Of these very early films his Diploma film, Concert is without a doubt the most important. The Diploma film was the final requirement of the Academy and, in effect, the culmination of five years work for the students and of major significance for those involved, not least because it was seen as the ‘ticket’ to future work in the film industry. Although Concert clearly bears many of the hallmarks of a student film, for FYBNQMF UIFSF JT QSPCBCMZ UPP NVDI DSBNNJOH PG WBSJPVT DJOFNBUJD EFWJDFT JOUP B relatively short film (51 minutes), nevertheless, as David Paul, suggests ‘confidence and discipline are evident in the filming’ (1994: 160); it is a striking testament to an emerging young talent and even today, almost fifty years on, it is still rewarding viewing. Three young men on large tricycle are taking a piano somewhere, quite where is not clear. Attracted by a young woman carrying a large mirror they chase after her and leave the piano by the side of the Danube. Various passers-by stop to play the piano but a nearby lorry driver continues to run his engine, much to the annoyance of those listening. Eventually he responds to their pleas and stops his engine and also v i si on s of e u rope
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listens. Art transcends the ordinariness of everyday life and all around are drawn to the music. A composer (we know this because he has a metronome and some sheet music on which he is writing) runs along the bank of the Danube in a 50-second pan (probably shot from the other bank of the river) and he starts to play his new composition. A sudden heavy rainstorm stops all playing and listening and the people run for shelter, an event reminiscent of the rain sequence in the Italian Neo-Realist classic The Bicycle Thieves (Vittorio De Sica, 1948), while they try to protect the piano from the downpour by covering it with their coats and jackets. As the rain begins to abate three men, different from the first three, load the piano back on the tricycle and ride off chased by the three original protagonists who suddenly reappear. A freeze-frame of the three pursuants, à la Truffaut at the end of The 400 Blows (1959), brings the film, in de rigueur New Wave mode, to a close. Although much more pre-occupied with violence Roman Polanski’s short film Two Men and a Wardrobe (1958) covers some similar ground. Speaking some years later Szabó confirmed that he had seen Polanski’s film and was very impressed by it: I did like this Polanski film very much, and I wanted to make a film about something very similar – about people who undertake something and carry something, bear something […] Three lads leave a piano for a mirror and for a girl, but then other people, who can use the piano – and use it beautifully – pick it up and carry it further. They even protect it: if it is raining, they put their jackets on it. Nothing more: a fairly tale. (Szekfű 2010: 91) As suggested by Balázs Sarudi, the film, is partly, a meditation on the concept of space and how it is used, abused, disrespected or respected by people (see Sarudi 2003) but is also an essay on the relationship between art and its connections (and disconnections) UPPSEJOBSZMJGF BOEBWFSZFBSMZFYBNQMFPGBSFDVSSJOHDPODFSOPGBOVNCFSPG4[BCØT films: the relationship of music and particularly performance to the wider world. These themes recur in Taking Sides, Being Julia and Meeting Venus and less pronounced variations can be found in other of Szabó’s films. Whatever its minor flaws may be, this was clearly a film by a major new talent and it earned Szabó much praise and a number of awards at various festivals, including the 1962 Hungarian Critics Prize and honours at Amsterdam and Oberhausen film festivals. Szabó graduated from the Academy in 1961. Without doubt it was a fitting finale to his five years at the Academy and a most encouraging start to his career in the Hungarian film industry, and in slightly less than four years he was to direct his first feature film.
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CHAPTER THREE
The Early Films: The Age of Daydreaming (Álmodozások kora); Father (Apa – egy hit naplója); Lovefilm (Szerelmesfilm) Avec une tact et une sensibilité admirable, István Szabó nous donne un grande leçon de cinema politique, precisement parce qu’ il ne sépare pas la politique de la chronique intime. – Jean Collet, Telerand, 1969 Normally, a graduate from the Film Academy would have to work as a director’s assistant on a number of films before s/he would be allowed to direct a film. However, this was not a hard and fast rule and a graduate who showed particular or outstanding promise could be ‘fast-tracked’, circumventing the system (which, as in this instance, was often not as rigid and bureaucratic as popular mythology would have it). This was certainly the case for Szabó who worked on only one film, János Herskó’s Dialogue (Párbeszéd, 1963) as assistant director, one of the first films in the post-war period to deal with questions of the Holocaust and anti-semitism. In 1965 he was also dramaturg on Grimace (Gyerekbetegségek) directed by two of the Group, Ferenc Kardos and János Rózsa, which, amongst other accolades, won an award at the 1967 Moscow Youth Festival. Earlier in the same year, Szabo’s first feature, The Age of Daydreaming (Álmodozások kora), was released. Unsurprisingly, given the influence and impact of the French New Wave at this time, The Age of Daydreaming, of all his feature films, is the one which most clearly shows the influence of the French, particularly Truffaut. Made for Mafilm Studio 3, along with his second film Father, it is shot in black and white, after which all his feature films are in colour. The film has a subtitle, ‘Adolescent Adults’ which was not given much prominence in publicity and is followed by a quote from the Hungarian poet Attila Jozsef, ‘Say that man is not yet grown up but, fancying he is, runs wild./ May his parents, love and intellect watch over their unruly child.’ The film centres on a group of young friends, three men and a woman, all university educated professionals, working in television; in today’s jargon they would possibly be called ‘yuppies’, v i si on s of e u rope
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who in most respects – aspirations, clothes and life style – are not that different from their counterparts in the West. One of this group is a sound engineer, János, played by András Bálint who became a Szabó favourite and is associated with many of his early films, becoming in a loose sense, the alter ego of Szabó, paralleling the pairing of Truffaut with the young French actor Jean Pierre Leaud. When I asked Szabó what it was about Bálint that drew them together, he replied: ‘It was his face, in those days it was always the face.’ We first see János and three others in a TV studio control room watching a bank of screens showing a university graduation ceremony. A female law graduate is being interviewed and she speaks with clarity and confidence about her ambitions, aspirations and what she plans to do with her life. She later re-emerges in the film as one of János’s love interest. However, the multiple screens on which we see her image, each one giving a slightly different perspective, suggests a fragmentariness and perhaps a hint that everything might not be so easy and clear cut. Certainly, for the main protagonists life does not unfold in the almost predetermined linear manner so confidently outlined by the interviewee, a point reinforced by a voiceover which states: ‘These four are engineers. They graduated a year ago. They dream of breaking through the wall of the mediocre and the old. They admire technology and think themselves talented. That still has to be proved.’ János spends much of the film skirt-chasing, although in that restrained, almost timid manner that is such a hallmark of Bálint’s acting style and onscreen persona. Nevertheless, the overall theme of the film is not so much the ups and downs of his amorous adventures but his ‘coming of age’ (a recurring theme, though not necesTBSJMZ UIF EPNJOBOU POF JO IJT ëSTU UISFF ëMNT BOE UP B MFTTFS FYUFOU UIBU PG IJT friends, one of whom, László (Béla Asztalos), dies towards the end of the film. János meets a young woman, Éva (Ilona Béres), at a party and this relationship develops and flourishes and he appears to settle down but eventually they too split up. The group of friends has fragmented by this time as each go their separate way. The film ends with János being woken in the morning by an early call service. The camera shows us the telephone operator making the call and then there is a lengthy tracking shot as we see other operators, arranged in a straight row, making similar calls. János’s hopes and dreams have not quite worked out as planned and he has to settle for the routine of getting up and going to work, just like everyone else. As Graham Petrie, insightful as always, notes: János has finally to settle for less than he had originally hoped to achieve, yet he IBTTIPXOBDBQBDJUZUPMFBSOGSPNFYQFSJFODF UPDPNFUPUFSNTXJUIIJTPXO capacities for self-deception, for neglecting and even hurting other people, and this, in its own way is surely a victory. (1981: 113) ɨJTMBTUTDFOFJTSFQFBUFEXJUIWBSJBUJPOTJOIJTOFYUUXPëMNT JOBMMUISFFBOJOEJvidual has gone through trials and tribulations of one kind or another and had to come to terms with a particular situation, whereupon a camera movement then reveals that IFJTOPUBMPOF PUIFSTBSFTIBSJOHBTJNJMBSFYQFSJFODF0OFJOEJWJEVBMTSJUFPGQBTTBHF PSMFBSOFEFYQFSJFODFJTHFOFSBMJTFEUPJODMVEFUIBUPGBHFOFSBUJPOBOEUIJTJTBNBKPS 26
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defining characteristic of these early films. It is Szabó’s own generation, the generation who came of age around the time of the 1956 Revolution or just after, an aspect of his work reinforced by the reappearances of Bálint (who is of a similar age to Szabó), actor and director becoming readily identified with each other and, as Karen Jaehne points out, The Age of Daydreaming establishes some of the recurring themes and imagery of Szabó’s later films – image of the missing father, role of the inspirational woman who remains a dream, dreams themselves trying to realise themselves, persecution, the social SPMFPGUIFEPDUPS )VOHBSJBOTHPJOHJOUPBOESFNBJOJOHJOFYJMF
There are numerous gestures or homages to the French New Wave in the film, including the one most often referred to when two men pass János on the street carrying a large placard advertising Truffaut’s landmark film The 400 Blows. Another gesture to the New Wave occurs when János takes a woman (Judit Halász) back to his flat and she talks into a microphone while walking rapidly around the room. The camera follows her in a style highly reminiscent of the scene in Truffaut’s Jules et Jim (1961), a film greatly admired by Szabó, where Therése (Marie Dubois) imitates a train with a cigarette. János impresses her with his sound engineering gadgetry and at one point he plays various sound clips which emerge from speakers placed at different points in the room. Continuing the vein of cinematic referencing, which is such a feature of this early film (and the New Wave), we hear the ‘Red Poppies of Monte Casino’ song from Andzrej Wajda’s Ashes and Diamonds, Jeanne Moreau singing from Jules et Jim and the voice of a man talking, in English, about Alfred Hitchcock and the mention of ‘killing a bird’. The film premiered on 11 February 1965 and was well received at the First Hungarian Film Week (10–14 November 1965) held in the southern city of Pécs (after a brief period of alternation with the capital the Film Week moved permanently to Budapest). Despite stiff competition from the likes of Zoltán Fábri, Miklós Jancsó and veteran director Márton Keleti with his popular comedy The Corporal and the Others (A tizedes meg a többiek), The Age of Daydreaming won one of the Jury prizes although Best Director went to Fábri for Twenty Hours (Húsz óra) (see Bolvári-Takács 1998: 154). Abroad, the film was regarded as noteworthy: ‘perhaps the most interesting of the European features at the 1966 Cork Film Festival’ (Davies 1966: n.p.); it also won an award at the Locarno Film Festival and was broadcast on BBC2 in January 1967; otherwise the international response was appreciative rather than ecstatic. People were beginning to sit up and take notice of this young director from Hungary and it was, XJUIPVUEPVCU BOFYUSFNFMZFODPVSBHJOHTUBSUUPIJTEJSFDUPSJBMDBSFFS BMUIPVHIJUJT USVFUPTBZUIBUNBKPSJOUFSOBUJPOBMSFDPHOJUJPOPOMZDBNFXJUIIJTOFYUëMN Father (Apa – Egy hit naplója). It may be useful, at this point, to try and look at what Szabó and his companions found in the French New Wave (and films from elsewhere, such as Poland) that was so inspiring and influential. To this, however, must be added the qualification that by the time of Szabó’s debut film the French New Wave was already undergoing drastic change, if not outright decline. However you date the origin of the New Wave, whether v i si on s of e u rope
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it be Louis Malle’s Lift to the Scaffold (1957), Claude Chabrol’s Handsome Serge (1959) or Truffaut’s The 400 Blows (1959) by the time of Szabó’s first feature it had been BSPVOEGPSTPNFUIJOHMJLFTJYPSTFWFOZFBSTBOENPTUPGJUTQSBDUJUJPOFSTXFSFFJUIFS moving in various other directions, developing new artistic strategies or had already done so. This, possibly, weakened somewhat the influence of the New Wave on Szabó and encouraged receptivity to other influences (such as Bergman). Nor was the entire )VOHBSJBOëMNDPNNVOJUZFYBDUMZCPXMFEPWFSCZUIF/FX8BWF WFUFSBO.BSUPO Keleti was once heard to snort ‘Who is this Truffaut buffo?’ (as told to me by Miklós Jancsó). What we can say with some certainty is that it was not just a case of Szabó simply discovering this or that stylistic device which he then inserted into his own films as a kind of homage. If this was all there was to the New Wave influence then a list or catalogue of these ‘references’ would suffice. The issue is more complicated and involves an attempt to understand changes in art, culture and popular taste in post-Second World War Eastern Europe. Consideration also needs to be given to the changing political and cultural conditions within Hungary and the film industry that proved so accommodating and indeed encouraging to the emerging young directors of the early 1960s. Starting in 1960 there was a change in mood in Hungary – away from the repression and general clampdown of the immediate post-1956 years. The government of +ÈOPT,ÈEÈSCFHBOUPSFMBYNBOZPGUIFSFTUSJDUJPOTUIBUIBECFFOJOQMBDFBGUFSUIF suppression of the 1956 Revolution. A sense of liberalism, albeit within fairly welldefined parameters, began to develop, slowly and hesitatingly, and almost all artists, ultimately, were able to benefit from this. In line with this general trend, film studios XFSFSFPSHBOJTFEJOBEPQUJOHUIFNPSFìFYJCMF1PMJTIëMNVOJUNPEFM XIJDI among other considerations gave filmmakers, as opposed to bureaucrats, a greater say in how things were run and which projects could be chosen and supported. Film magazines and journals started up: already in 1958 Film World (Filmvilág) had begun publication, followed in 1965 by Film Culture (Filmkultura) edited by the energetic Yvette Bíro and which provided a platform for new ideas and debates; film clubs flourished and the Hungarian Film Institute (Magyar filmintézet) began a lively programme of publishing books and pamphlets on a whole range of cinema-related topics, Hungarian and international. There has, I would argue, always been a strong film culture in Hungary (something I discuss in my earlier book) and this was taken up, revitalised and strengthened by Szabó’s generation and their mentors. One aspect of the New Wave and other films from the late 1950s and early 1960s, particularly prominent in the films of Resnais and Munk’s Man on the Track, was the XBZUIFZRVFTUJPOFEUIFOPUJPOPGBëYFETFOTFPGSFBMJUZ1 The idea that there was one concept of reality that could be established and not questioned was ingrained in socialist realism but Szabó, in his first three films, questions this – we see flashbacks that contradict other flashbacks, protagonists give accounts of events that do not tally with what we have just seen onscreen or heard from other protagonists and in this respect Munk’s film is particularly important. Subjectivism, the varied and sometimes muddled viewpoint of the individual, is brought to the fore and the idea of an objective reality, whether state-sanctioned or not, is held up for questioning. 28
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As already suggested, one of the most important elements of the New Wave in Hungary, as in France and elsewhere, is that this is the cinema of a generation – the generation to which Szabó belonged. The receptiveness and cultural sophistication of this generation, who were not only around the same age as Szabó but often from the same urban, university-educated, professional background, guaranteed the new direcUPSTBMJWFMZBOEFOHBHFEBVEJFODF)JHIFSFEVDBUJPO JOEJêFSFOUGPSNT FYQBOEFE quite rapidly during the 1960s and although this was ‘often poorly judged numerical growth’ (Romsics 1999: 362) many of Szabó’s films found an echo within this broad milieu. Moreover, in the case of Hungary this was a generation which, as young men and women, some only in their teens, had lived through and, in many cases, participated in the events of 1956. It therefore had to come to terms with defeat and the idea of some kind of accommodation or rapprochement with the powers that be. The BMUFSOBUJWFTXFSFGBJSMZMJNJUFEoRVJFUBDRVJFTDFODFPSìJHIUJOUPFYJMFJOUIF8FTU $JOFNBUJDBMMZQFSIBQT BOFYBNQMFPGUIJTBDDPNNPEBUJPOJT.JLMØT+BODTØTMy Way Home (Igy jöttem, 1965) where the two young protagonists, a Russian soldier and his Hungarian prisoner, reach an understanding with each other and develop some kind of friendship and mutual respect. It may not be perfect but it is preferable to staring uncomprehendingly at each other across an abyss. But although it was a generation prepared to develop some kind of modus vivendi with the status quo, it was not, on the other hand, prepared to capitulate. Like many of their generation worldwide they were also looking for new ideas and attempting to develop critiques of both their own system and, in some cases, that of the West. Although this critique possibly never reached the levels of those developed in neighbouring Czechoslovakia (there was the enormous deadening legacy of 1956 to contend with) this generational dimension should never be underestimated. It continued to question and push boundaries. Hence, the appearance in these early films of authority figures from an older generation, sometimes benevolent (e.g. the teacher-priest in Father) or domineering and aggressive (e.g. the television boss in The Age of Daydreaming) and the frequent emergence of the quesUJPOPGFNJHSBUJPOBOEFYJMFPSSFNBJOJOHBUIPNF QBSUJDVMBSMZQSPNJOFOUJOLovefilm (Szerelmesfilm). There was no passive acceptance of an enforced post-1956 status quo. Szabó’s protagonists are, in a sense, mouthpieces for their generation, marking out their own space and determining their own lives as far as circumstances would allow. It is significant in this respect, therefore, that most of his early protagonists are young university-educated professionals, people who have some leeway in their life to make choices. There are few working-class characters in Szabó’s films; this is simply not his milieu and when Szabo returns to a consideration of young Hungarian professionals, in Sweet Emma Dear Böbe in 1991, a film which looks at the lives of two schoolteachers (see Chapter 6), it is striking how their options have closed down under the strains of the new economic and political circumstances brought on by the ‘system change’. Like their French counterparts this generation, and here I refer specifically to filmmakers, was also one which had to challenge and overcome a legacy. Truffaut and the other ‘Young Turks’ of Cahiers du cinéma railed against the ‘cinéma du papa’ while Szabó and his friends had to come to terms with and combat the (rapidly declining) legacy of socialist realism and the lingering notion in the higher echelons v i si on s of e u rope
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of power that art must, ultimately, serve the state. On the other hand, going back further into Hungarian cinema history, they also reacted against a certain tendency towards conventional, crowd-pleasing romances, comedies or melodramas – Hollywood with a Magyar inflection. As with Truffaut and Godard they had no desire to wait years for the chance to direct; they were impatient and eager to make their own films. The political and cultural climate of the time did not permit the Hungarians the opportunity to sound-off in ‘angry young man’ mode, like Truffaut, or display the kind of behaviour that resulted in him being banned from Cannes in 1958. Nor did they have rich parents or in-laws from which they could ‘fleece’ the money for a ëMNQSPKFDU-PVJT.BMMF GPSFYBNQMF DBNFGSPNBWFSZXFBMUIZGBNJMZBOEBMUIPVHI 5SVêBVUTCBDLHSPVOEJTBOFYDFQUJPO IFANBSSJFEJOUPNPOFZ*UNBZBMTPCFUIF DBTFUIBUUIFFYQFSJFODFPGUIF'JMN"DBEFNZQSPEVDFENPSFPGBOAFTQSJUEFDPSQT among the filmmaking community than in France as most of the prominent French New Wave directors did not attend a film school or academy. Szabó had his Mariássy, BO FYQFSJFODFE ëMNNBLFS XIJMF5SVêBVUT NFOUPS XBT "OESÏ #B[JO UIF FEJUPS PG Cahiers du cinéma and Henri Langlois, the director of the Cinémathèque française, neither of whom were filmmakers (ignoring Langlois’ abortive cinematic collaboration with the painter Chagall) despite the respect they have, deservedly, received from around the world. Perhaps this and their independent financing encouraged UIF 'SFODI UP FYQFSJNFOU NPSF UP JODMJOF UIFN UP CSFBL UIF SVMFT XIFSFBT UIFJS Hungarian counterparts were working within an institutional framework (the Film Academy and the film industry) which although not restrictive in any serious sense was, nevertheless, structured in certain ways and required some kind of discipline, such as attending classes, meeting deadlines, completing certain projects and making a Diploma film. Ultimately, the Hungarians were answerable to a higher authority which had only recently demonstrated its willingness to be punitive (although this changed steadily in the 1960s). This can be seen in the films which, of course, must always be our ultimate destination. Where I believe that Szabó’s early work differs somewhat from, say, the very early films of Truffaut and particularly Godard, is that in Szabó’s films there is a tighter sense of scripted action and blocking and many of the ‘rough edges’ of the early French New Wave – the jump cuts, the elliptical editing, the improvised dialogue or unscripted ramblings of various characters etc – are largely absent or subdued. This comes no doubt from the atmosphere, discipline and teaching of the Film Academy and its intensive five-year courses, a preparation and training which is almost entirely BCTFOUGSPNUIF'SFODIFYQFSJFODF"QBSUGSPNUIFEJSFDUIPNBHFTBOESFGFSFODFT some of which have already been mentioned, where Szabó comes closest to the New 8BWFJT GPSFYBNQMF JOIJTDPOTJTUFOUVTFPGSFBMMPDBUJPOT IJTVTFPGZPVOHSFMBUJWFMZ unknown actors and a freewheeling camerawork which is fresh and lively, occasionally NJYJOHëDUJPOBMBOEBSDIJWFGPPUBHFBOEGSFRVFOUMZDSFBUJOHBTUZMFXIJDITPNFUJNFT SFTFNCMFTEJSFDUDJOFNB&YBNQMFTPGUIJTDBOCFGPVOEJOUIFFBSMZTDFOFJOFather where the schoolboy Takó is fighting with the other boys and there is a cut to people looking on, or in a scene in The Age of Daydreaming where Bálint is walking in a DSPXE OPUPGFYUSBTCVUPSEJOBSZQFPQMF BOEIFJTQJDLFEPVUTPMFMZCZUIFDFOUSBMJUZ 30
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of his positioning in the frame, the ‘crowdedness’ being heightened by the use of long focal length which flattens the depth of the shot, stylistic device that became common at the time and almost ubiquitous in the 1970s. Another important difference between the French New Wave and other European filmmaking of the time and Szabó’s of the 1960s, can be found in their representation and consideration of the individual. That quintessential 1960s cinematic figure – the alienated individual, best represented not by the French New Wave perhaps but by the work of Italian director Michelangelo Antonioni – is largely absent. Generally speaking, although Hungarian films may have a (undeserved) reputation for bleakness, the angst-riddled, rootless, disaffected and alienated figures of Antonioni’s urban landscapes, such as those in La Notte (1960) and L’Ecclise (1962), or Bergman’s troubled and psychologically damaged characters, are mostly absent. In fact, if one were interested in searching for such representations, the work of Miklós Jancsó, particularly Cantata (Oldás es Kötés, 1963) or even Zoltán Fábri with films like Darkness at Daytime (Nappali sötétség, 1963), might prove more rewarding. Szabó’s protagonists have their fair share of life’s problems but we rarely see them wandering around Budapest’s alleyways aimlessly searching for something that eludes them or is not there. Although faced with problems and difficulties, the characters played by Bálint do not wrestle XJUI FYJTUFOUJBM DPOVOESVNT MJLF UIF NFBOJOH PS FNQUJOFTT PG MJGF "MM PG 4[BCØT first three films are, as already suggested, in one sense rites of passages for the central QSPUBHPOJTUBOEBTTVDIBSFëSNMZSPPUFEJOUIFSFBMJUJFTPGFYJTUFODFJOBQBSUJDVMBS time and place, however humdrum this may be. 'JOBMMZ BMUIPVHIUIJTTIPVMEOPUCFUIFMBTUXPSEJOXIBUJTBDPNQMFYBOBMZTJT Szabó’s generation who had already lived through so much were strongly inclined to question their national history – a trend perhaps not so pronounced in France, particularly with regard to the Second World War (until such films as Louis Malle’s Lacombe, Lucien in 1974). Time and again the young Hungarians (and frequently the not so young) were to pose questions about their past, about the Horthy years, the Second World War, war crimes, the Holocaust, anti-semitism and, some time later, the abuses of the Stalin/Rákosi era and 1956 and its aftermath. And they did so, not in a ‘safe’ manner, even when using parallelism, allegory or metaphor, but with controlled aggression, constantly pushing boundaries in order to interrogate the myths of the past but also to pose questions about the society of their day. Szabó in this respect, like Truffaut, introduced a strong autobiographical element into his early films, most obviously in Father but also in 25 Fireman’s Street, thereby following the FYBNQMFPGPUIFSQPTUXBSNPEFSOJTUëMNNBLFSTTVDIBT#FSHNBOBOE'FMMJOJBOEJO doing so played his part in establishing the concept of the ‘auteur’ in Hungary. I have no desire, however, to construct Szabó as some kind of Hungarian Truffaut. Apart from other considerations their backgrounds are quite different. While in no way wishing to downplay the enormous difficulties in Szabó’s early years he had a relatively sheltered and, in his own words, happy post-war childhood with a loving, caring mother. Unlike Truffaut he was never wanted by the police for going AWOL from the army, never spent time in a correction centre and so on, and the films, despite UIFSFTFNCMBODFTXFNJHIUFYQFDUGSPNNPEFSOJTUëMNTPGUIFQFSJPEBSFEJêFSFOU v i si on s of e u rope
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Only The Age of Daydreaming is really close to the New Wave. Despite its possible over-indebtedness to the French, András Bálint Kovács is surely right to suggest that ABT5SVêBVUJBOBT4[BCØTëSTUëMNNBZBQQFBS JUJTBTJODFSFBOEQFSTPOBMFYQSFTTJPOPG the spirit of a generation’ (Kovács 2007: 323). Giving voice to that spirit is also one of the aims of Father BOEHJWFOUIFFYQBOEFEUJNFGSBNFPGUIFTUPSZJUJT BSHVBCMZ NPSF successful in achieving this goal than The Age of Daydreaming. Studio heads and the powers that be must have looked favourably on Szabó after the success of his first film. Work started almost immediately on a new film and Father was released on 8 December 1966, just over a year after The Age of Daydreaming but too late for the Second Hungarian Film Week. In just about every way this is a more focused and mature film than his previous offering, and of all his early films this is the one that has stood the test of time more than any other. In every accomplished director’s oeuvre there are films where everything just seems to ‘drop into place’, nothing looks strained or contrived, and this is surely the case with Father. Today, after almost fifty years, it is a film that is still enjoyed and appreciated by those coming to it for the first time, or by those seeing it again after a long absence. On a personal note, when I was a university lecturer, I showed this film to my students every year, the overwhelming majority of which had never seen a Hungarian film before, and it was always highly appreciated. For his part, Szabó still talks warmly about the film and it is one of his favourites. Father starts just at the end of the Second World War and is centred on the story of a young boy, Takó, and his search for an understanding of and coming to terms with the death of his father while he was still very young. It is interesting that both Szabó and Truffaut were fatherless (the former literally, the latter metaphorically), the Frenchman having been, in effect, abandoned by his real father and eventually ‘adopted’ by André Bazin. The young Takó (Dániel Erdély) constructs many fantasies about his father in an attempt to give this absence some kind of meaning but as he progresses into adulthood (the older Takó is played by András Bálint) he realises the truth, that his father was an admirable, decent man but not the heroic partisan fighter, great surgeon or major public figure of his youthful imaginings. The film is subtitled Diary of a Faith (Egy hit naploja) although this was not generally used when marketed in the West. This possibly alludes to the almost blind faith of the young Takó in his father or, as suggested by Yvette Bíro, The somewhat vague concept of faith is meant to sum up the mental and emotional attitude of the 1950s – of a whole period: an almost religious fanaticism for certain ideas, their unavoidable petrification, and the painful disappointments which follow. (1967: 194) The autobiographical element is obvious. Takó, like Szabó, has lost his father and he was also a doctor. In one moving scene at Takó’s school, the teacher is handing out gifts of food aid (this being the immediate post-war period when many basic commodities were scarce) and he gives priority to those who are orphaned. When asked who has no father, a large number of the pupils raise their hands. This scene, and others, bears 32
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some resemblance to the classroom scenes in The 400 Blows although Szabó’s children BSF XJUIPVUEPVCU NVDICFUUFSCFIBWFEUIBO5SVêBVUTBOBSDIJDNJTUPOTɨFFYQFSJence of Takó (and Szabó) is that of a whole generation and this is yet another difference between Father and The 400 BlowsɨJTHFOFSBUJPOBMFYQFSJFODFXBTFNQIBTJTFECZ Szabó in an interview broadcast on The South Bank Show: *OUIFTDIPPM*XFOUUPBUMFBTUTJYUZQFSDFOUPGNZDMBTTNBUFTHSFXVQXJUIPVU a father. So having no father wasn’t just my problem. In fact, I believe it was a OBUJPOBMQSPCMFN IPXUPëOETPNFëYFEQPJOU BQPJOUPGEFQBSUVSF TPNFPOF to guide you, to rely on, which is what a father means. (The South Bank Show, London Weekend Television, 12 February 1989) 4[BCØHPFTPOUPTVHHFTUIPXUIJTJEFBPGGBUIFSBOEGBUIFSIPPENJHIUCFFYUFOEFE But when we look at what affects groups of people and society as a whole it is clear that this was also a problem in a broader sense – it paved the way for the political solution based on the personality cult, Stalinism or the Rákosi policies in Hungary. These father-figures, these overbearing father-figures, who were elevated over society by the powers that be, or who foisted themselves on TPDJFUZ UIFZHBWFFYQSFTTJPOUPUIFEFTJSFDPNNPOUPNBOZJOEJWJEVBMTɨFJS FNFSHFODF XBT OP BDDJEFOU ɨJT JT XIBU * USJFE UP FYQSFTT JO UIF ëMN ɨF image of the father changes and becomes the image of the political leader or the other way round; the image of the political leader becomes the image of the father. It’s a strange thing, this desire people have for someone to lead them, for someone to show the way. It’s very easy to use this desire and to lead people in the wrong direction, very easy to misuse it. (Ibid.) The film opens with archive footage of a devastated post-war Budapest; the bridges across the Danube are destroyed and a dead horse is shown being carved up by hungry citizens – powerful archive images which have been used in various Szabó films and by other directors. The inclusion of the Danube scenes with its connotations of disconnection is important as all the bridges were blown up by the retreating Wehrmacht and therefore the eastern and western sides of the city could not connect. Thus the film is, in some ways, about making connections, re-building the bridges of one’s life and the Danube features in other places in the film, with its bridges restored, including the penultimate scene. However, the gloom and devastation of the archive footage used in these early scenes begins to be dispelled when a street light is switched on signalling that the work of reconstruction has begun. Takó is first seen at the funeral of his father; the mourners are shot at a distance, in almost newsreel fashion suggesting, at first, a continuity with the previous archive footage. All of which is gently helped along by the soundtrack, one of Szabó’s most evocative and atmospheric – the third movement of Mahler’s First Symphony. Gradually the film reveals to us the troubled relationship with memory that is one of the central themes of the film and recurs in a number of other Szabó films. Takó v i si on s of e u rope
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idolises the memory of his father although he has only three distinct and quite brief recollections of him. These are shown in flashback, with the camera adopting, moreor-less, the child’s point-of-view (a technique Szabó uses sparingly but repeats, for FYBNQMF JOUIFPQFOJOHTFDUJPOPGColonel Redl). However, as Takó grows up he slowly begins to realise that his father was not the outstanding hero of his fantasies. In one scene he imagines his father as a resistance fighter and daydreams about him escaping from and fighting off Arrow Cross soldiers. Shot with ‘cops and robbers’-style bravado, almost a parody of a Hollywood ‘B’ film, Szabó evokes a child’s view of the world with its unblemished, athletic hero, dastardly fascist villains and well-choreographed fight sequences. In another daydream Takó imagines his father as a great political figure whose face appears on banners and is applauded by crowds in a big May Day-type parade of the kind much loved by the authorities of the time, obviously mocking and commenting on the personality cult around figures such as Hungary’s repulsive 4UBMJOJTU1BSUZCPTT.ÈUZÈT3ÈLPTJ"UPUIFSUJNFTIFUFMMTPGIJTGBUIFSTFYQMPJUTBTB great surgeon during the Second World War saving lives and also hiding those fleeing persecution in the cellar of the hospital arranging for them to have fake plaster casts put on their legs and so on. However, some small incidents start to challenge these perceptions and as he gets older reality begins to overtake the fantasies of childhood. In one scene he takes his father’s much-loved watch, which has always been an object of veneration, to be SFQBJSFE0OSFUVSOJOHUPQJDLVQUIFXBUDIIFMPPLTGPSJUJOBCPYJOXIJDIUIFSFBSF a pile of other watches. All of them, however, are like his father’s watch, ordinary and nothing special at all. This scene is given added poignancy by a neighbour who informs Takó that the absent watchmender has gone away ‘to the countryside’ (a euphemism of the time, generally meaning that the person concerned has been arrested and deported, more than likely to a labour camp). Takó seems naively unaware of the implications of this phrase (or, he pretends not to show his awareness) and it is only with the events that follow, particularly 1956 and after, that he really begins a process of understanding and coming to terms with his memories and questions his personal fantasies. As a young adult Takó meets Anni (Katalin Sólyom) and his romantic involvement with her is key to his growing maturity and understanding. In one of the film’s most interesting scenes their joint concern with memory and identity (she is Jewish) is brought powerfully into focus. Along with a friend (played by Jancsó favourite "OESÈT,P[ÈL
UIFZKPJOBëMNQSPEVDUJPOBTFYUSBTɨFJSBJNJTTJNQMZUPFBSO some money, a point emphasised when they ask one of the film crew if it is possible to be paid a bit more than what is on offer. As this particular episode develops, however, it acquires increasingly serious overtones. The film is set during the Second World War and the scene in which they appear depicts a large group of Jewish deportees being herded across the Chain Bridge over the Danube (the bridge which in the opening archive footage was destroyed). All three have yellow stars sewn onto their coats and the shoot begins. The scene has to be repeated and the director shouts out that he needs more guards. Takó is singled out to be a guard. He is given a rifle and his yellow star is swapped for the horizontal red and yellow striped armband of the Arrow Cross (although in some prints and in the video copy released by Kino Video 34
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Takó (Dániel Erdély) looks lovingly at his father’s watch
the word ‘Nazi’ is, incorrectly used in the subtitles). Takó looks distinctly uncomfortable as a guard and he fails utterly in projecting the thugishness and menace required by the new role thrust upon him, a point only given emphasis by the sad-faced, gentle persona of András Bálint (who always gives the appearance that he could not harm a flea). This is in contrast to the film’s director (that is, the ‘director’ in the film within the film) and his assistants who became more and more bellicose and pushy, their aggressive demeanour increasingly evoking memories of the real Arrow Cross HVBSET XIPXFSFOPUPSJPVTGPSUIFJSUIVHHJTIBOEWJPMFOUCFIBWJPVSɨFFYDIBOHF of insignia, the swapping of the yellow star for the Arrow Cross’s red stripes adds a new and somewhat sinister dimension to the themes of memory, identity and role adaptation which the film addresses. It could be argued that, after all, this is only a film within a film and thus a double fiction is in play but this interchangeability is given added weight by an incident earlier in the scene. While Takó and his friends are standing around waiting for the shoot to begin, while he is still in his first role as a Jewish deporteee, an open-topped tourist bus goes past and the curious sightseers look out at the spectacle unfolding before them. Takó raises his right hand and deliberately covers the yellow star. It is a small gesture and one easily missed (which I did; thanks to Joshua Hirsch for pointing it out – see Hirsch 1999: 3) but poignant all the same. Takó, apparently, does not want to be associated with being a Jew, a role he IBTFBTJMZBEPQUFE KVTUTUJUDIPOBMBCFM UPFBSOTJYUZGPSJOUT$IBOHFUIFMBCFMBOE he becomes the antithesis of what he was before, or at least he is perceived as such. After the shooting of this scene is over, Takó and Anni go for a walk by the side of the Danube and she talks about her memories and her Jewishness. The bridges over the river, which we saw totally destroyed in the opening scenes, have now been rebuilt v i si on s of e u rope
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and Takó is also building his own bridges. Anni’s discourse on her Jewishness, her reluctance to acknowledge it, even her attempts to hide it are powerful in themselves but given added weight by the fact that many thousands of the capital’s Jews were shot and thrown in the Danube, just where the couple are walking. Szabó returns to the Danube banks to evoke further memories of these terrible events in other films (in Lovefilm and Sunshine). These notions of memory, change, adaptability, identity and the memories which are evoked are the essential fabric of the film and pursued by Szabó to the final scene and they resurface in various guises in many of his other early films. Father touches on Jewish themes in some important ways and Hirsch (1999) has suggested that, in fact, Takó and his family are Jewish.2ɨFDPNQMFYJUZ of this set of ideas and issues only receive a fuller treatment in his much later film Sunshine. In the penultimate scene, Takó, now having come to terms with his father’s past and having solidified his relationship with Anni, is passing a sunny day by the banks of the Danube with some friends and decides to go for a swim, determined to reach the other side. As he swims the camera pulls back and reveals many others also swimming, also trying to achieve the same goal suggesting, as in the ending of The Age of Daydreaming UIBUIJTJTBTIBSFEFYQFSJFODFɨFëOBMTDFOFTIPXT5BLØBOEIJT mother laying flowers on the grave of their father and again, as the camera pulls back, we can see that many hundreds of others are also likewise engaged, once again emphaTJTJOHUIFJEFBPGTIBSFEFYQFSJFODF Earlier I suggested that a number of scenes, particularly in Takó’s early childhood, UIFWBSJPVTDMBTTSPPNBOEPUIFSTDIPPMCPZTFRVFODFTGPSFYBNQMF TIPXTPNFJOìVences from The 400 Blows. Father is also no doubt indebted to Truffaut’s Jules et Jim with its many light-hearted scenes and uplifting music, particularly the happy-golucky, carefree, bicycle trip taken by Takó’s father through Switzerland to Italy which the young boy imagines in a kind of daydream. Although I have suggested that we can find in Szabó’s early films a number of connections and influences from the French New Wave and elsewhere, the point needs to be made and made strongly that in these early films, and particularly in Father, Szabó was not just copying Truffaut or any of the other French directors. Without any question, this is a film of real substance, that stands on its own merits and is one of the masterpieces of post-war Hungarian, indeed Central and Eastern European, cinema. Father was the film that that made international critics and audiences stand up and take notice of the young (28-year-old) director from Hungary. It garnered a raft of prizes for Szabó both at home and abroad, including the Hungarian Critics Prize, Director’s Prize at Cannes (1967), Best Screenplay at Valldolid (1968), further awards at awards at Locarno and Moscow film festivals, and established itself in the hallowed pantheon of the ‘Budapest 12’ (the twelve best Hungarian films of all time). It was particularly well-received in West Germany, initially at the Berlin Film Festival, where it struck a chord with audiences who engaged strongly with the theme of the missing father. In doing so Father was also an important film in establishing the reputation of Hungarian film in the mind of German audiences and film festival organisers. Father opened at the Paris Pullman in South Kensington, London on 10 October 1968 and 36
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was highly praised by the UK press. Only the latter-day Zhadnovs on the British Communist Party’s ailing rag, the Morning Star, failed to appreciate its qualities, drivelling on instead about its ‘false heroics on behalf of the counter-revolution’ (Hibbin 1968) – lines written just a few months after the suppression of the Prague Spring in Czechoslovakia! After the success of Father Szabó went on to make a 14-minute documentary, Piety, in 1967 (Kegyelet – the title also translates as Homage, the English title given in the Hungarian Film Institute’s short film catalogue). With Sándor Sára on camera the film resurrects and reworks the Jewish deportees ‘film within a film’ sequence from Father. In October 1967 he was script editor on Ferenc Kardos’s Red-Letter Days (Ünnepnapok), Szabó once again, working with a former member of the Group. In the following year he made Quarantine on the Border (Vesztegzár a határon), episode three of the Hungarian television series Bors; his first work for TV, a medium to which he has returned on a number of occasions in Hungary and elsewhere. In 1970 he directed his third feature, Lovefilm, which revisits some of the thematic and emotional terrain of Father, particularly the notions of memory and time, although in many other ways it is quite a different film. A sense, at least, of continuity is maintained by the casting of András Bálint, yet again, as the main lead Jancsi, while Judit Halász plays his childhood sweetheart, Kata. The film centres on their relationship which came to an end, as did so many, with the events of 1956 when Kata left Hungary for France. Ten years later she is living in Lyon where she is working in a fashion house while studying fashion design. The couple have not seen each other since she left Hungary and the film opens with Jancsi setting out on a train to visit her. In doing so he leaves behind his current love, Jutka, who sees him off at the railway station and about whom the film then reveals little else. She appears in a brief flashback in the middle of the film and again at the end. As Jancsi’s train journey progresses there is a constant stream of flashbacks, provoked partly by the train journey itself, as Jancsi remembers Kata and their days together. The mechanism of the train journey triggering memory is attested to by one of the presents that Jancsi brings Kata. It is a copy of Miklos Radnóti’s Under Gemini (Hungarian title – Ikrek hava), a book this revered Hungarian poet wrote while also on a train, taking the reverse journey to that of Jancsi.3 5PXIBUFYUFOU3BEOØUJT+FXJTIOFTT BMUIPVHI he was a convert to Catholicism) is intended as any kind of parallel with the director is difficult to assess and I will attempt to discuss these and related issues aspects in a later chapter. Jancsi finally arrives in Lyon (via Paris) to find that Kata is not waiting at the TUBUJPOUPHSFFUIJN"GSJFOE QBSUPGUIFFYJMF)VOHBSJBODPNNVOJUZ UVSOTVQBOE takes the visitor to Kata’s flat where he waits for her. It is not a good omen, although at first they are very happy to see each other. After some days together which includes a trip to the sea (Jancsi has never seen the sea) each asks the other to make a commitment. Jancsi wants Kata to come back to Hungary with him, while Kata wants him to stay in France. Neither can accede to the other’s request. Towards the very end of Jancsi’s visit, Kata has to suddenly go away for the day on an urgent task connected with work. She asks Jancsi to stay for another day but he cannot. He asks Kata to v i si on s of e u rope
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postpone the business trip but she, likewise, cannot do this. Their situation is hopeMFTT BOE UIFZ EFDJEF UP TBZ UIFJS HPPECZFT UIF OFYU EBZ ɨFZ XBML UP UIF SBJMXBZ station together and although there is a certain sadness in their demeanour they both appear to have made an important decision to face the future without each other and symbolically (if perhaps a little heavy-handedly) their walk to the station takes UIFNWJBUIFA3VFTBOTQFVSɨFëMNEPFTOPUFOEUIFSF IPXFWFSɨFUXPFYMPWFST keep in touch and we learn that Jancsi eventually marries Jutka, the woman he left behind in Budapest, while Kata marries an Englishman, George. They visit Budapest but return home – which is probably now in England – and Kata mentions that she does not get on with her mother-in-law. Kata and Jancsi’s separation is now final, both geographically and in terms of personal involvement. Speaking to the camera, ,BUBBOOPVODFTUIBUTIFIBTMPTUUIFCBCZTIFXBTFYQFDUJOHBOEUIFëMNFOETBU this point. If they hoped that Jancsi’s visit would rekindle their old love for each other then they are both disappointed. They make love on a number of occasions but they begin to realise that their common memories of the past are not enough to hold them together any more, something emphasised by their inability to agree, sometimes, on details about their past life in Budapest. Memory is shown as unreliable; events are disputed and when other people venture their opinions, far from achieving clarity the particular memory becomes even more blurred, hazy and contested. The romantic ideal of memory, particularly the memory of a loved one, is contested by the wider DPOUFYUQIPUPHSBQIT BDDPVOUTPGPUIFSTBOECZUIFDPOGVTJOHFWJEFODFPGUFOPêFSFE by the film. At one point, in one of the film’s multitudinous and often confusing flashbacks, Jancsi and Kata are being instructed on how to swim by Böszi, a good-looking woman with long flowing dark hair. We first see her foregrounded but slightly out of focus with, in the background, the overhead coal buckets of a mining area (more than likely Tatabanya). This evokes a scene from Father where the older Takó goes to the mining village where his father was once a doctor. We then see Böszi taken away by the Arrow Cross and shot by firing squad, suggesting that she was Jewish (the shooting is actually shown twice but the two scenes are not identical). Jancsi has a photograph of Böszi and he shows it to a friend of Kata’s in Lyon who is part of the Hungarian community. The friend claims to have known Böszi in Budapest but, on seeing the photo she says, this is not the Böszi she knew, who had fair hair. Memory JTTIPXO OPUBTBSFDPSEoBDBSEJOEFYJOTJEFPOFTIFBEoCVUBTTIJGUJOH VOSFMJable and, probably most important of all, our memories are depicted as selective and tending to show us the past we have constructed for ourselves. As Jancsi remarks at one point in the film: ‘I remember it very clearly. I don’t know why my imagination has transformed reality.’ "TTPPGUFOJO4[BCØTëMNT FYJMFJTSBSFMZTIPXOBTBDMFBSDVUJTTVFBOEJGUIFSF is a ‘judgement’ on the issue then it veers towards the acceptance of life abroad. Kata has a career and seems well-settled as do the other Hungarians, none of whom seem particularly eager to return to their native land. In one scene, in the flat of a friend, a Hungarian man is talking to his son about an image on TV which shows Hungary (it is nothing more than a weather map) and he says to the boy, in Hungarian, ‘Look, 38
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there’s Hungary!’ Maybe the boy does not understand because the father then repeats this in French; inevitably this second generation will grow up more French than Hungarian. At least one of this group is Jewish (the woman who claims she knew Böszi) and she recounts the harrowing story of how she, somehow, survived a firing squad (where Böszi was killed) in late 1944 or early 1945 and eventually walked to Yugoslavia where she vowed never to return to Hungary. Whatever the story behind UIFJSFYJMFBOEBTUIJTMBTUBDDPVOUEFNPOTUSBUFTOPUBMMUIF)VOHBSJBOTJOUIFëMN fled in 1956; it appears that they are determined to stay in France and some even appear ambivalent about maintaining a Hungarian identity – what’s the point, one of them suggests, when the French don’t even know where Hungary is on the map! During an evening session singing Hungarian songs they all suddenly stand up and sing the French national anthem, the Marseillaise. For good or bad, France is now their permanent home. +BODTJSFUVSOTUP#VEBQFTUXIJMF,BUBSFNBJOTJO-ZPO*OUIJTDBTFFYJMFJTQFSNBnent, as was the case for the vast majority of refugees from 1956. Indeed most of Szabó’s FYJMFTSFNBJOBCSPBEBOEUIFSFJTMJUUMFFWJEFODFPGBOZTFOTFPGBOPWFSXIFMNJOHEFTJSF for return. The impulse to leave may be due to economic or political pressure but the decision to remain abroad is based primarily on hard-nosed calculations. Despite the disconnection and loss, life is simply better abroad. Of Szabó’s major protagonists only Gustav in Sunshine returns to his native soil but this decision is driven primarily by political calculations not by any obvious sense of nostalgia or homesickness, he is a veteran of the 1919 Revolution and highly regarded member of the Hungarian Communist Party. Lovefilm concludes in a similar fashion to the two previous films. On his return to Budapest we see Jancsi sending Kata a telegram and the camera tracks around the post office showing other people also sending telegrams. Once again UIFJOEJWJEVBMFYQFSJFODF UIFMFBSOJOHFYQFSJFODFPSUIFDPNJOHPGBHF DBMMJUXIBU ZPVXJMM JTPOFUIBUJTTIBSFEɨVTJOEJWJEVBMFYQFSJFODFBOEJOEJWJEVBMNFNPSZJT strongly linked to notions of history, both individual and collective (the generation) and is triggered by and anchored in the realities of the present. With a running time of 134 minutes this was Szabó’s longest film to date and with JUTTPNFUJNFTPWFSXIFMNJOHMZDPNQMFYìBTICBDLTUSVDUVSF DPOìJDUJOHWJFXQPJOUT JUT intermingling of past and present, LovefilmIBTNVDIPGUIFUIFNBUJDDPNQMFYJUJFTPG Father but little of the focus or clarity of its narrative structure. It is one of those films XIJDISFRVJSFTFWFSBMWJFXJOHTCFGPSFUIFDPNQMFYGSBHNFOUTCFHJOUPGBMMJOUPQMBDF and even then there is still much ambiguity to wrestle with. The audience has to work hard to keep track of events and this was possibly reflected in the rather lukewarm DSJUJDBMSFTQPOTFBOENPEFTU)VOHBSJBOCPYPïDFëHVSFTGPMMPXJOHUIFëMNTQSFNJFSF on 8 October 1970. Szabó was a major figure in the spearhead of a new generation of Hungarian filmNBLFSTXIPCVSTUGPSUIJOUIFT'JMNIJTUPSJBO*TUWÈO/FNFTLàSUZNBLFTUIF point well that in 1959, seventeen feature films were made by just fourteen direcUPSTZFUJOBQQSPYJNBUFMZGPSUZEJSFDUPSTXFSFXPSLJOHJOUIF)VOHBSJBOëMN industry and between 1960 and 1965, nineteen young directors made their debuts (1968: 184). Szabó was now well-established and regarded as the leading light, along v i si on s of e u rope
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with the older Miklós Jancsó, of his generation and his films were well appreciated by ZPVOHFS)VOHBSJBODJOFNBBVEJFODFT%FTQJUFUIJT UIFOFYUTFWFOZFBSTPSTPXFSF to witness some ups and downs in his career and despite his undoubted international success, domestic audiences were occasionally to prove somewhat fickle in their appreciation of his undoubted abilities.
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CHAPTER FOUR
The ‘Budapest’ Films: Budapest, Why I Love It (Budapest, amiért szeretem); 25 Fireman’s Street (Tűzoltó utca 25); Budapest Tales (Budapesti mesék); City Map (Városterkép) and Confidence (Bizalom)
It was in Budapest that Hungarian culture, about which so many of the old, blessed Magyar people had dreamed, received its hallmark. – Gyula Krúdy There are any number of artists and filmmakers around the world who are associated with a particular locality; in literature one thinks of James Joyce and Dublin while in the world of film Woody Allen’s affinity for New York is probably one of the most PCWJPVT FYBNQMFT 4[BCØ JT PG DPVSTF XFMM LOPXO GPS IJT EFFQ BUUBDINFOU UP IJT native Budapest, the place where he was born and has lived all his life, resisting any UFNQUBUJPOUIFSFNJHIUIBWFCFFOUPMJWFBOEXPSLFMTFXIFSF8JUIUIFQBSUJBMFYDFQtion of Lovefilm XIJDIDPOUBJOTXJUIJOJUTDPNQMFYìBTICBDLTUSVDUVSFNBOZFQJTPEFT and incidents set in Budapest, his Diploma Film and all his early feature films are set squarely in the Hungarian capital and this trend only ends, but even then incompletely, with the shooting of Mephisto in 1981. Even after this watershed he returns constantly to Budapest: it is the setting for Sweet Emma, Dear Böbe and most of Sunshine while important Budapest-based scenes are also included in Hanussen, Meeting Venus and Relatives1BSUMZXJUIUIJTJONJOE4[BCØTOFYUCBUDIPGëMNTBSFPGQBSUJDVMBSJOUFSFTU CFDBVTFPGUIFJSBMNPTUSFMFOUMFTTFYQMPSBUJPOPG#VEBQFTUCBTFEUIFNFTCVUBMTP BOE just as important, for their sheer enjoyment of the sights, sounds and geography of this most delightful of European capitals. In this respect they are some of the most personal of Szabó’s films. These films are important in another way as they usher in a period of filmmaking where Szabó moves away from the New Wave influences apparent in his v i si on s of e u rope
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Diploma film and first three features but particularly the first, and begins a long period PGFYQFSJNFOUBUJPOXJUIWBSJPVTëMNTUZMFTBOEGPSNTXIJDIPOMZFOETXJUIIJTëMN Confidence in 1980. Budapest, Why I Love It, chronologically the first of this group, is actually seven short films, or perhaps essay-films is a better term, running to a total of 51 minutes, all made in 1971. Of the seven films the shortest is Mirror (Tükör) at just three minutes. Here passers-by look at their reflection in a mirror in a shop window, then soldiers appear, a crowd forms and the mood changes from one of contemplation to danger and finally the images fade away. As suggested by David Paul (1994: 170), The Square (A tér) is the only documentary of this group of films and features the everyday goings on in a city square, men at a chess game, others playing cards, children playing with various toys and so on. By contrast, in Danube: Birds and Fishes (Duna: madarak – halak), IVNBOJUZJTMBSHFMZBCTFOUFYDFQUGPSJUTDSFBUJPOT TVDIBTUIFCSJEHFTPWFSUIFSJWFS Instead, as the titles suggests we see the fauna of the river and its surrounds, sometimes JOPEEQMBDFT TFBHVMMTJOBUSBNGPSFYBNQMFBOEëTIJOBUFMFQIPOFCPYGirl Portrait (Lányportré) follows a young woman around town who seems to take in her wake the whole cycle of human life, shots of children’s toys, a wedding and a funeral. Dawn (Hajnal) and Sunset (Alkony) both look at the city in terms of the differing light of morning and evening – the shadows on buildings, the fading or rising light – ending with the Erzsebet bridge over the Danube and the neon signs of the city at night. Probably the most important and joint-longest is the 11-minute Dream About a House (Álom a házról) which won the Oberhausen Prize in 1972. As suggested by Balázs 4BSVEJ
UIFNFTPGTVCKFDUJWJUZ DPNNVOJUZ UJNFBOETQBDFBSFFYQMPSFEJOUIFTF films and Dream About a House was to provide some of the impetus and inspiration for the later feature film 25 Fireman’s Street BOEJUTDPNQMFYNFEJUBUJPOPOUIFJEFBT memories and emotions surrounding a particular apartment building in Budapest and the community of people who live there. In a number of these films we see an element or motif which reappears in other Szabó’s films – the Budapest tram. The iconic yellow tram makes an appearance in Portrait of a Girl, Danube: Fishes and Birds and A Dream About a House and had already appeared in a sequence in Father. Later the tram becomes the central focus of his film Budapest Tales (Budapesti mesék, 1976). Szabó has worked at various times on a number of short films and these have been important to him, often in trying out ideas, techniques and themes which later re-surface in his feature films. When asked why he liked making short films, Szabó replied: Because I can try different forms, so it’s research to me. I had a long, long period, maybe twenty years, when between every feature I did a short film to find out something, how to do it without the big responsibility of millions and millions of dollars. You have a little money and a little camera and you can try to find something out. (Kauffman 1999) Szabó then went on to make his second television drama, World Premiere (Ősbemutató, 1973), a Hungarian Television (Magyar Televízió) and MAFILM co-production. This 94-minute, 16mm, black and white adaptation of the short novel and play by Ferenc 42
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Karinthy (son of the famous Hungarian writer Frigyes Karinthy) who worked with Szabó on the adaptation, features Miklós Gábor, Gábor Mádi Szabó and Máriá Goór Nagy. The world of the theatre that is depicted reappears in various guises and metamorphoses in later films such as Meeting Venus and Being Julia. It was then back to the CJHTDSFFOGPSIJTOFYUGFBUVSFëMN 25 Fireman’s Street, a major reworking and development of his earlier Dream About a House, which also provides the subtitle for the film, although this tended not to be used when the film was distributed in the West. Szabó’s assistant director on this venture was the future documentary filmmaker Tamás Almási, while Sándor Sára once more teamed up as cinematographer. There was also a second appearance in a Szabó film for the Polish actress Lucyna Winnicka (after her appearance in Lovefilm). There can surely be little argument that, at least from a GPSNBMBOETUZMJTUJDQFSTQFDUJWF JUJT4[BCØTNPTUDPNQMFYBOEEJïDVMUëMN1BSUMZ inspired by his reading of Dylan Thomas’s Under Milk Wood (see Paul 1994: 206), the overall impression is of a surrealist-type collage of dream sequences and recollections, many of which also serve as flashbacks, although not necessarily factually accurate ones. There are a large number of rambling and overlapping narrative strands, where TDFOFTìPXJOUPPOFBOPUIFSBOEUJNFBOEHFPHSBQIZBSFFYUSFNFMZìVJE*OBGFX scenes people meet who could not possibly have done so, as one or more of the protagonists is dead or living on the other side of the world; all of which combines to make UIJTBOFYUSFNFMZDIBMMFOHJOHëMNBUKVTUBCPVUFWFSZMFWFM%FTQJUFBMMUIJT IPXFWFS 4[BCØIBTFNQIBUJDBMMZEFOJFEUIBUUIFëMNIBTBOZTVSSFBMJTUBTQFDU TFF.BSY 202), nor does he think the film contains any fantasies: ‘25 Fireman’s Street is a story about dreams, or, to be more precise nightmares. These nightmares, however, are composed of real stories’ (Rubenstein 1989: 36). As with a number of modernist New Wave-influenced directors from Central Europe, Szabó had one eye on the French and the influence of Alain Resnais’ Hiroshima mon amour is particularly strong, but also other European directors come to mind, such as Bergman and Fellini. Kovács suggests that this is the closest Szabó ever came to the political modernism inspired by the VTFPGIJTUPSZBOENZUIBTFYFNQMJëFEJOUIFXPSLPGIJTGFMMPX)VOHBSJBOMiklós Jancsó with films such as Red Psalm (Még kér a nép, 1971) and Electra (Elektreia, 1974) (see Kovács 2007: 376–80). However, having made the approach, Szabó stopped short of developing it further and this was to become, instead, a prelude to a major turning point in his career, about which more later. Despite the film’s often dazzling, GPSNBM DPNQMFYJUZ UIF PWFSBSDIJOH TUPSZ BOE QMPU BSF RVJUF CBTJD BT UIF ëMN USBDFT the thoughts, memories and dreams of the residents of a Budapest block of flats at 25 Fireman’s Street, during one hot summer’s night, just before the building is about to be demolished. Adding to the element of the autobiographical and personal which is such a feature of Szabó’s filmmaking at this time, a number of the scenes are shot in the apartment block where Szabó had lived as a child. The memories of the block’s residents are a kind of mental distillation or chart of Hungary’s journey through much of the twentieth century, particularly the Second World War years and its aftermath, and although, at the end of the film, 25 Fireman’s Street is demolished, the memories, collective and individual, remain. Not for the first time in a Szabó film, memory and history become intertwined, the one feeding into the other and vice-versa, but v i si on s of e u rope
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UIJTUJNFBMTPëMUFSFEUISPVHIBDPNQMFYGBCSJDPGESFBNTFRVFODFT6OTVSQSJTJOHMZ history as it is manifested in 25 Fireman’s Street is a loose flow of images and events and without some knowledge of Hungarian history it can be difficult to unravel. Nevertheless, there is a kind of a pattern here. The opening scenes set the tone and structure for much of the rest of the film. It is late and stiflingly hot and the residents of 25 Fireman’s Street are trying to settle down for the night but struggling to sleep in the heat. The camera moves fluidly and seamlessly from apartment to apartment and we see a middle-aged woman, Maria (Lucyna Winnicka) fretting over a dress she lost in 1944 and Mrs Gaskóy (Rita Békés) waiting for the effects of a sleeping pill to take effect. These two characters figure prominently JOUIFëMNBMUIPVHIUIJTJTJONBOZXBZTBDPMMFDUJWF DPNNVOJUZFYQFSJFODFXJUOFTTFE onscreen. Unable to sleep, a young woman gets out of bed and then, bizarrely, starts swimming as the viewer realises she is underwater, although still in her apartment. Clearly, we are in very different territory to those of previous Szabó films and the scene evokes Chagall’s floating, detached figures or those in the Mannerist style of El Greco. Any effort to follow a narrative closely is probably wasted as the film stresses OPUTPNVDIDBVTBMJUZCVUBXIPMFMJWFEFYQFSJFODFXJUIJUTNBOZGBDFUTNFSHJOHJOUP a seamless whole, outlining incidents from the lives of the residents ranging in time from 1920, through the Second World War, and up to the demolition of the building (presumably roughly contemporaneous with the film’s release in 1973). As Graham Petrie suggests in his discussion of the film, ‘25 Fireman’s Street works in a more musical structure of theme and variations, with no sharply defined resolution or release at the end’ (1978: 129). The director has suggested that the film ought UPCFTFFOBTBESFBNFYQFSJFODFECZUIFIPVTFJUTFMGBOE AXJUIJOUIBUDPOUFYU UIF fragmentary and often contradictory stream of images has its own logic’ (quoted in ibid.) The logic is, I think, difficult to work out but there is a loose kind of pattern in the film which may just be using different words to talk about the same thing. History is portrayed as in some way cyclical and events are repeated throughout the course of the film, although with significant variations or role reversals. David Paul calls these AJSPOJDMPPQT BOEUIFDBTFPG.ST(BTLØZJTBHPPEFYBNQMF4IFJTUIF quintessential good neighbour who is praised for hiding partisans in her attic during the war but her small bakery business is brutally commandeered and nationalised in the late 1940s. At one point in the narrative (the late 1940s or early 1950s), an aristocrat, a Count who has obviously fallen on hard times, is about to be taken away by the police, presumably to be relocated to a labour camp in the countryside. He asks one of his neighbours, the kindly Mária (rumoured to be based partly on Szabó’s mother), to look after his possessions. She replies ‘Of course I will’. This is a reflection or parallel with an earlier scene when the roles are reversed and it is Maria and her IVTCBOEXIPBSFUPCFEFQPSUFECZUIF"SSPX$SPTT"ëWFPSTJYZFBSHBQ BEJêFSFOU regime, the same brutal measures by people in different uniforms and often, but not always, the same individual human sentiments and decency in response. This idea of communality, reciprocity and helping the ‘other’, even finding your own sense of self JOUIJTBDU SFEPMFOUPGUIFJEFBTPG&NBOVFM-FWJOBT TFF GPSFYBNQMF Humanism of the Other, 2006) is a theme to which the film returns to on a number of occasions. 44
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One of the main ways in which the pattern of variation and repetition is played out is in the comings and goings of various uniformed figures, as we see French soldiers (there was a French military legation in Budapest after the end of the First World War), Arrow Cross, Nazis and Red Army soldiers, not to mention the police of the various successive regimes, all of them in one way or another affecting the lives of the occuQBOUTPG'JSFNBOT4USFFU PGUFOJOBOFYUSFNFMZEJTSVQUJWFBOECSVUBMNBOOFSɨFTF cyclical variations on a theme embedded within a historical framework are also played out in other Szabó films, particularly in the later Sunshine. In Szabó’s films, history is rarely arbitrary. Despite the ‘slings and arrows of outrageous fortune’, it is possible to discern some kind of motif and pattern, as we see history repeated in various guises. Some of the most powerful scenes in the film and also those with the most internal coherence concern the deportation of people during the Second World War which, EFTQJUF UIF ëMNT DPNQMFYJUJFT BOE UJNF TQBO JT JUT DFOUSBM BOE EPNJOBUJOH QFSJPE Men are herded into the courtyard and guarded by Arrow Cross militia; this suggests a group of Jews being taken away to serve in a Labour Batallion but the film gives no overt indication of this as the men do not wear yellow stars or any other noticeable identifying marks. As they wait to be taken away they affirm their Hungarianness by singing the National Anthem. The assertion of national identity and pride, while they themselves are in all likelihood being denied this by the authorities, is a theme, once again, developed more fully in Sunshine. Later, a group of men and women are likewise taken away but first they are ‘disinfected’ in what looks very much like a Jewish ritual bath. Quite why their Jewishness, if that is indeed their identity (or the identity of some of them), is only hinted at in this way is difficult to work out. Perhaps Szabó did OPUXBOUUPTQFDJGZPSOBSSPXUIFJSJEFOUJUZBOEFYQFSJFODFUPPOFQBSUJDVMBSHSPVQ a stance that would be in line with the idea that the occupants of 25 Fireman’s Street TPNFIPXSFQSFTFOUBEJTUJMMBUJPOPGUIF.BHZBSFYQFSJFODFJOUIFUXFOUJFUIDFOUVSZ and not just one section of it. Biblical allusions are also to be found, in particular the obvious New Testament reference to feeding the five thousand in a scene where a large group hiding in the cellars is fed with one tin of sardines and, as in almost all Szabó’s films, there are numerous references to the temptations or hardships of emigration, leaving Hungary for Canada, America, Australia, or even nearby Vienna… ‘to start with’. One resident of 25 Fireman’s Street receives a letter from someone now living in São Paulo but even there, in such a distant place, she still cannot find any peace. At some point most of the residents are faced with the choice of staying or leaving; some do leave but most stay. The film premiered in Hungary on 27 September 1973 and was not a great success with the domestic audience. At this point it is perhaps worthwhile to take a slight detour and have a look at Szabó’s reception in his home country. Contrary to what NJHIU CF FYQFDUFE HJWFO IJT JOUFSOBUJPOBM TUBUVT UPEBZ IJT ëMNT IBWF OPU BMXBZT QFSGPSNFEXFMMBUUIF)VOHBSJBOCPYPïDF"DDPSEJOHUPTUBUJTUJDTJOFilmspiral 21, none of his early films ever achieved anything approaching a million admissions from their release, up to December 1976. In the period concerned, The Age of Daydreaming XBT 4[BCØT UPQ CPYPïDF QFSGPSNFS XJUI BENJTTJPOT XIJMF 25 Fireman’s Street was his fourth best with 121,000 admissions. Comparisons are difficult to make v i si on s of e u rope
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but if we take a rough and ready sample of films released around the same time as The Age of Daydreaming, 1965, then some interesting observations emerge. One might FYQFDUUIFBVEJFODFGPS.JLMØT+BODTØTMy Way Home to be, more-or-less, drawn from the same sector of the population; nevertheless, Jancsó’s film drew 971,000 admissions up to December 1976, 216,000 more than The Age of Daydreaming (the two films were released within a month of each other). In comparison with popular genre films, Szabó comes off even worse. Captive Ráby (Ráb Ráby), a historical drama directed by György Hintsch, released in January 1965, attracted audience figures of 1,508,000 (see Balogh et al. 1997). It is only with the award of his Academy Award, for Mephisto, that Szabó’s films started to be really popular in his own country; however, Péter Dobai, scriptwriter on Mephisto, has suggested that this was only after the award was announced (see Paul 1994: 207). It is not surprising, therefore, that 25 Fireman’s Street BOFYUSFNFMZDIBMMFOHJOHBOEEJïDVMUëMN EJESFMBUJWFMZQPPSMZBUUIFEPNFTUJDCPYPïDF Szabó was clearly not happy with the response to the film and decided, in his own XPSET UPNBLFIJTOFYUëMNAUIFTBNFTUPSZ BCPVUUIFTBNFQFPQMF JOBWFSZTJNQMF way’ (quoted in Paul 1994: 175). Thus was born Budapest Tales, which brings to the fore a symbol of Budapest which any visitor to the city will be well-acquainted with. The yellow tram has an iconic status in a number of Szabó’s films and it is almost as if the director wanted to condense all the previous appearances of the tram, with their numerous connotations, into one film. In this curious tale, a reconstructed tram and the people it attracts acts as an allegory for post-war Hungary, despite the fact UIBUOFJUIFS)VOHBSZPS#VEBQFTUJTFWFSNFOUJPOFE FYDFQU PGDPVSTF JOUIFUJUMF Budapest Tales shows an ever-growing group of people banding together to renovate and reconstruct a battered yellow tram, get it back on the rails and push it into the DJUZ XIJDISFNBJOTBOPOZNPVTBOEJOUIJTTFOTFJUJTBNBTTJWFFYQBOTJPOPGBTDFOF in which appeared in Father. Although it is obviously a Budapest tram this is never alluded to in the film, nor is the time or location. However, there is considerable archive footage at the beginning of the film depicting Budapest, and its trams, through the ages, particularly the Second World War, the final days of the Budapest siege and its immediate aftermath. Quite why these people go to such enormous lengths to get the tram functioning again is never made clear, though the obvious enthusiasm they show for the task demonstrates its importance for them. Along the way the participants, who represent a cross-section of the population, encounter problems, successes, failures, trials and conflicts. With Sándor Sára on camera and some of the best Hungarian actors available, including András Bálint and Ildikó Bánsági (her first appearance for Szabó), this JTBëMNXIJDIJOUSJHVFTBOEQFSQMFYFTJOFRVBMRVBOUJUJFTBOESBJTFTUIFRVFTUJPOPG whether or not it really is a simple story as Szabó suggests. Why do these people devote so much time, ingenuity and sheer physical effort into reconstructing and then hauling the tram back to the anonymous city? After all, this is by no means an easy task and at POFQPJOU GPSFYBNQMF UIFUSBNIBTUPCFUBLFOBQBSU USBOTQPSUFEQBSUCZQBSUPOB raft over a river and then reconstructed. Yet anyone looking for easy symbols, parallels and allegorical elements will have few problems noting the way the various characters replicate a cross-section of the Hungarian population, while their apparent rootless46
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ness, often connected with past traumas, reminds the viewer of a post-war generation of displaced persons and refugees struggling to find their place in a new and strange world, and in this respect bears some resemblance to Géza Radványi’s Somewhere in Europe (Valahol Európában, 1948). There are no central characters and only a few have names and, following from UIJT UIFSFJTBHSFBUTUSFTTPOFOTFNCMFBDUJOHBOEUIFDPMMFDUJWJUZPGUIFJSFYQFSJFODFT As David Paul suggests this is a ‘community story’ (1994: 175) as, in its very different way, was 25 Fireman’s Street. The communal dimension is reinforced by a roving camera which frequently pans across static groups of characters and will also often follow one protagonist as he or she is talking and then switch or pan back to another character when they enter the frame, constantly moving right and left in a very fluid fashion – highly reminiscent of the camera style of Miklós Jancsó in Elektra and some of his other films from around this time. The creation of the ‘tram community’ does not come about easily and there are times of great stress and a number of outbreaks of violence. The journey to the city is by no means easy and there are casualties along the way. Initially all appears to go well; a small group of men and women get the tram back on its rails and begin the slow and often hard work of pushing it to the city. As the journey progresses, a rough and ready type of community takes shape, centred mainly around the figure of the doctor (Szymon Szurmiej), medics again figuring in a Szabó film, while others such the painter (Zoltán Huszárik) are also important. The arrival of soldiers, clearly in Hungarian-style uniforms, is one of the first disruptions. The remark of one of the community – ‘Here come our bloody army’ – not only suggests the low-standing of the Hungarian Army in the public eye but portends the trouble to come. They are frequently aggressive and at one point there is major fracas after a number of people turn on the leading soldier, an aggressive individual played by a favourite Jancsó actor, József Madaras. The doctor, vainly trying to restore peace, only gets a bloodied nose for his troubles. Opposition to the doctor starts to take shape and he is dragged into the woods and beaten to death but the reasons are unclear although envy, spite and a suspicion of intellectuals seem to play their part. Elements of what might loosely be described as Stalinism then creep into the routine of the community. Having set a clock to wake up at a certain time, they oversleep and the clocks are then simply put back an hour to ‘rectify’ the situation, a clear illustration of the manipulation of ‘reality’ by Stalinism and, of course, other totalitarian systems. Despite the deeply symbolic nature of much of the film, one aspect of which is that much is lost on a non-Hungarian audience, Budapest Tales has a linear narrative with no ìBTICBDLT GPSFTIBEPXJOHUIFTUSBJHIUGPSXBSEMJOFBSOBSSBUJPOPG4[BCØTOFYUGFBUVSF film, Confidence. ɨFOVNFSPVTDPNQMFYJUJFTPGUIFëMNSFTUBMNPTUFOUJSFMZXJUIJOJUT story and plot. The people involved are of all ages, men and women, and include, as well as the doctor and the painter, a mother and son, a group of soldiers and a barber. They appear, initially, to be wandering around refugee-like or perhaps even in hiding. They are quite shabby in appearance carrying a few precious possessions and battered suitcases and a number of them have suffered some kind of deeply personal loss such as UIFEFBUIPGBMPWFEPOF FYQFSJFODFTIJHIMZSFNJOJTDFOUPGSFGVHFFT EJTQMBDFEQFSTPOT and those fleeing from oppression in one form or another. Clearly, however, one may v i si on s of e u rope
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wish to interpret this, the tram gives them a focus, a goal and some kind of hope. They endure trial by fire and water, they go through life’s cycle of birth and death, and FYQFSJFODFBSPMMFSDPBTUFSPGFNPUJPOT MPWFBOEIBUF FDTUBUJDKPZBOEQSPGPVOEEJTBQQPJOUNFOU FWFOUVBMMZSFBDIJOHUIFJSHPBMoUIFDJUZ UIPVHIXIBUIBQQFOTOFYUJTMFGU VOBOTXFSFE0OBSSJWJOHBUUIFPVUTLJSUTPGUIFDJUZ BOFYUSFNFMPOHTIPUTIPXTUIBU they were not alone in their endeavours. Other groups of people have likewise been QVTIJOHUSBNTUPUIFDJUZ SFJOGPSDJOHUIFOPUJPOUIBUUIJTJTBTIBSFEDPNNVOJUZFYQFrience but actually involving a much wider (national?) community than had previously been apparent. Again, this is reminiscent of the endings of some of Szabó’s earlier films such as Father and Lovefilm. Whether or not their dreams are fulfilled or collapse once they reach their final destination we will never know as the film ends at this point. It would appear that Szabo’s desire to make a simpler tale than 25 Fireman’s Street and thus appeal to a larger audience was only partly born out. Audience figures were not encouraging and with a number of reviewers puzzlement was the order of the day. Writing in the New York Times Herbert Mitgang could scarcely conceal his dislike of the film: ‘most of the characters speak in capital letters about Life, Love and the Need to Keep Calm while hitching a ride on the train of Adversity’ (1982: n.p.). Other SFWJFXFSTBMTPEJEOPUFYQSFTTBOZHSFBUBêFDUJPOGPSUIFëMN City Map (Várostérkép, 1977) is another of Szabó’s homages to the city of his birth and bears some resemblance (but only some) to the ‘City Symphony’-type films of Walter Ruttman’s Berlin, Symphony of a Great City (1927), Joris Ivens’ Rain (1929) and Dziga Vertov’s Man With a Movie Camera (1929). The opening credits are shown over a map of Budapest, giving a clear indication of the subject matter, but this is where any major sense of clarity ends. The film is a collage of different types of shots and scenes, and interconnections can sometimes be hard to find although Szabó does include TPNFFMFNFOUTGSPNIJTQSFWJPVTëMN GPSFYBNQMF XFTFFTIPUTPGUIFXBUDIBOEUIF doctor’s bag seen in Father while a courtyard and a grandfather clock evoke the setting and the clock repairer from 25 Fireman’s Street. The film also uses footage of wartime destruction seen in Father and frequently recycled by Szabó and other directors. Trams make various appearances, while footage of tanks in the streets cannot help but evoke memories of 1956. The people of the city also feature. A man talks about his friends and relations who live abroad in Canada and Australia, and we see a map of the world; another FYBNQMF PG UIF SFDVSSJOH UIFNF PG FNJHSBUJPO BOE FYJMF GPVOE JO BMNPTU BMM 4[BCØ films. The most sustained and interesting sequence in the film are the posed shots of various occupational groups such as bakers, medical personnel, waiters and nuns, their rigid group poses breaking up as individually they drift away, mingle and join other groups. There are also memories from Szabó’s life and places where he lived, and these BSFPCWJPVTMZJNQPSUBOUUPUIFEJSFDUPS5PXIBUFYUFOUUIFëMNJTTJNQMZBIPNBHFUP #VEBQFTUBOEUPXIBUFYUFOU4[BCØJTUSZJOHPVUJEFBToPGTIPUDPNQPTJUJPO FEJUJOH etc. – is hard to tell; maybe both. What can be said is that of all the films grouped in this chapter, this is quite possibly the most deeply personal. Szabó’s portrayal of Budapest in these and other films is of interest from another point of view. There is a long-standing tendency for urban space in films to be often 48
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represented as threatening, anonymous, lonely and alienating, with its quintessential image being the famous publicity shot of Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro), alone, head down, shoulders hunched, from Martin Scorsese’s Taxi Driver. By and large, however, this is absent from Szabó’s work. The Budapest depicted in his films rarely shows its NFBOTUSFFUTBOEXIFSFQSPCMFNTFYJTUT BOEUIFSFBSFDFSUBJOMZFOPVHIPGUIFN JUJT OPUUIFOBUVSFPGVSCBOFYJTUFODFJOBOEPGJUTFMGUIBUJTUPCMBNFCVUNPSFEJSFDUMZ tangible phenomena such as low pay, sub-standard accommodation (in Dear Emma, Sweet Böbe) or anti-semitisim (Sunshine). In this respect Szabó appears to go against the trend of much modernist filmmaking, at least in terms of the way he deals with the representation of the urban space and the life that is found in it. If this observation is correct then the reason for this lack of modernist angst in his Budapest films would appear to stem from his love for and devotion to the city of his birth and a desire to show, above all, the humanity of the people within it. This is combined with his disinclination or disinterest in showing the lives of those at the bottom of, or on the margins of, society. Interesting as these films are and the speculations about them, they do little to QPJOUUIFXBZGPSXBSEUPUIFOFYUTUBHFJOIJTDBSFFSɨSFFZFBSTBGUFSCity Map Szabó embarked on a period of filmmaking that was drastically different to what had gone before and would open up a whole new phase in his career. Whether or not the poor reception of 25 Fireman’s Street or Budapest TalesJOìVFODFE4[BCØTOFYUGFBUVSFëMN is open to question. He has emphatically denied any such influence although some PG IJT FBSMJFS DPNNFOUT NBZ JOEJDBUF PUIFSXJTF )JT OFYU ëMN o Confidence – is in Szabó’s opinion the film that represented the major break between his previous, New 8BWFJOìVFODFE TFNJFYQFSJNFOUBMXPSLBOEBNPSFSFBMJTU DMBTTJDBMBQQSPBDIJOIJT films since. From this point on his films are much more character-centred and tell their stories through the characters, minimizing or often dispensing with devices such as ìBTICBDLT NVMUJQMFOBSSBUJWFTUSBOET ESFBNTFRVFODFTFUD4[BCØFYQMBJOFEUIJTQPJOU in an interview published in the English-language edition of the Hungarofilm Bulletin: In my earlier films, the social milieu, the world in which the actors live, was CVJMUVQUBCMFBVYMJLFBSPVOEUIFDIBSBDUFSTɨJTUJNFUBCMFBVYBSFPVUBVEJences will only have the two leads to hold their attention. (1979: 18) Confidence is also, and perhaps more importantly, the film that marked Szabó’s decisive turn away from the earlier influences of the French New Wave, his attempts at TPNFUIJOHBQQSPBDIJOHBSUDJOFNBBOEUIFWBSJPVTFYQFSJNFOUTPGPOFLJOEPSBOPUIFS that had occupied him since his Diploma film. It is now 1980, fifteen years since his GFBUVSFëMN EFCVU JO BOE 4[BCØ IBT FYQFSJNFOUFE XJUI B OVNCFS PG EJêFSFOU styles, all of them in one way or another within the parameters of what might loosely be called cinematic modernism. Although Szabó has achieved much in this period, not least establishing himself as an international figure of some repute, there is a sense in which he has still to find his ‘voice’, his niche, a mode of filmmaking in which he can GFFMBUIPNFBOEFYDFM)PXFWFS UIFANPNFOUPGNPEFSOJTNJTPWFS DFSUBJOMZJOUIF cinema; in fact it has probably been dead for some time and despite the evident quality v i si on s of e u rope
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of films such as Father, Szabó’s career up to this point has been patchy and the response of Hungarian audiences to his films has likewise been uneven. Szabó, I would argue, has always been very aware of his audience and, within certain parameters, was eager to please them and to connect. No longer one of the ‘young Turks’ of Hungarian cinema, being over forty years old, Szabó starts to find his real niche, his calling if you like, in a mode of filmmaking which is basically classical and often based on historical topics and/ or literary adaptations, arguably the two modes where he is at his best (although I have some reservations to make about this later). In making this transition he develops a style which is increasingly reliant on highly developed, polished scripts and close working and rapport with prominent actors and actresses, both from Hungary and abroad. Also of major significance, given the shift or reorientation in Szabó’s work, is the input of cinematographer Lajos Koltai who joined Szabó to work on Confidence and has remained his co-worker and close collaborator up to and including Relatives. Koltai graduated from the Film Academy in 1966, only a few years after Szabó, with his Diploma film, the 13-minute Hippodrom directed by Tamás Farkas (see Csala and Fazekas 2001: 183). As with directors, all cinematographers studied at the Academy under a particular tutor. For would-be cinematographers this was usually that Grand Old Man of Hungarian cinematography György Illés and no doubt Koltai, like so NBOZ CFOFëUUFEGSPNUIFUFBDIJOHBOEFYQFSJFODFPGUIJTHFOJVT8JUIëMNTPG one kind or another to his credit, working with directors such as Márta Mészaros, Géza Böszörményi and Gyula Maár, Koltai brought with him a considerable amount PG FYQFSJFODF OP TIPSUBHF PG JOOPWBUPSZ TLJMM BOE B LFFO FZF GPS TIPU DPNQPTJUJPO and the use of lighting and colour. Maár, who first worked with Koltai back in 1971, speaking in an interview in 1978, rated Koltai as ‘one of the world’s best directors of photography’ (Maár 1978: 28). The pinnacle of his pre-Szabó career was as cinematographer on Pál Gábor’s classic Angi Vera in 1979, where his genius for using subdued lighting and bleached or pastel-shaded colour is demonstrated to the full. Like Szabó he seems most at home when working within a classical mode, despite some early work with avant-garde artists such Gábor Bódy and Magyar Dezső, and certainly he has not been slow to grab the chance to work in Hollywood. In 2005 he made his first film as director, an adaptation of Nobel Prize-winner Imre Kertész’s novel Fateless (Sorstalánság) and he now divides his time between the USA and Hungary. Speaking in London in July 2009 Szabó said that his long collaboration with Koltai was now at an end as he was pursuing a career as a director. Another newcomer to the Szabó ‘stable’ also needs to be mentioned; this is the first of his films on which the editor Zsuzsa Csákány (a.k.a. Mrs Jancsó) worked, a role she has continued to perform on all his subsequent Hungarian-language films. Confidence maintains Szabó’s concern for Hungary’s recent past, in this case the last years of the Second World War in Budapest. The story is simple. During the closing months of the war, Kata (Ildikó Bánsági) is forced to go into hiding when her husband, a resistance fighter, flees to escape arrest. For obvious reasons the resistance movement do not want her to be picked up so they arrange a new identity and a safe house for her. Much to her consternation she is to be the ‘wife’ of another resistance fighter, János (Péter Andorai), and they have to live together in lodgings, posing as a married couple. János is used to this life of hiding and subterfuge but it is all new and 50
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frightening for Kata and initially János appears heartless and even cruel. Yet they must learn to have trust and confidence in each other and in this way they can both survive. Eventually, they begin to cope and the enforced ‘marriage of convenience’ gives way to feelings of genuine affection. The war ends and they decide to stay together although, in the last scene of the film, they become (temporarily?) separated and János looks for Kata in a long line of Budapest citizens registering with the new authorities; he shouts out Kata’s name repeatedly and the film ends. When asked what was he trying to achieve with Confidence, Szabó replied: To speak about two things: one is the level of human relationships; two is to tell people about the mentality of underground movements which means you don’t trust anyone, which means that you can never be free […]. Because they are very courageous, probably, to fight, but to create an open free world they are very, very EBOHFSPVT CFDBVTFUIFZCPSSPXUIFJSPXOFYQFSJFODFT Given that this was the background of some of Hungary’s Communist Party members, although not Rákósi who spent most of the 1930s in prison in Hungary while others XFSFJOFYJMFJO.PTDPXBOEFMTFXIFSF 4[BCØTDPNNFOUTBSFJOEFFEQFSUJOFOU UIPVHI how much of this came out at the time of the film’s release is not clear. Cleary such QSPMPOHFEBOEFYUSFNFMZEBOHFSPVTDMBOEFTUJOFBDUJWJUZSFRVJSFTBCSBWFSZBOEEFUFSmination few of us possess or could emulate but, ultimately, it seems there is a price to pay. It is the kind of phenomenon perhaps referred to by W. B. Yeats in his poem Easter 1916 when he speaks of the leaders of the Irish Uprising: Too long a sacrifice Can make a stone of the heart Although in the film János, despite his ‘hardness’, ends up declaring his love for Kata it is easy to see how inappropriate his clandestine, underground methods and his personal ‘hardness’ might be if carried over into peacetime conditions. "GUFSUIFìPVSJTIFTPGTPNFPGIJTFBSMJFSXPSLoUIFDPNQMFYJUJFTPGUIFESFBN sequences in 25 Fireman’s StreetUPUBLFKVTUPOFFYBNQMFoUIJTJTBTUBSUMJOHMZTUSBJHIUGPSXBSEëMN XIBUFWFSJUTUIFNBUJDDPNQMFYJUJFTNBZCF *UJTTIPUJOBOPGUFOTVCEVFE light, with cold misty hues of grey and blue prevailing in the outdoor scenes, while the interiors are often dark and gloomy. The gloom starts to lift when the two characters begin to discover their love for each other. Szabó and Koltai studied the paintings of Vermeer as one source for the visual elements of the film and an article in American Cinematographer gives more details: [Koltai] relied heavily on single-source lighting and sparse practical lighting to illustrate the simple lifestyle of the two characters. Lajos used a grey and green colour scheme, painting set walls grey and using a grey filter in front of the lens GPSEBZFYUFSJPSTDFOFTUPFOIBODFUIFHMPPNZNPPEPGUIFëMN)PXFWFS XIFO together, the lovers were bathed in soft, warm single-source lighting. (Lueker 1996: 83) v i si on s of e u rope
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Getting to know each other: Kata (Ildikó Bánsági) and János (Péter Andorai)
There are no flashbacks and the story is told in a straightforward linear fashion. In a number of his previous films Szabó uses voice-over (as in Father GPSFYBNQMF UPHJWF BNJYPGëSTUQFSTPOBOEUIJSEQFSTPOOBSSBUJPOCVUUIJTQSBDUJDFJTBCBOEPOFEJOUIJT film, although it re-appears in Meeting Venus and Sunshine. One aspect of his earlier filmmaking that is retained (and is still used) is the insertion of documentary and archive footage; in the case of Confidence this takes the form of a newsreel Kata watches in an almost deserted cinema at the very beginning of the film. A certain element of XIBUNJHIUCFDBMMFEJOUFSUFYUVBMJUZJTBMTPSFUBJOFE JOBOVNCFSPGIJTëMNT4[BCØ makes reference to cinema in one way or another – the Chaplin film in Father and the poster for The 400 Blows in The Age of DaydreamingUPUBLFKVTUBDPVQMFPGFYBNQMFT In Confidence, as Kata steps out from the cinema into the dullish blue light of day, the viewer can briefly glimpse a cinema poster advertising the film This Happened in Budapest (Ez történt Budapesten), a marker of the time – the film was released in June 1944 – and a parallel with a number of the concerns of Confidence. Directed by Ákos D. Hamza (the editor was Szabó’s mentor, Mariássy) it also features the wife of one man, a lawyer involved in a divorce case, masquerading as the wife of another. Perhaps there is also an added sense of poignancy as the screenwriter Károly Nóti was Jewish and from 1939 was banned and used a number of pseudonyms in order to obtain work (see Mudrák and Deák 2006: 224). Of course, this may be reading too much into a small fleeting detail which is terra incognito to most non-Hungarians and, possibly, also to some Hungarians. The film met with a warm critical response but its slow pace, chamber-piece atmosphere and emphasis on dialogue (which Szabó resurrects with a vengeance in Taking Sides NFBOUJUXBTIBSEMZFWFSMJLFMZUPCFBCPYPïDFIJU%JTUSJCVUJPOPVUTJEF Hungary was, at best, patchy although it was popular with a number of overseas 52
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reviewers. Geoff Brown, writing in the Times, chastised British distributors for their lack of response to the film: ‘What a topsy-turvy world: Istvan Szabó’s spellbinding Confidence takes three years to reach a public cinema in Britain, while dross streaks out of Hollywood…’ (1983: 17). The film’s quality was picked up by some and Confidence won awards in Berlin and Tokyo. Today, despite its centrality to the development of Szabó’s style and artistic development, it is a film which does not receive the attention it merits. Having made a decisive break with his past film practice and aesthetic, Szabó now went on to consolidate this shift and enter a period which finally and emphatically FTUBCMJTIFEIJNBTBNBKPSJOUFSOBUJPOBMëMNNBLFS#FGPSFIFFNCBSLFEPOIJTOFYU major feature he made a film for German TV, The Green Bird (Der grüne vogel), for the enterprising West Berlin-based Manfred Durniok. By his own account Durniok had met Szabó in the summer of 1978 in Berlin when he was introduced to him by Polish director Krzysztof Zanussi (see Durniok Foundation Website). Although not a stellar component in the Szabó ouvre, The Green Bird was to prove important for at least two reasons: it brought Szabó and Durniok together, something of massive importance for UIFDPNJOHQFSJPE BOEJOUSPEVDFEIJNUPUIFFYDFMMFOU1PMJTIBDUSFTT ,SZTUZOB+BOEB The stage was about to be set for the single greatest achievement of his career to date.
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CHAPTER FIVE
Tales from Mitteleuropa: Mephisto; Colonel Redl; Hanussen
Prosecutor: Where do you belong? Hanussen: To Central Europe, whose destiny we have shared for so long.
The 1980s witnessed what is still the most successful decade in Szabó’s career. I have chosen to consider his three feature films from this decade in one chapter, primarily because this adheres to the chronological framework I have adapted and because of the three films’ many thematic cross-overs. Szabó has protested against the widely held BTTVNQUJPOUIBUUIFUISFFëMNTNBLFVQBUSJMPHZ TFF GPSFYBNQMF 3PCJOTPOBOE Hames 2004) and it might be reasonable to assume, at least from a chronological point of view, that if they were intended as such, then Mephisto would actually be the last of the three films not the first. They nevertheless share a number of important elements, thematically, historically, stylistically and in terms of personnel. Whether taken as a XIPMFPSDPOTJEFSFETFQBSBUFMZ UIFTFUISFFëMNTDPOTUJUVUFBNBKPSDJOFNBUJDFYBNJnation, treatment and engagement with the individual and his or her place within the troubled history of Central Europe. The films are also a consolidation and development of what was previously manifested in Confidence – the shift away from a mode PGëMNNBLJOHXIJDIXPSLFEXJUIJOBOETPNFUJNFTFYQFSJNFOUFEXJUIWBSJPVTGPSNT of New Wave and modernist practices, to a more transparent and linear style which hovers somewhere between classical Hollywood, commercial art cinema, literary adaptation and, at times, historical costume drama. There are other departures from his previously established practice. Prior to 1981 all Szabó’s feature films had been based on his own screenplays and his preferred way of working was to develop ideas of his own and, so far, he had resisted any temptation to work from a literary source. But, according to Szabó, he was thinking about changing course and was on the lookout for a literary work that might be suitable for adaptation UPUIFTDSFFO BTIFFYQMBJOFEJOBOJOUFSWJFX 54
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For a long while I’d been trying to zero in on a literary work that might inspire my filmic imagination, and enable me to get outside myself. The idea was to free the more purely directorial side of my imagination. I was beginning to feel like one of those do-it-yourself types who draws up the blueprints for a new house, cuts the wood, constructs the building, and even makes the furniture by hand. And in truth the screenplays I had written had begun to seem a little boring to me. I wanted to specialize as a director… (Hughes 1982: 14) It could be argued – I try to elaborate a little on this later – that working from a literary UFYUBOEBMTP JNQPSUBOUMZ DPMMBCPSBUJOHXJUIBTDSJQUXSJUFS JNQPTFEBEJTDJQMJOFBT well as creating a sense of freedom for Szabó. This may be correct or not, of much more importance was the end result, which was a major achievement and absolutely central to Szabó’s ongoing career. One of the catalysts who contributed to this change was West German producer Manfred Durniok who sent Szabó a copy of Klaus Mann’s short novel Mephisto. Although Szabó felt the story was somewhat limited – ‘the structure is rather flimsy and the characters a bit simplistic’ (ibid.) he decided to go ahead and adapt the novel because of the powerful central character, Hendrik Höfgen, who dominates the narrative from start to finish. He collaborated on the screenplay with the Hungarian writer Péter Dobai, whose work included the screenplay for György Szomjas’s Wrong-Doers (Rosszemberek, 1979) and the dialogue for Csontváry (1980), Zoltán Huszárik’s film about the amazing Hungarian painter Tivadar Csontváry. It was obviously a fruitful collaboration and %PCBJXBTUPXPSLXJUI4[BCØPOIJTOFYUUXPëMNT BOEUIJTFNQIBTJTFTUIFUVSOJOH point in Szabó’s career – his move away from writing his own screenplays to adapting the novels and plays of others or working in close collaboration with screenwriters. Of his future films only the screenplay for Sweet Emma, Dear Böbe was solely the work of Szabó, all the rest were to be adaptations from a literary source and/or collaborations. Strictly speaking this was not Szabó’s first international venture. He already knew Durniok through their work on the German TV film The Green Bird (1979) and after Mephisto they worked together on a television drama Bali (1982), also made for German TV. Mephisto was, however, Szabó’s first feature film with a non-Hungarian topic and international backing, yet he still maintained those close connections to Hungary that have always been so important to him. A number of Hungarian actors and actresses appear in key roles in the film – György Cserhalmi, Ildikó Bánsagi, and Péter Andorai to name the more prominent – and almost all the supporting cast are Hungarian. Much of the film was shot in Hungary and most of the crew, including, of course Lajos Koltai, were Hungarian. This established a practice which continues up to the present day. Being Julia GPS FYBNQMF BMUIPVHI JU SFDSFBUFT UIF -POEPO UIFBUSF XPSME PG UIF MBUF 1930s, uses the theatre in the Hungarian provincial town of Kecskemet for its stage action – it seems that for Szabó there simply has to be some Hungarian input into his films whether behind or in front of the camera, or preferably both. In fact Szabó once remarked that he does not think of his filmmaking from Mephisto on as really international, precisely because of the factors outlined above.
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Despite the broader sweep of its canvas Mephisto continues a major preoccupation of Szabó’s, the concern for people caught up in the maelstrom of political, cultural and economic turbulence in Central Europe, although the focus shifts from Hungary to Germany before and after the rise of the Nazis. Klaus Mann, the author of Mephisto, was the son of the famous German writer Thomas Mann and as such he was part of a formidable literary and artistic dynasty. His father was the acclaimed author of such works as Death in Venice, The Magic Mountain and Buddenbrooks, and arguably the most prominent German man of letters of the twentieth century. Thomas Mann’s brother Heinrich, Klaus’s uncle, was the author of Professor Unrat the book on which the film, The Blue Angel (1930, directed by Josef von Sternberg) was based and a co-founder of a leftist film society (see Willett 1978: 191). The female side of this cultural clan was represented by Klaus’s sister Erika who was the driving force behind the anti-Nazi cabaret The Peppermill and the (uncredited) drama coach for Mädchen in Uniform (1931), Leontine Sagan’s lesbian film classic; she was also an acclaimed writer of children’s fiction and travelogues (see Pulver 2004). The family CV was impressive, to put it mildly, but the Manns’ vocal and very public anti-fascism – as early as 1922 Thomas Mann had denounced fascism as ‘romantic barbarism’ (see Brennan 1962: 150) – inevitably meant that the family would be targeted by the Nazis if they ever took power. In 1933, the unthinkable happened; Hitler was voted in and shortly BGUFS UIJTGBNJMZPGAMJCFSBMSFBDUJPOBSJFT UPVTFUIF/B[JUFSNJOPMPHZ XFOUJOUPFYJMF Klaus taking up refuge in Amsterdam from where he wrote Mephisto in 1936. In the following year he moved to the USA and later joined the US military. Depressed by the state of Europe after the Second World War he committed suicide, at the age of 42, in the South of France in 1949. Adapting the Faust legend to conditions in 1930s Germany, Mephisto is a thinlyWFJMFEDSJUJRVFPGUIF(FSNBOBDUPS(VTUBG(SàOEHFOTXIPJTDBTUBTUIFNPEFSOEBZ Faust, the man who sells his soul to the Devil. Once Klaus’s brother-in-law through IJTNBSSJBHFUP&SJLB (SàOEHFOTXBTUPCFDPNFPOFPGUIFNPTUQSPNJOFOUTUBHFBOE screen actors in Germany. In the mid-1920s, Erika and Klaus, along with his onetime fiancé Pamela Wedekind (daughter of the famous dramatist Frank Wedekind), BOE (SàOEHFOT XPSLFE UPHFUIFS JO UIF (FSNBO MFGUXJOH BWBOUHBSEF UIFBUSF TFF Gervai 1982: 38). There was a thriving ‘left theatre’ culture in Germany at this time, including such companies as the Hamburg Riveter BOEJUXBTJOUIJTDJUZUIBU(SàOEgens’ career as a stage actor was established between 1923 and 1928 when he made over seventy appearances in different roles at the Kammerspiele Theatre. He became a national figure due to his highly acclaimed performance as Mephistopheles in 1932 – the Goethe centenary year when Faust I and II were widely performed in Germany oA"WFSZHJGUFEOFX.FQIJTUPOBNFE(VTUBW(SàOEHFOTDBNFUPUIFGPSFy -BRVFS )JTSFQVUBUJPOHSFXUPTVDIBOFYUFOUUIBUIFXBTJOWJUFEUP#FSMJOCZ OPMFTT B ëHVSF UIBO .BY 3FJOIBSEU (SàOEHFOT BMTP BQQFBSFE JO OVNFSPVT ëMNT IF DBO CF TFFO GPS FYBNQMF JO 'SJU[ -BOHT M (1931) where he plays the part of Schränker, the head of the criminal underworld. Although best known as an actor, he directed a production of Figaro and later in his career turned down the lead role in Veit Harlan’s disgusting anti-Semitic Jud Süss (1940). He married Erika Mann in 1926 but 56
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UIFVOJPOPOMZMBTUFEUISFFZFBST(SàOEHFOTXBTBMNPTUDFSUBJOMZBIPNPTFYVBMBT possibly, was Klaus Mann and the latter’s book can be viewed, in part, as his revenge at what he saw as the betrayal of his sister and at what he perceived as his own betrayal CZ(SàOEHFOT4[BCØFMJEFTUIJTTFUPGDPNQMFYJUJFTGSPNUIFëMN BSHVJOHUIBUJUXBT necessary for spectators to see themselves in Höfgen, an aim that would be thwarted if IFXBTQPSUSBZFEBTBIPNPTFYVBM TFF(FMEFO ɨSPVHIPVUUIFTBOEFBSMZT(SàOEHFOTBTTPDJBUFEIJNTFMGXJUIUIF-FGU but when the Nazis took power he abandoned whatever socialist inclinations he had and threw in his lot with the Third Reich. Under the patronage of the actress Emmy Sonneman, wife of Field Marshall and future head of the Luftwaffe, the blubbery )FSNBOO(ÚSJOH (SàOEHFOTCFDBNFBMFBEJOHMJHIUJOUIFUIFBUSFJOUIFɨJSE3FJDI and was made director of the Berlin State Theatre in 1934. Interestingly, in 1935, (SàOEHFOT DSPTTFE UIF QBUI PG BOPUIFS 4[BCØ QSPUBHPOJTU UIF DPOEVDUPS 8JMIFMN Furtwängler (see the chapter on Taking Sides) when both were appointed to the Cultural Senate, a body set up by Goebbels in 1935 (see Spotts 2003: 81). No doubt Göring wanted one of ‘his men’ there – just one indicator of the rivalry between the monstrous egos of Göring and Goebbels which is alluded to in the film but brought out more fully in Taking SidesɨFBWBJMBCMFFWJEFODFTUSPOHMZTVHHFTUTUIBU(SàOEgens embraced the Nazis with a considerable degree of enthusiasm, perhaps tempered somewhat by concerns about Jews working in the theatre and by the embargo on talented writers due to their Jewish origins or leftist inclinations, thus rendering German theatre rather threadbare in terms of talent and diversity. According to the unpaginated publisher’s note to the 1983 English-language edition, Klaus Mann, in his own words, wrote Mephisto to ‘analyze the abject type of treacherous intellectual who prostitutes his talent for the sake of some tawdry fame and transitory wealth’. The question of fame and the notion of the spotlight, or being ‘in the public eye’, are themes to which Szabó returns on a number of occasions, for FYBNQMFJOHanussen and particularly Being Julia. Powerful as Klaus Mann’s critique no EPVCUJT JUEJEMJUUMFUPBêFDU(SàOEHFOT UIPVHIPOFNJHIUTQFDVMBUFPOIPXXFMMIF slept at night), who went on to a successful wartime and post-war career in drama and film, though he seemed to have preferred the stage. Among his many appearances, in IFTUBSSFEJO5SBVHPUU.àMMFSTëMNFriedemann Bach, which charted the life of one of Johann Sebastian Bach’s sons (see Schulte-Sasse 1996: 203–8) Mephisto was to have been published in West Germany in the early 1960s; an edition had already been published in East Germany in 1956 by Aufbau Verlag and in pre-Berlin Wall days copies must have reached the western side of the divided city. )PXFWFS BMBXTVJUJOTUJHBUFECZ(SàOEHFOTDPNQBOJPO TPNFBDDPVOUTTBZJUXBT his adopted son who began the proceedings), produced seven years of court proceedings, further lawsuits and, ultimately, a ban on publication in a case which became known in the German media as ‘the dead versus the dead’. The ban was only lifted in 1981, a move partly precipitated by a stage play, the release of Szabó’s film and the novel’s publication in the USA. Those who had an interest in doing so could no longer keep the lid on a controversy which still simmers even today. Argument and debate continues to surround this notorious actor who, apparently, never publicly repented v i si on s of e u rope
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IJT BDUJPOT "O FYIJCJUJPO PG IJT MJGF BOE XPSL TFFO CZ TPNF DSJUJDT BT BO BUUFNQU at rehabilitation, was staged in Berlin in 1999 (see Steinberg 2007). The available evidence strongly suggests that he committed suicide by taking a lethal drugs overdose in 1963 while on a trip to the Philippines. The deeper background to Mephisto, both book and film, is, of course, the legend of Faust, the man who signs a pact with the Devil in order to gain power and knowledge but ultimately has to pay the price – he is consigned to hell – as demanded in the PSJHJOBMBHSFFNFOUɨFTUPSZFYJTUTJOWBSJPVTGPSNTBOEJT BSHVBCMZ BMFHFOEPSNZUI central to the European psyche and probably has its origins in North European folklore. The two best-known versions of the Faust legend are, no doubt, the Englishman Christopher Marlowe’s play Doctor Faustus (1604) and Wolfgang von Goethe’s epic, Faust, which appeared in two parts from 1774 to 1833. According to Ehrhard Bahr, ‘by the end of the nineteenth century the figure of Faust had come to represent the German character, and Goethe’s Faust was considered the German national drama par FYDFMMFODF 0UIFSTIBWFBMTPUVSOFEUPUIJTUPQJD JODMVEJOHBOVOëOJTIFE QMBZCZ(PUUIPME-FTTJOH D
OPWFMTPSESBNBTGSPN.BYJNJMMJBO,MJOHFS Faust’s Life and Deaths and Journey to Hell, 1791), Adelbert von Chamiso (The Incredible Story of Peter Schlemiel, 1814), Christian Grabbe (Don Juan und Faust, 1829) and Nikolaus Lenau (Faust, 1836); operas or symphonies from Berlioz (The Damnation of Faust), Charles Gounod (Faust et Marguerite), Ferenc Liszt (Faust Symphony) and Arrigo Boito (Mefistofele). Twentieth-century treatments include Thomas Mann’s own novel Doctor Faustus (1947), Carl Zuckmayer’s play The Devil’s General (1946) and numerous films, TVDI BT ' 8 .VSOBVT &YQSFTTJPOJTUJOìVFODFE Faust (1926), the brilliant animation The Legend of Faust by Czech genius Jan Švankmajer (1994), and the British comedy Bedazzled (Stanley Donen, 1967). In Hungary, Imre Madách’s The Tragedy of Man (Az ember tragédiája, 1859), tells a tale which bears some similarities to Faust. More recently a Romanian theatre company stunned audiences at the 2009 Edinburgh Festival with their stage production of Faust XIJMFFY1ZUIPO5FSSZ(JMMJBNEJSFDUFE a production of Berlioz’s Damnation of Faust in London. Clearly Faust, in whatever manifestation, still has a powerful relevance and resonance for today. The image or shadow of Faust emerges in other cultural forms; The New Yorker magazine evoked the Faust legend in its condemnation of those responsible for the Three Mile Island nuclear accident in 1979, while comic-book hero Captain America pits himself against super-villain Doctor Faustus who plans to bring the whole of New York under his sway using mind-control gas (see Berman 1983: 38). Thus the legend of Faust, or Faustus, has many reverberations throughout European, and to TPNFFYUFOU/PSUI"NFSJDBOIJTUPSZBOEDVMUVSFBOEDBOCFDPOTJEFSFE JOUIFXPSET of Pushkin, ‘an Iliad of modern life’ (quoted in Lukács 1968: 157). Jan Švankmajer, who re-worked the Faust legend at various points in his career, gives a clear summary of how he understands the Faust myth: I believe that Faust is one of the basic morphological or archetypal situations in which both individuals and civilisations find themselves. Sooner or later everyone is faced with the same dilemma – either to live their life in conformity 58
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with the misty promises of institutionalised ‘happiness’, or to rebel and take the path away from civilisation, whatever the results. (Quoted in Hames 2008: 122) Szabó is therefore hardly alone in turning to this tale of ambition, betrayal and deception in order to say something about the present-day world. What separates Szabó’s offering from other film versions – and makes it so superior – is the undoubted brilliance, vision and scope he brings to the story. The Faust legend and its various literary and other manifestations has a well-known central core already referred to but there are some important variations and all artists, Szabó included, who have adapted it have done so to suit their particular purposes and the political and cultural climate of the time. Broadly speaking, the various treatments of the legend can be divided into two main strands which, although different, still TIBSFBDPNNPODPSF0OUIFPOFIBOE BTFYFNQMJëFEJO.BSMPXFTQMBZ 'BVTUVTJTB thoroughly reprehensible character who claims to want ultimate knowledge but wastes IJTUJNF VTJOH-VLÈDTFYQSFTTJPO JOAXJUDIFSZ DIBSMBUBOSZ UIFHSBOEJMPRVFODF UIF magical and mystical’ (1968: 165). On the other, Goethe’s treatment is somewhat different, representing Faust as an ambiguous Renaissance/Enlightenment figure intent on gaining ultimate knowledge but also using his power in a variety of different ways, many of which, such as his schemes for land reclamation and dyke building, are hugely beneficial to mankind. The two different approaches are reflected in their respective endings; Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus is taken away by the Devil and consigned to the flames of hell while in Goethe’s version Faust’s body (he dies right at the end) is about to be claimed by the Devil but angels intervene and instead carry him off to heaven. Both Klaus Mann’s and Szabó’s Mephisto belong in the former category; theirs is ‘a selfdeceived, post-modern unromantic Faust’ (Piette 1998: 137) – here is no Enlightenment or Renaissance hero, however flawed, dedicated to the creation of a better world; instead we see a grubby compromiser, an actor, not a man of letters (or ultimately of principles), ‘who struts and frets his hour upon the stage and is heard no more’. This is not to say that the compromises of the twentieth century’s many Fausts, big or small, had no consequences; they are directly implicated in the rise of Nazism – the ultimate Faustian nightmare that even Goethe’s genius could not have foreseen. From Senator McCarthy’s ‘friendly witnesses’, to the epigones of Zhdanov’s Socialist Realism, to (SàOEHFOT 3JDIBSE4USBVTTBOE-FOJ3JFGFOTUBIMJOUIFɨJSE3FJDI UIFUXFOUJFUI century is not, alas, short of those willing to sell their soul to the Devil, whether for a RVJDLAëYPSGPSNPSFXBSQFE VTVBMMZJEFPMPHJDBM SFBTPOT Szabó’s film, following Mann’s book, is likewise built around the Faust legend and B8FJNBS/B[JTFUUJOHCVUCPUICPPLBOEëMNSFNPWFNPTUPGUIFDPNQMFYJUJFTPGUIF original Faust story, certainly of the Goethe version. Rather than a straight parallel, as Alain Piette points out, the film alternates with echoes and reversals (1998: 138). .BOZPGUIFTFBSFGBJSMZPCWJPVTUIFQPTJUJPOJOHPGUIF.JOJTUFS1SFTJEFOUBT(SàOEgens’ mentor and master (the Third Reich Devil) but also the doppleganger choice of actor Rolf Hoppe, leaving no doubt that the real-life parallel is Hermann Göring, the repulsive philistine who postured as the master of the Third Reich’s artistic and cultural life (as already noted, competing with the equally nauseating Goebbels for v i si on s of e u rope
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Hendrik Höfgen (Klaus Maria Brandauer) with Juliette Martens (Karen Boyd)
this rather dubious ‘title’). Goethe’s Gretchen is absent, although it might be possible UPTQPUFMFNFOUTPG(SFUDIFOJOTPNFPGUIFGFNBMFDIBSBDUFST GPSFYBNQMF UIFBDUSFTT Angelika Siebert (Agnes Bánfalvi) who is besotted with Höfgens or Barbara Bruckner, Höfgen’s first wife (Krystyna Janda). Other characters are less easy to locate in either the Goethe or Marlowe versions and there is no equivalent of Helen of Troy, conjured up by Mephistopheles at Faust’s request, so we are denied the famous line, ‘Was this the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium?’ The Minister President’s actress-mistress, Lotte Lindenthal (Christine Harbort) who becomes Höfgens’ patron, despite his early denunciation of her as a ‘stupid cow’, is clearly paralleled by Frau Göring, the actress Emmy Sonneman. On the other side of the ideological divide, the leftist actor Otto Ulrichs (Péter Andorai) bears some resemblance to the real-life Hans Otto, a prominent figure in the Workers’ Theatre 'FEFSBUJPO XIP XBT BSSFTUFE BOE FYFDVUFE CZ UIF (FTUBQP TPNFUJNF JO UIF T -FTTPCWJPVTMZ %PSB.BSUJO *MEJLØ,JTIPOUJ JTFDIPFEUPTPNFFYUFOUCZ8FJNBSFSB actress Elizabeth Bergner who made a major impact with her portrayal of Catherine the Great in the film of the same name, directed by her husband Paul Czinner. The film was banned by the Nazis and both husband and wife left Germany for the UK in 1933 and then went on to the USA. Taking the place of blonde, blue-eyed Gretchen JTNJYFESBDFCMBDLEBODFS+VMJFUUF.BSUFOT ,BSJO#PZE *O,MBVT.BOOTCPPLTIF JTBMFBUIFSDMBEEPNJOBUSJYEJTIJOHPVUQVOJTINFOUXJUIIFSSJEJOHDSPQCVU4[BCØ abandons this and makes her a less harsh character; tough and defiant, but trapped by UIFDPMPVSPGIFSTLJOJOBTPDJFUZPQFOMZBOEJODSFBTJOHMZYFOPQIPCJD 60
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Obviously the role of Höfgen is absolutely central to the film and a strong, charismatic actor was needed for this demanding part. According to his own account Szabó IBE TJY OBNFT UP MPPL BU 0OF PG UIFTF XBT BO "VTUSJBO TUBHF BOE57 BDUPS ,MBVT .BSJB#SBOEBVFS XIPXBTIJHIMZSFDPNNFOEFECVUIBEMJUUMFQSFWJPVTëMNFYQFSJence, having only appeared in Lee H. Katzin’s disappointing spy-thriller The Salzburg Connection, in 1972. Szabó first saw Brandauer, onstage, in a production of Tartuffe. When he spoke with him about the possibility of taking on the role of Höfgen the latter responded with typical bravado (and one could add arrogance) by urging Szabó not to bother with auditions for the other five, declaiming ‘I am Höfgen!’ Thus began a working relationship which was to last through three films; as well as the leading role in Mephisto, Brandauer also played the lead in Szabó’s subsequent two major releases, Colonel Redl and Hanussen. At this point it may be useful to deal with some of the mythology or legends about Szabó and the notoriously difficult Brandauer, not least the various stories that actor and director were at each others’ throats or ended up not speaking to each other. In Szabó’s own words: I never had a real problem with Klaus and we became, during the work for Mephisto, very close friends, which is still the situation after 25 years. His ego, of course, every very talented actor has one because they would like to create something special. It’s normal. Sometimes Klaus became very peculiar. You feel this atmosphere. You feel there is something there. If Klaus has a problem, if his mood changes, there must be something even in the set which disturbs him [and prevents him] doing the job. Sometimes he cannot say what is the problem. The problem is there and it paralyses him and he cannot do the job. It can be that his partner is not looking in his eyes, which is very difficult to see from the camera side. […] This happened several times. Or even the prop is not correct. The glass is not in the place we discussed yesterday or it is not there […]. It’s a sign that you have to read and you had to look around Klaus [and ask] ‘What is the problem?’ 8IJMF4[BCØTBDDPVOUIFSFEPFTOPUFYBDUMZHJWFUIFJNQSFTTJPOUIBU#SBOEBVFSXBT easy to work with, it rebuts much of the gossip that the two men ended up hating each other. It also tallies with Szabó’s comments in an interview with Daniel J. Goulding some years earlier (1994: 207). However, other directors seem not to have been so fortunate. In 1985 Jerzy Skolimowski directed The Lightship with Brandauer playing alongside Robert Duvall in a production which was fraught with enormous difficulties caused, according to most sources, by Brandauer’s appallingly arrogant, tantrumìJOHJOHCFIBWJPVS'PS-BKPT,PMUBJ IPXFWFS UIFFYQFSJFODFPOMephisto, Colonel Redl and Hanussen could not have been so bad as he later worked with Brandauer on Mario and the Magician (1994) where the Austrian acted and also directed. The shooting of Mephisto began in July 1980 in Budapest and finished in November of the same year with location shooting in Hamburg, West and East Berlin and Paris where a few brief scenes were shot. It opens in a Hamburg theatre with, appropriately enough, a stage performance of, probably, an eighteenth-century romance comedy v i si on s of e u rope
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(according to Lundstrom [1985: 168], it is Millochever’s Madame Duberry). Powdered wigs and stagey renditions are the order of the day as popular actress Dora Martin holds centre stage – much to the displeasure of Höfgen who we first encounter, back in his dressing room, throwing a childish tantrum and burying his head in a pillow, as he hears the thunderous applause that someone else, not he, is receiving. In this respect the film differs from the novel which begins with a prologue set in Berlin in 1936. After this divergence, novel and film follow each other quite closely and in most of 4[BCØTBEBQUBUJPOTUIJTJTUIFDBTF UIFFYDFQUJPOCFJOHIJTDPMMBCPSBUJPOXJUI3POBME Harwood in Taking Sides where there are major changes in the transition from stage to screen. ɨF IJTUPSJDBM DPOUFYU QBSUJDVMBSMZ UIF SJTJOH QPXFS BOE UISFBU PG UIF /B[JT JT partly established and reinforced by the presence in the theatrical company of a Nazi supporter, Hans Miklas, played by the outstanding Hungarian actor György Cserhalmi who combines a threatening physicality with an underlying psychological vulnerability. Their paths cross later in the film, in Berlin where, ultimately, Miklas falls a victim to the Nazis. Höfgen, despite his increasing success, becomes dissatisfied with his life as a provincial actor and ambivalent about his participation in the workers’ theatre. Ultimately, he moves to Berlin after some adroit manipulation of various contacts and helped by his marriage to Barbara Bruckner, whose prestigious family have enormous wealth and social standing. In Berlin he soon becomes a star but maintains his flirtation with the Left, although his enthusiasm for this declines rapidly as the political situation changes when Hitler comes to power. The Minister President (who is never actually given a name) is impressed by his performance as Mephisto and takes Höfgen under his wing becoming, in effect, his patron but also his controller. As the political situation in Germany deteriorates Höfgen becomes ever more compromised; his wife leaves Germany to live abroad (her family of liberal upper-middle-class intellectuals offering a direct parallel with the Manns) and Juliette is in danger as are his former friends in the workers’ theatre movement. Höfgen tries to use his new connections with those in high places to plead for them and, initially, he has some success. His close friend Otto Ulrich is arrested but then released and Juliette is ultimately deported but, at Höfgens’ request, is not mistreated, in the sense that she is not harassed or arrested. However, any optimism on the part of Höfgen is soon shown to be misplaced when Ulrich dies. The circumstances of his death are dubious to say the least; he has been re-arrested and almost certainly murdered while in police custody. Eventually, Höfgen is appointed Head of the Berlin State Theatre and becomes, unwittingly, a major public spokesman for the Nazis. His marriage to Barbara is annulled and he then marries the vacuous actress Nicoletta von Niebuhr (Ildikó Bansági) to gain more respectability, but the Minister President makes it known, in no uncertain terms, that Höfgen is merely an actor, to be used by him as he sees fit. In the last scene of the film Höfgen is taken away from a state celebration by the Minister President and his entourage of thugs and bodyguards and driven to a newly built ampitheatre, where Höfgen is taunted by him. As the bewildered and increasingly terrified actor wanders into the arena, powerful spotlights pick him out. Trapped and temporarily blinded (echoing the ending of Goethe’s Faust), Höfgen, now probably 62
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realising the enormity of what he has done, pleads ‘What do they want of me? After all, I’m only an actor.’ With Höfgen in close-up, desperately trying to shield his eyes from the blinding glare, the brilliant, over-powering light fills the screen; Höfgen’s face disappears as does everything else and the film ends. In the novel Höfgen utters something similar to these words while sobbing in the arms of his mother, ending the story with the pathetic whimper of a little boy. The film’s ending, however, is both powerful and emotional and, given what has gone before, entirely appropriate in its deployment of stunning visual techniques. Forever wanting to be in the spotlight Höfgen now discovers, in an ironic twist, that their blinding glare may not be so wonderful after all and may, indeed, devour him up. The audience is never told what happens to Höfgen but with the Second World War only a few years away there is no hint that he will have a happy, contented future. Discussing Faust on BBC Radio 3, the British actor Simon Callow mentions how Faust is partly about the ‘the impossibility of finding satisfaction’ and it is strikingly clear that as the film draws to its close Höfgen, despite the surface appearances of his success, has lost everything. Right from the beginning of the film the viewer is introduced to two important motifs: first and most obviously there is the theatre and the notion of theatricality; secondly, the way Höfgen looks at his reflection in a mirror, an action he repeats at a number of points throughout the film. The theatre is absolutely central to the film and not just because Höfgen is an actor or that much of the action takes place in dressing rooms, rehearsal spaces, onstage, backstage, or in various directors’ offices. Höfgen, as he constantly reminds us, is an actor; he remarks to Juliette, ‘What is an actor? He is a mask.’ As he ably demonstrates in the film he is very adept at playing roles, wearing different masks and changing roles to suit his audience whether it is the audience in the auditorium or elsewhere. In a number of scenes, Höfgen, with his heavy white face make-up (when playing Mephisto), literally wears a mask and this striking, powerful image was intensely utilised in publicity for the film before and since its release, becoming an iconic signifier of Szabó’s career. Unsurprisingly, boundaries begin to blur and merge. There is a suggestion that the mask starts to take over as role play and reality begin to fuse together. Höfgen wears a robe at home similar to the one he wears on stage playing Mephisto, and he seems to become increasingly unsure about his identity; one aspect of which is his behaviour, which becomes more and more erratic and unstable. He easily wins over the middle-class audiences at the Berlin State Theatre but also revels in the applause of the workers at a proletarian theatre; it is this adaptability, this chameleon-like ability to change, to shift his persona, that is his major asset (and also his downfall). For what Höfgens never quite seems to grasp is that the mask might GPPMTPNFQFPQMFCVUUIFSFBSFTPNFXIPBSFOPUGPPMFEoGPSFYBNQMFIJTëSTUXJGF his lover Juliette and, of course, the Minister President. The audiences in the Berlin theatre may be won over but there are other more critical and crucial audiences – and other theatres. Although onstage he is Mephisto, offstage Höfgen becomes Faust to the Minister President’s Devil. There are really two theatres which begin to merge; on the one hand is the theatre in the conventional sense and on the other is the theatricality, UIFTUBHFEESBNBPG/B[JTN JOUIJTDPOUFYU BMMUIFXPSMEJT JOEFFE BTUBHF"OVNCFS PG DPNNFOUBUPST BOE BOBMZTUT GPS FYBNQMF 8BMUFS #FOKBNJO 4VTBO 4POUBH -JOEB Schulte-Sasse and Rainer Stollman, have drawn attention to the Nazis’ frequent use of v i si on s of e u rope
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Hendrik Höfgen (Brandauer) in his white make-up as Mephisto
the elaborate staging of political rallies, parades and pageants of one variety or another, even their notorious book-burnings were pieces of theatre: Benjamin has commented on fascism’s ‘introduction of aesthetics into political life’ (1973: 243) and one need only watch a few minutes of Leni Riefenstahl’s Triumph of the Will (1935), her paen to Nazism and the Nuremburg Rally, to get a good sense of this. Indeed Hitler himself has written in Mein Kampf about ‘the magic influence of what we designate as “mass suggestion”’ (quoted in Schulte-Sasse 1996: 20). Höfgen, in effect, merges two stages; whether it is his ‘Nazi Hamlet’ in the theatre, a speech or eulogy for Nazi culture at BOJOUFSOBUJPOBMFYIJCJUJPO PSNPSFEJTBTUSPVTMZGPS)ÚGHFO UIFTDFOFBUUIFFOEPG the film when he is dragged off to the new ampitheatre. The ease with which Höfgen TIJGUTGSPNPOFTUBHFPSQMBUGPSNUPUIFOFYUJTOPUPOMZUFTUJNPOZUPIJTBEBQUBCJMJUZ and slipperiness but also to the similarity of the two ‘theatres’ – indeed, a number of events over which Höfgen presides or participates in, a press conference for foreign visitors, the Minister President’s birthday ‘party’, even his own wedding celebration, are all pieces of theatre in one way or another and towards the end of the film they begin to merge and Höfgen’s entire world becomes a stage. None of this, of course, prevents Höfgen’s downfall. Ultimately, theatre is not politics; the Nazis’ deployment of theatre and theatricality is, first and foremost, a tactic and a means to an end, the consolidation and maintenance of political power, something which Höfgen never RVJUFHSBTQT"T-JOEB4DIVMUF4BTT JOBTMJHIUMZEJêFSFOUDPOUFYU BTUVUFMZPCTFSWFT ‘by no means should we assume that masters of manipulation are masters of themselves’ (1996: 18). 64
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Höfgen, right from the very first scene of the film, frequently looks at his own reflection in a variety of mirrors, whether in his dressing room, his apartment or elsewhere. Here is a man consumed by his appearance, more specifically by the way he appears to other people but particularly those in power. Certainly there is an element of narcissism but Höfgen is an actor and actors behave in particular ways; they live in a world in which, sometimes at least, fantasy, play and reality blend. They play roles both onstage and offstage and Szabó revisits a number of these aspects of theatrical life in his later film Being Julia (focusing on another thespian concerned about image). Höfgen is a prisoner, not just of his own massive ego but also of the environment he finds himself in and it is significant that at the end of the film when he is just himself with no mask or role to play, picked out by the merciless spotlights in the Nazi stadium, he breaks down. Film critic Derek Malcolm poses the question in an interesting fashion, although one does not necessarily have to concur with his conclusion; confronted with Höfgen’s situation how many of us would act differently? He suggests: ‘looking at Höfgen first seen squirming in fury as an audience applauds an operetta soubrette and last observed desperately trying to avoid the spotlights aimed at him in the shell of Göring’s grandiose new ampitheatre, one sees a good deal more than a vain idiot. There but for the grace of God…’ (1981). With this film Szabó begins an investigation of the individual and his or her place within Central European, particularly German and Austrian, history and although Höfgen survives and even achieves some kind of EVCJPVT TUBUVT BOE BDDMBJN UIJT JT CPVHIU BU B UFSSJCMF QSJDF )JT OFYU UXP DFOUSBM protagonists fare even worse and must pay the ultimate price. At home, statistics show that from the film’s Hungarian premiere on 8 October to the end of 1981 Mephisto was seen by 593,981 viewers, a very good turnout given that this figure covers less than three months (see Filmévkönyv 1982: 208). In terms of international success, this is Szabó’s career best to date. Mephisto reaped a heap of prizes, including most notably the Best Foreign Language Film at the 1981 Academy Awards, the first Hungarian film to win this honour, beating fellow Central European director Andzrej Wajda’s Man of Iron (and films from Switzerland, Japan and Italy). Wajda, however, was to take the Palme d’Or at Cannes. Indeed, Szabó’s win was a bit of a surprise. The Polish Government, having declared Martial Law, wanted Man of Iron withdrawn as the official Polish entry. Unsurprisingly, given that the mercury in the Cold War thermometer was, once again, on the rise, the organisers refused and 8BKEBTëMNMPPLFEAPEETPOGBWPVSJUFUPXJOCVUEFTQJUFUIJTAUIFFYQFDUFEQPMJUJDBM statement didn’t take place’ (Wiley and Bona 1996: 605, 610). At the risk of stating the blindingly obvious, Szabó was absolutely delighted with his win and on receiving his Oscar from presenters Ornella Muti and Jack Valenti he shouted to Brandauer ‘Klaus come with me, I am so alone up here!’ (Wiley and Bona 1996: 610). Not one to miss out on a share of any limelight available, Brandauer duly obliged and the two did a little dance together. Mephisto also took Best Screenplay and the International Critics Prize at Cannes in the same year. Other awards in London, Milan, New York and elsewhere followed in rapid succession and the film was shown at numerous film festivals around the world, including Calcutta, Manila, Belgrade, Oslo, Cadiz and Cairo (all in 1982). It was broadcast on German TV after its cinema run, on the UK’s v i si on s of e u rope
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Channel Four and critical reception was almost universally ecstatic. Richard Roud, writing in the Guardian, spoke for just about everyone when he wrote, ‘Mephisto is, I think, Szabó’s best film yet’ (1981) while Anne Head in Screen International titled her review of the film ‘It’s Szabó the genius’ (1981). If any one film can define a director’s career then, for Szabó, so far anyway, it is Mephisto and cinema-goers who are unfamiliar with the rest of his films will often know this one. It is this film, probably more than any other, which distils many of UIFUIFNBUJDDPODFSOTPGIJTDBSFFS XJUIUIFOPUBCMFFYDFQUJPOPGBOUJTFNJUJTN UIF SFMBUJPOTIJQPGQFSGPSNBODFUPBXJEFSTPDJBMDPOUFYU QPMJUJDBMNBOJQVMBUJPO QFSTPOBM ambition, the artist and dictatorship (treated in even more depth in Taking Sides), the JEFBPGDPNQSPNJTFPSTVSSFOEFS FYJMFPSTUBZJOH BMMTFUBHBJOTUUIFCBDLHSPVOEPGUIF most disturbing events of Central European history. A powerful story, a well-crafted TDSJQU TVQFSCDJOFNBUPHSBQIZ BOFYDFMMFOUBDUPS IPXFWFSEJïDVMUIFNBZIBWFCFFO to work with) giving the best performance of his career, a supporting cast of some of the finest talent available and a director at the height of his creative powers, all combine to create an undoubted masterpiece. To follow the success of Mephisto was never going to be easy. Szabó states that he IBEOPJOUFOUJPOPGNBLJOHIJTOFYUëMNBTTPNFLJOEPGGPMMPXVQUPMephisto, and certainly the idea of a trilogy had not entered his head: ‘I never thought for a moment of a trilogy. I don’t think about one film when I make another. I just make it for the BVEJFODFBOE*EPOUFYQFDUUIFNUPUBLFJOUPDPOTJEFSBUJPOBOZPUIFSëMNT RVPUFE in Robinson and Hames 2004: 203). He was, however, keen to find another role for Brandauer, no doubt motivated by the phenomenal success of Mephisto, and eventually came up with the idea of making a film about the twilight years of the AustroHungarian Empire set, mainly, in Brandauer’s native Austria. The film centres on the rise and fall of the real-life Colonel Alfred Redl (played by Brandauer), a career officer in the Imperial Army, and carries with it much ideological, political and moral baggage brought over from Mephisto. As with Mephisto there is a core of reality at the heart of the film although it is only biographical in the very loosest of senses. Szabó asked his collaborator Péter Dobai to develop the script and the production was, again, international involving Manfred Durniok in West Berlin, ZDF (Mainz) and ORF (Vienna). Colonel Redl was shot in a variety of locations mainly in Hungary, some scenes were shot in Prague and about twenty percent was shot in Vienna (see Robinson and Hames 8JUIBGFXFYDFQUJPOT UIFDSFXJT)VOHBSJBO Although today a rather obscure figure, the real Alfred Redl was, at the time, the source of a major controversy which rocked the foundations of the already declining and unstable Austro-Hungarian Empire. Redl was born in Lemberg, Galicia (now L’viv in Ukraine) of poor parents and joined the army where he pursued a distinguished career until his downfall. In the rigidly stratified society of the Austro-Hungarian Empire a career in the armed forces was just about the only way the son of peasants or workers, particularly of non-Austrian stock, could achieve any upward mobility. In fact Redl, despite his humble origins, was a great success, first as Deputy Head of the Evidenzburo (military and counter espionage) based in Vienna and then as Intelligence Chief of the Army’s VIII Corps in Prague. However, he led a secret life, 66
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BTBIPNPTFYVBMBOEBTBTQZGPSUIF3VTTJBOT BUUIBUUJNFUIFNBKPSJNQFSJBMSJWBMPG the Austro-Hungarian Empire, with whom they shared a long common border in the east. It is possible that Redl was also of Jewish descent but this has remained, as with a number of other aspects of his life, an unresolved question. His eventual unmasking as a spy caused a major scandal in Austria-Hungary and was seen, by a number of commentators, such as the writer-journalist Egon Ervin Kisch, as symptomatic of the decay and corruption that was undermining the Empire and the Habsburg monarchy. The historian Edward Crankshaw captures this sense of decay in his book The Fall of the House of Habsburg: Certainly there were many in Vienna at the turn of the century who found the mental climate enervating and insufferable. This was entirely reasonable in anyone possessing an original brain. The young man up from the Provinces found a great deal of emptiness behind the splendid façade. In the midst of splendour the ageing Emperor lived like an anchorite … Up on the hill in the Belvedere Palace Franz Ferdinand waited for his uncle’s death… (1970: 324) Indeed the endgame of the Empire was soon to be played out. It would only be a matter of roughly five years after the Redl affair, with both Franz Ferdinand and his uncle dead, that the monarchy and the Empire collapsed in the immediate aftermath of the First World War. The Redl story has most of the ingredients of the classic spy-thriller. Apart from the elements of intrigue, double-dealing and betrayal on a grandiose scale, Redl can be regarded as one of the architects of modern counter-intelligence introducing such techniques as bugging rooms to listen-in on conversations, the use of hidden cameras, the systematic use of fingerprinting, and the sharing of intelligence with Austria-Hungary’s major ally, Germany. Yet he was a vain man, fond of cars, fashionable clothes and the good life. Possibly of more importance even than his enormous vanity was IJTIPNPTFYVBMJUZ UIF"DIJMMFTIFFMSFQVUFEMZFYQMPJUFECZUIF3VTTJBOT)PXFWFS BU least one commentator, the highly regarded historian István Déak, suggests that his IPNPTFYVBMJUZXBTQPTTJCMZOPUBOJTTVF TFF,JOH 8IFUIFSUIJTJTDPSSFDUPS not, there seems little argument that Russian military intelligence used Redl as a spy whether through blackmail or bribery, or both, to get him to divulge military secrets. From 1902 to 1913 he provided a store of information, particularly about AustroHungarian military emplacements and plans for what was to become the Eastern 'SPOUJOɨFTBDSJëDFPGUIFPDDBTJPOBM FYQFOEBCMF 3VTTJBOTQZPOMZTFSWFE to illustrate Redl’s effectiveness as a spycatcher and to further impress his imperial masters with his brilliance. The end came when Redl moved to Prague. Two parcels containing huge amounts of money were intercepted at a Vienna hotel frequented by Redl on his visits to the Empire’s capital. After ‘staking out’ the hotel for nearly two weeks Redl’s own operatives were astounded to discover who their man was. In order to avoid scandal and adverse publicity, attempts which singularly failed, Redl was persuaded to commit suicide. After some delay, as officers in the Imperial Army did not carry revolvers and someone had to go and get one, Redl shot himself in the v i si on s of e u rope
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early hours of 25 May 1913. This is the most commonly accepted account of what happened although historians differ on a number of the details. It is said that when Emperor Franz Joszef heard the news about Redl he remarked wearily, ‘So, this is the new era? And that kind of a creature comes out of it? In our old days something like that would not even have been conceivable’ (quoted in Morton 2001: 76). Redl left a suicide note; it was short and to the point: ‘Passion and levity have destroyed me. I pay with my life for my sins. Pray for me’ (see Gay Interest Films). Even when he was dead and gone there were still repercussions; the Chief of Austrian Intelligence Colonel von Urbanski discreetly retired after rumours circulated that he sold off some Redl memorabilia to a filmmaker (see Morton 2001: 219). It seems somehow symptomatic of Vienna at this time, with its imperial grandeur BOEJUTNJYUVSFPGGBOUBTZBOESFBMJUZ OPUUPNFOUJPOQPMJUJDBMJOUSJHVF UIBUKVTUBGFX months before Redl’s suicide a Russian called Leon Trotsky had arrived in the city, followed a few weeks later by a dour Georgian who had just recently adopted the name of Stalin. The day before Redl’s suicide, an impoverished and unsuccessful painter, the young Adolf Hitler, left Vienna with a one-way ticket to Munich. These comings and goings went unmarked, although it is highly likely that Redl’s agents tailed the Russians, but in the space of just a few months the heavy hand of history had lain itself on the Austrian capital in no uncertain manner. Szabó’s film only follows the real Redl in the broadest outline, a point emphasised by an unusual title at the beginning of the film which informs the viewer: ‘We do not tell Colonel Redl’s story from authentic documents. The actions of the characters are freely devised. Our work is inspired by John Osborne’s play A Patriot for Me and by the historical events of our century.’ Most importantly the film never suggests that Redl was a spy; the film is thus informed by what might be called, not history, but a sense of that history.1 Szabó, who always reads deeply and widely into the backgrounds of his films, looked at the work of Egon Ervin Kisch, the Prague-born jourOBMJTUXIPëSTUFYQPTFEUIFBêBJS BOEPUIFSXSJUFSTXIPIBWFUSFBUFEUIFTVCKFDUPG Redl, notably, Stefan Zweig, but ‘I and my colleagues read their works and we came to the conclusion that we saw this story differently from their treatment’ (Szabó quoted in Hungarofilm Bulletin 1984: 15). Another writer that Szabó may well have consulted is Joseph Roth (a Jew and, like Redl, also from Galicia) whose novel Radetzky March is a classic portrayal of the Austro-Hungarian Empire written at a time, 1932, when the impending rise of Nazism in Germany must have made the era of the Habsburgs look like a lost golden idyll. Among a number of parallels, Roth’s novel includes a pointless duel where a doctor, the only friend of the central character Lieutenant Trotta (a Habsburg super-loyalist), is killed. The Dreyfuss affair in France around the turn of the century may have been another source which Szabó tapped into and clearly there are a number of parallels between the two high-ranking military officers, not least in their outsider status. The Redl story has been the subject of previous fictional treatments, including an early Austrian film version, Oberst Redl, directed by Otto Löwenstein back in 1925, and a Czech version, The Affair of Colonel Redl, by renowned director Karel Anton in 1931. Szabó’s film is based very loosely on John Osborne’s 1964 play A Patriot for 68
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Me which, in turn, was based on the Redl story. In fact only the general idea of the Osborne play is manifest in the film. To take just one comparison to illustrate this, the film starts with Redl’s childhood but the action of the play begins with a duel when Redl is already an officer in the army. In Szabó’s own words: I found the story of Colonel Redl. This story of the Empire and the military establishment, of manipulation and betrayal seemed very good for Klaus [Brandauer]. I read the Osborne play, A Patriot for Me, and somebody showed me a TDSFFOQMBZXIJDI*EJEOUMJLFCFDBVTFJUXBTDFOUSFEPOUIFTFYVBMBTQFDU5PNF UIFTUPSZXBTNVDINPSFBCPVUQPMJUJDBMNBOJQVMBUJPOUIBOTFYVBMJUZoUIPVHI that played its part of course. (Quoted in Robinson and Hames 2004: 203) Nevertheless, despite Szabó’s dislike of aspects of the Osborne play he incorporates some of the dialogue into the film and in order to facilitate the adaptation process Manfred Durniok bought the rights for it. Otherwise the play and the film are quite different. No one acquainted with the work of Osborne will be surprised to know that his play was a source of controversy. In 1965 the Lord Chamberlain demanded that BOVNCFSPGTDFOFTXIJDIEFBMUPQFOMZXJUIIPNPTFYVBMJUZCFDVU'PSUIPTFSFBEFST unacquainted with the Ruritanian idiocy of the British state system at the time this unaccountable and unelected gentleman was, in effect, the overlord of censorship. This noble attempt by his Lordship to protect the moral probity of the citizens of the United Kingdom was fought by Osborne and eventually the Royal Court Theatre, where the QMBZ XBT QFSGPSNFE XJUI .BYJNJMMJBO 4DIFMM JO UIF MFBE SPMF
CFDBNF B ADMVC JO order to evade any possible ban. The office of Lord Chamberlain joined the scrapheap
Colonel Redl (Brandauer) at the masked Ball v i si on s of e u rope
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of history in 1968 partly because of his lack of success at banning the play which attracted good audiences. The play has rarely been performed since, partly because the ‘Drag Ball’ (mirrored in the Masked Ball in Szabó’s film – minus the element of drag) requires such a large number of actors, its most recent revival was at the New Players’ Theatre, London, in November 2008.2 4[BCØ XIPUISPVHIPVUIJTDBSFFSIBTSBSFMZMPPLFEUPUBMMZDPNGPSUBCMFXJUITFYVBMJUZPGXIBUFWFSWBSJFUZ EPFTOPUNBLF3FEMTTFYVBMJUZBDFOUSBMJTTVFPGUIFëMN5SVF UIFSFJTTPNFUJNFTBMPUPGTFYJOTPNFPGIJTëMNT Sunshine GPSFYBNQMF CVUUIJTJT PGUFOKVTUUIFCVNQJOHBOEHSJOEJOHPGUIFQIZTJDBMBDU XIJDIJTPOFBTQFDUPGTFYVality but definitely not the whole story. Nevertheless, in Colonel RedlIPNPTFYVBMJUZ bubbles away just under the surface of the narrative, making his earlier statement (see above) appear somewhat contradictory. Although only foregrounded towards the end PGUIFëMN 3FEMTIPNPTFYVBMJUZNBOJGFTUTJUTFMGJOBSFMBUJWFMZTVCEVFEGBTIJPOJOB number of earlier scenes: when Redl and his friend, the aristocratic Kubinyi, are in an officers’ high-class brothel, Redl appears more interested in watching Kubinyi than the prostitute he is with; a short time later, after a rather inconclusive tryst (where he attempts to replicate Kubinyi’s stud-like behaviour but fails) Redl is kissed by a fellow officer on the stairs, he looks startled but does not resist. Towards the end of the film, he becomes enamoured with the androgynous, good-looking Velocchio (actually a trap set by the authorities) and when in bed with him appears, for only the second UJNFJOUIFëMN UPCFDPNGPSUBCMFJOUIFDMPTFBOEJOUJNBUFQIZTJDBMQSPYJNJUZPG another person. The other here is Kubinyi’s sister; in one scene she and Redl spend the OJHIUUPHFUIFSBUBOJOO XIJDINBZTVHHFTUUIBU3FEMJTCJTFYVBMOPUIPNPTFYVBM CVU UIFSFJTBTUSPOHTFOTFUIBUTIFJTBQSPYZGPSIFSCSPUIFSBOEJUJTIFXIPJTUIFNBJO subject of Redl’s pillow talk. By contrast, his marriage – arranged solely for the sake of public consumption, appearances and respectability – is a disaster, hardly features at all in the film and is, apparently, unconsummated. While at the Military Academy in Vienna, his commanding officer, Colonel von Roden (Han Christian Blech) acts as a substitute ‘father figure’ and takes the young cadet under his wing; he even buys Redl a briefcase and a wallet. Other men bestow their attentions on him, such as the Academy piano teacher who squeezes Redl’s thigh in a manner replicated by both Kubinyi’s sister and grandfather. Redl’s piano-playing runs against a certain masculine ethos in this military world, his piano duet with Velocchio late in the film suggesting more than just a love of music. A fellow officer, at one point, asks Redl if he still ‘plays the piano’ and it is obvious that the reference is to tinkling with something other than the ivories. In this respect Redl evokes Konrad, one of the two main characters from Hungarian author Sándor Márai’s short novel Embers (first published in Hungary in 1942 as A gyertyák csonkig egnék). Indeed, Embers has a number of parallels with the film. Konrad, a former officer in the Imperial Army is also from Galicia, also lower class and forms a friendship with Henrik, a Hungarian aristocrat. Konrad’s love of music and his piano-playing brings his calling as a soldier, and his manhood, into question. The military taste is supposed to incline only to brass bands and marching tunes (as with the officer Leopold von Kaltnegger, Lisa’s would-be fiancée JO.BY0QIVMTLetter From a Unknown Woman, 1948) or, when off duty, Gypsy music 70
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in a tavern. Anything else is considered outré, not quite what chaps in uniform do, highly questionable and definitely out of place in this thoroughly masculine, military world. As Henrik’s father, an officer in the Guards, states, Konrad ‘is a different kind of man’, mutatis mutandis for Redl (see Marai 2002: 52). Nor was this intense distaste GPSBOZIJOUPGIPNPTFYVBMJUZDPOëOFEPOMZUPNJMJUBSZDJSDMFT*O "VTUSJBSFWJTFE its law on sodomy increasing the already harsh prison sentences for those unfortunates found guilty. Even so, there developed a gay and lesbian subculture in Austria (much of it underground for obvious reasons) which even compromised the military – it is said that when the police broke into Redl’s apartment they found photos of Army officers posing in drag and in compromising positions. Despite the repressive atmosphere, Fridolins’ Secret Marriage (1875), written by the director of the Austrian National Theatre, Adolf Wilbrandt, was the first gay novel in the German language. The film begins with the stirring refrains of Radetzky March by Johann Strauss while a close-up of an impassive uniformed Brandauer stares directly at the camera. This is not the first time that Szabó has used the Strauss march (it also features in Budapest Tales and resurfaces, briefly, in Sunshine) and it encapsulates much of that sense of both grandeur and militarism that were such cornerstones of the Habsburg Empire and its ethos, still finding a distant echo today in its annual performance as the concluding piece of the Vienna Philharmonic’s New Year concert. It also finds echoes in the title and some of the substance of Joseph Roth’s novel. The action opens in a small railway station painted in the ochre-yellow favoured in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, sometimes referred to as ‘Schönbrunner gelb’ or, in Hungary, ‘Erzsebet sarga’ (Elizabeth yellow), where it can still be seen. Redl is greeted by the family dog and his sisters (in a later scene Redl shoots a dog which barks at him); there is then a family meal followed by a short scene in a school classroom in which Redl’s poem in praise of the Emperor prompts his teacher to suggest a military career in service of the Empire. All of which is shot from the young Redl’s point of view and it is only after starting up in training as a military cadet in Vienna that we first see the young 3FEM (ÈCPS4WJESPOZ
TUJMMPOMZBCPZɨVT FYDFQUGPSPOFCSJFGTDFOF UIFWJFXFSPOMZ ever sees Redl in uniform, emphasising the ‘barrack room atmosphere’ (Hungarofilm Bulletin 1984: 17) of this way of life, echoed in Roth’s novel and other works such as Robert Musil’s The Confusions of Young Törless (1906). Officers in the Imperial Army were not allowed to wear mufti when off duty and were always, in the barracks or in QVCMJD FYQFDUFEUPBDUJOBDDPSEBODFXJUIUIFTUSJDUNJMJUBSZDPEFBOEFUJRVFUUFPGUIF military officer caste (see Zweig 1940: 5). Nor is this just part of the background; Redl’s downfall is partly due to his strict, ultra-loyal observance of these codes, particularly when they are coming under growing critical scrutiny and are, increasingly, at variance with those around him. His fanatical attachment to the monarchy, often referred to as ‘K und K’ (Kaiserlich und Königlich – Imperial and Royal) and adherence to the rule book creates friction and a number of enemies, not the least of whom is the wellconnected Hungarian aristocrat Kubinyi, his erstwhile friend. This unstinting loyalty to the Emperor, or the pretence of it, is most clearly demonstrated when, instead of going home for his father’s funeral, he asks permission to stay in Vienna and attend the birthday celebrations for the Emperor. Whether this is a genuine feeling or merely an v i si on s of e u rope
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astute display of currying favour with those in power it has the desired effect and the young Redl is singled out by his commanding officers for his devotion and loyalty. Apart from the by now well-established Brandauer, who plays the adult Redl, the cast contains the usual prominent Hungarians, Péter Andorai, Ildikó Bansági, Károly Eperjes, Dorottya Udváros with some German actors such as Armin Mueller-Stahl who gives a magnificent performance as the duplicitous Archduke Franz Ferdinand whose assassination in Sarajevo (shown briefly at the end of the film) precipitates the outbreak of the First World War. Brandauer is again powerful in the lead role, although some commentators have suggested that his performance is not of the same calibre as that in Mephisto. If this is true it may be because the very demanding and powerful suicide scene, which comes almost at the end of the film, was shot first and that this somehow affected Brandauer’s ability to carry the part along with the necessary intensity (see Goulding 1994: 207 for Péter Dobai’s comments). Indeed, according to Szabó in an JOUFSWJFX UIFëMNXBTTIPUJOSFWFSTFPSEFS IFEPFTOPUFYQMBJOXIZ XIJDINVTU have placed enormous demands and stresses not only on Brandauer but all involved in the production (see Hungarofilm Bulletin 1984: 18). Szabó remarked that Redl, thinking always of the obligation of gratitude, of loyalty, day after day, and with each new development and event, ties him more to a social class, a stratum of society, to a historico-political and social process that for all intents and purposes is alien to him, one he has actually nothing in common with. (Hungarofilm Bulletin 1984: 16) Tying himself to this class means that he must always hide his real self, his humble PSJHJOT UIF QPTTJCJMJUZ PG IJT +FXJTIOFTT BOE NPTU PG BMM IJT IPNPTFYVBMJUZ PS BU MFBTU IJT CJTFYVBMJUZ 8IJMF TUJMM KVOJPS DBEFUT BU UIF .JMJUBSZ "DBEFNZ JO 7JFOOB his closest friend, Count Krisztóf Kubinyi (György Rácz as a boy; Jan Miklas as an adult), the son of wealthy landowning aristocracy, invites him to the family estate in Hungary. Redl, the son of a railway worker, is obviously totally out of his depth, as he demonstrates when he cannot understand the French that the family use around the dinner table. This lack of linguistic sophistication was, at the time, a common marker PG DMBTT BOE TPDJBM EJTUJODUJPO BOE DBO CF TFFO GPS FYBNQMF JO $IFLIPWT QMBZ The Three Sisters where the upstart Natasha is ridiculed at the Prozorov dinner table for her poor French. Similarly, but also rather bizarrely, one assumes that the unfortunate Redl cannot understand the English used by the family when yelling at their wayward dog! Redl further demonstrates his outsider status when he bungles the operation of an urn and the carpet becomes drenched in tea. He is rescued by the servants, one of whom looks at him knowingly as she clears up the mess, as if she is saying ‘you’re one of us, aren’t you?’. However, although bereft of many social and linguistic skills, he is not without guile and skilfully invents a story at the dinner table about his mother being Hungarian and her family being former landowners. He finally clinches the family’s affection, even that of the Gorgon-like grandmother, when he sings a song in Hungarian. Later we see him back in Vienna, in a music class, clandestinely learning 72
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French, demonstrating, if more proof were needed, his determination to fit in with this social milieu. The stage seems set for the young Redl – resourceful, canny and adaptable as he is – to rise in the world and this is precisely what he does; however, even from quite early on there are warnings that all is not well underneath the well-ordered veneer of Hapsburg military life. In order to demonstrate this, the film makes a substantial jump from the young cadet to the adult Redl. The sudden transformation of Redl from the fresh-faced-kid-from-the-sticks, who is in his very early teens at the most, to the adult Redl is slightly jarring. It is unclear how many years have passed and Brandauer looks too old (by the time of the film he was forty). In one of the early scenes, while Redl is still on the lower rungs of the military ladder, he becomes involved, as a second, in a duel between Jaromil Schorm, an officer of Czech origin (Hungarian actor Károly Eperjes), and his friend Kubinyi. Schorm is deemed to have insulted the Officer corps and its rigid loyalties. It is the first sign that all is not well within the Empire. The $[FDI EJFT JO B DMBTTJD AQJTUPMT BU EBXO TIPPUPVU CVU OPU CFGPSF IF FYQSFTTFT UIF sentiment, also partly an accusation aimed at Redl, that everyone is playing a role in some kind of elaborate game. However, Imperial honour is only one of the issues at stake. Schorm originally insults Sonnenschein, the Jewish military doctor, but Schorm refuses to accept a duel because of Sonnenschein’s inability with a pistol, although his Jewishness may also be a reason. Shortly before the duel Schorm also admits to Redl that he has Jewish forebears on one side of his family. Kubinyi, a deadly shot, takes the doctor’s place and disposes of Schorm. The name Sonnenschein appears later as the family name in Sunshine. At one point in the film the officers are heard arguing about the Empire. A variety of views are aired demonstrating that underneath their common uniform there is discord. One officer observes that the Hungarians are always moaning, another that the Czechs are disloyal, while yet another officer asks why the Empire does not emulate the British in Ireland (presumably, to use military repression as the ultimate tool of political control). Symbolically, this conversation takes place in a brothel. Redl, intent on climbing up the Habsburg pole, however greasy it may be, rarely becomes involved in these kind of arguments and is mainly concerned throughout much of the film to FYQSFTTIJTTUFBEGBTUMPZBMUZUPUIF&NQJSFBOEUPQFSTVBEFPUIFSTUPEPMJLFXJTF Whatever his determination and skill, however, he falls foul of the very people he has so slavishly admired and served. With the First World War approaching and the Empire beginning to fall apart, the Archduke (in effect, now the ‘power behind the throne’) needs a scapegoat, a ‘traitor’. It makes no difference whether the ‘traitor’ JTSFBMPSJNBHJOFE POMZUIBUIFDBOCFPêFSFEVQBTBTBDSJëDJBMMBNC BOFYBNQMF to warn others of the dire consequences of dissent and defeatism. The scheming Archduke runs through the various nationalities within the Empire: it cannot be a Czech, nor a Hungarian, nor a Pole, and so on. Eventually it is decided to frame a ‘Ruthenian’ (which could also mean Ukrainian as Habsburg officialdom tended not to distinguish between the two). As the most backward region in the Empire’s ethno-linguistic patchwork quilt, Ruthenia was at the bottom of the pecking order and, just as important, the Ruthenians were suspected of leaning towards Russia, thus v i si on s of e u rope
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unlikely to spark off controversy should one of them be singled out for the dubious role of scapegoat. Redl sets about his task and begins the process of framing one Count Ullman, who it is alleged has given military secrets to the Russians. Redl leads a raid on Ullman’s house, described as an ‘aktion’ – a term, ominously, used later by the Gestapo when raiding the homes of left-wing opponents, but Ullman commits suicide thus thwarting Redl’s scheme. During the investigation Redl discovers the involvement of Kubinyi in spreading rumour and dissent but the Archduke wants no truck with implicating someone who is not only Hungarian aristocracy but also now part of his General Staff. In fact, as pointed out by Peter G. Christiansen, the Archduke’s closeness to Kubinyi actually obscures the historical Franz Ferdinand’s intense dislike and distrust of the Hungarian aristocracy (1991: 11), just one of a number of complications which the film either glosses over or ignores. With Kubinyi now openly hostile to his former friend, Redl must face the VOQMFBTBOUUSVUIUIBUJUJTIFXIPXJMMCFUIFOFYUTDBQFHPBU IFUPPJT3VUIFOJBO Ukrainian) – enter Velocchio. Such is Redl’s super-loyalty that he abandons hope, embraces Velocchio (literally and metaphorically) and goes along with the plot even though he is well aware of the outcome. The only time in the film when Redl actually divulges military secrets – to Velocchio, not to the Russians – is when he already knows that his fate is sealed. It is as if he realises the game is up and he surrenders to his fate. The last act of loyalty from this most loyal of subjects. The film ends with Redl’s belongings being sold at auction providing Szabó with an opportunity for another of his brief appearances in his own films. The film was critically well-received although most reviewers were not quite so enthusiastic as they were with Mephisto. At the Vienna premiere the film rubbed a few Viennese fur coats up the wrong way and the post-premiere press conference was called off. Maybe Viennese sensibilities were a bit overstrained as this occurred at the same time as controversy surrounded the Austrian Defence Minister, Fredhelm Frischenschlager, who refused to resign after personally greeting a Nazi war criminal. The film, in highlighting certain of the less appealing aspects of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, may have run counter to a certain nostalgia for the ‘Golden Age’ of the Habsburg era suggested, for FYBNQMF CZUIFDPOUJOVJOHQPQVMBSJUZPGUIFA4JTTJëMNTJOCPUI"VTUSJBBOE(FSNBOZ3 In the UK, reviewers generally regarded the film as a worthy successor to Mephisto, if not quite up to its standard; John Pym writing in the Monthly Film Bulletin thought that the battle between Redl and Franz Ferdinand ‘is what at base makes the fastidiously constructed Colonel Redl so watchable’ (1985: 348). Philip Strick, writing in Films and Filming, was impressed by Brandauer, suggesting that he ‘carries the film magnificently’ (1985: 39), but not for the first time American reviewers were disinclined to praise the film and it seems to be a general trend that Central European films praised in the UK, France and elsewhere in Europe often do not evoke the same degree of enthusiasm in the USA. Vincent Canby, writing in the New York Times thought the film ‘lifeless’ and ‘cluttered’ and that Redl ‘is such a pathetically uncomplicated transparent character that it’s impossible to view his rise and fall with particular interest much less awe’ (1986: 138). Colonel Redl followed in the footsteps of its predecessor and went to the Academy Award ceremonies in 1985 but failed to replicate Mephisto’s success, losing out to the Argen74
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tinian entry The Official Story. However, the film picked up a swathe of other awards, including the Jury Prize at Cannes and a BAFTA in London. Now working with producer Arthur Braunner, Szabó went on to make, potentially, the most interesting of his Mitteleuropa films. Of the three films of the so-called trilogy, Hanussen is widely regarded as the least successful and Szabó, himself, has been admirably honest and critical of his own creation: I did a film that I liked very much, but it was a mistake and I know why. I learned only a year later that it was my biggest professional mistake. It was called Hanussen. The first part of the film is acceptable but the second part is not. It was my fault. (Quoted in Papamichael 2008) It is also the least seen of the three films of this period and has had only limited release in the UK and elsewhere. Yet it is not without its merits. The film treads much the same ground as before: the Mitteleuropa setting, the compromised ‘hero’, the attempt at carving out a ‘niche’ in difficult times (the latter years of the First World War and its aftermath up to the Reichstag fire in 1933), the alignment with questionable people and social forces and, finally, the seemingly inevitable downfall. While Colonel Redl ends with the First World War this is where Hanussen starts (give or take a few years) as we follow the central character’s transition from soldier and amateur performer UPTUBHFDMBJSWPZBOUBOENZTUJD NJYJOHXJUIIJHITPDJFUZ CVTJOFTTDJSDMFTBOE NPTU alarmingly and dangerously, with Nazis. However, as suggested in an interesting essay by Tomasz Warchol (2001), if Höfgen is a conformist and Redl an ultra-loyalist then Hanussen is the most non-conformist of the three. He alone tries to maintain some kind of non-alignment and he never completely goes over or joins any particular ‘side’, repeating on a number of occasions that he has no interest in politics. Nevertheless, his fame or notoriety brings him into contact with various political factions, business interests and some key figures in the Nazi hierarchy. His associations with the Nazis are not only ambiguous but dangerous and ultimately fatal. Depending on your point of view on these matters, Hanussen is either an amazing clairvoyant or a very clever and talented charlatan (respecting the intelligence of my readers I will not pursue the first possibility). Hanussen is the only one of the three films under consideration in this chapter not to be based on literary sources although there is a sizable body of literature about him. In the aftermath of his death there was talk of a Hollywood film but nothing came of this. There is a minor West German film of the same name directed by O. W. Fischer from 1955 which features a psychic who joins the Nazis during the Second World War, and Hanussen (played by Tim Roth) appears in a major role in Invincible (2003), a film by Werner Herzog. Hanussen, like Redl and Höfgen, is based on a real-life figure, although given the nature of stage mystics and clairvoyants (of which there was a proliferation in the 1930s) and the murky depths of Nazi mysticism and occultism, much of what is available is confused or unclear when it is not downright fanciful. As far as is known, the real-life Hanussen (a stage name) was Jewish, originally called Herschman-Chaim Steinschneider. His mother was possibly a prostitute and he was born in a police cell in Vienna in 1889. v i si on s of e u rope
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He ran away from home while still young to join the circus and during the war, while serving in the Austro-Hungarian Army, he worked as an entertainer, mainly as a stage magician performing such tricks as hypnotism, mind-reading and looking into the future, all of which we see quite early on in the film. His career continued after the war and there seems to be little doubt that he was very good at what he did. Mel Gordon, author of Erik Jan Hanussen: Hitler’s Jewish Clairvoyant (2001) – possibly one PGUIFNPSFSFMJBCMFTPVSDFTPO)BOVTTFOoTVHHFTUTUIBUIFXBTFYUSFNFMZBEFQUBU reading body language, using verbal codes with his assistants, making deductions from the questions he asked subjects and what is sometimes termed ‘muscle reading’, i.e. feeling the tension in a subject’s muscles as they ‘guide’ the blindfolded clairvoyant to a hidden object. He also engaged in less showy activity such as obtaining prior information about his audiences, their background, family history etc, all of which must have been particularly effective in small-scale ‘séance’-type situations. He plied his trade for a time in the newly-formed Czechoslovakia and was put on trial for fraud in the town of Litomerice (Leitmertiz in German – in the film the trial is set in Karlovy Vary/Karlsbad). Hanussen famously won the case and then later went on to a brief but triumphant career in Berlin in the last, fading years of the Weimar period. As well as pursuing a successful stage career, Hanussen also built up a lucrative publishing enterprise and was well-known in business and political circles in Berlin. Here we come to the most intriguing aspect of this man who attempted to hide his Jewish origins although it was, apparently, common knowledge in many circles in the Weimar Republic. According to Richard Bernstein, writing in the New York Times, Hanussen’s Jewish identity was revealed by the German Communist newspaper Berlin am MorgenJOXIFOUIFZUSJFEUPFYQPTFIJNBTBGSBVE BMUIPVHIUIJTBQQFBST to have done little or nothing to dent his popularity with audiences (1989: 32). At some point in his Berlin career (accounts differ about the details of this), it is alleged he secretly met Hitler and advised him on body language, posture, speechmaking techniques and other tricks of his ‘trade’. Despite this astonishing contradiction (a Jew advising Hitler), Szabó never brings out Hanussen’s Jewish origins and thus the film is deprived of much of the tension that could have been developed, particularly from the time that Hanussen arrives in Berlin. This is the ‘mistake’ that Szabó has referred to. In UIJTSFTQFDUJUDPVMEIBWFCFFOUIFNPTUDPNQMFYBOEJOUSJHVJOHPGBMMUIF.JUUFMFVSPQB films. Péter Dobai had originally included reference to Hanussen’s Jewish origins in UIFTDSFFOQMBZCVU4[BCØEFMFUFEUIFNɨFëMNTJEFTUFQTUIJTXIPMFDPNQMFYPGJTTVFT by having the pro-Nazi photographer Henni Stahl act as an intermediary between Hitler and Hanussen (the ‘Henni Stahl’ reference is so obvious that it needs no further elaboration). Szabó, it appears, intended the Hungarian-Jewish doctor Bettelheim to carry the Jewish dimension of the story but although the doctor resurfaces in Berlin, having been kicked out of his job (because of anti-semitic developments in Hungary) he has lost his earlier centrality to the narrative – the doctor/patient relationship – and remains, at most, a commentator, at one point advising Hanussen to leave Berlin. Hanussen never fled Berlin but he certainly departed the world with a final flourish, supposedly predicting the Reichstag fire on 27 February 1933, a major turning point in German history, signifying the precipitous demise of the Weimar Republic and the 76
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The real Hanussen, date unknown.
onset of full-blooded Nazism. The fire was thought by some to have been started by an unbalanced Dutch Communist, Maurinus van der Lubbe (who by a bizarre coincidence was posthumously pardoned by a German Court on the same day I wrote these lines!). Hitler had been sworn in as Chancellor just four weeks earlier and there is some suspicion that the Nazis started the fire, framing van der Lubbe in the process. If this JTUSVF JUNJHIUBDDPVOUGPSIPX)BOVTTFO FYQMPJUJOHIJT/B[JDPOUBDUT LOFXBCPVU the fire in advance. Wherever culpability lies, and the debate still continues, the fire QSPWJEFEUIFFYDVTFUIF/B[JTOFFEFEUPQSFTTVSF1SFTJEFOUWPO)JOEFOCFSHUPTVTQFOE civil liberties and begin rounding up their political opponents, primarily those on the Left. Predicting the fire, regardless of whether he was tipped off or read someone’s tea leaves correctly, was to be one of Hanussen’s last acts; early in the morning of 25 March 1933, he was abducted by a squad of SA (Brownshirts), ultimately taken to the outskirts of Berlin and shot. His body was only found two weeks later. Hanussen was not short of enemies, from any part of the political spectrum. His notorious womanising left a number of cuckolded husbands no doubt quite happy to see him get his come-uppance; and the Left disliked his association with the Nazis and they, in turn, probably saw him as a bit too dangerous and disposable once his usefulness was over. Possibly as important as any other consideration was that a number of senior SA officers owed him money. It is almost certain that the real reason for his murder will never be known. All his records and documents were destroyed, one of which was rumoured to be an unfavourable horoscope of Hitler. His business interests were liquidated and his death was not even reported in the newspapers; within a few short hours he was erased from the records and became a ‘non-person’. Thus Hanussen v i si on s of e u rope
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met his death leaving behind yet more questions, rumours and mysteries to be heaped on those already circulating. Szabó tends to favour relatively low-key opening sequences, building up the drama and particularly the sense of plot steadily, in layers, rather than plunging the viewer headlong into the action. Seen in this light the opening of Hanussen is one of Szabó’s most visually impressive and striking. An aerial shot depicts a countryside scene with what appears to be some kind of line or formation strung out across the frame and the landscape. It becomes clear after a time, with the camera slowly zooming in, that this is actually a troop emplacement. A long ground-level tracking TIPUUIFOUSBDFTUIFGBDFTPGUIFBOYJPVTTPMEJFSTBOEXFIFBSBTPMEJFSSFDJUJOHUIF Lord’s Prayer in German. There is a command and the men spring out of the trench and begin a murderous assault on a machine-gun emplacement situated in a small chapel at the end of a graveyard. Many men are killed in the brief action and it is only as the wounded are being treated that the camera picks out a soldier shouting for help as blood streams from a severe head wound. This is the only military action JOUIFëMNBTXFOFYUTFFUIFTPMEJFSJORVFTUJPO $PSQPSBM,MBVT4DIOFJEFS #SBOEauer again), in a military hospital, a converted country mansion, being cared for by Bettelheim (played by Swedish actor Erland Josephson) and his nurse Betty (Ildikó Bansági) with whom Schneider has a brief affair. Bettelheim is yet another of Szabó’s doctor characters dedicated to improving the world, in this instance one of the most dedicated and altruistic of them all. As a devotee of Ingmar Bergman, Szabó must also have been very pleased to be working with Erland Josephson, one of the favourite actors of the Swedish director. It is near the end of the war and morale among the convalescing soldiers, most of them badly wounded, some limbless, is low. There is talk of the demise of the Empire and the only thing most are interested in is when the carnage will end and they can go home. In a key early scene, Schneider disarms a disgruntled and unbalanced fellow soldier who is about to activate a hand grenade. Schneider talks to him patiently and quietly and eventually the agitated veteran calms down, appears to fall asleep and Schneider takes the grenade from him. Bettelheim witnesses the events and is convinced that Schneider has the power of hypnosis and can be a great help in the treatment of various mental and psychological disorders arising from the head wounds, shell-shock and other traumas so common during and after the First World War. Schneider agrees to accompany the doctor to Budapest when the war is over and work with him in his new hospital. However, in Budapest, Schneider is then persuaded by a former comrade-in-arms, Tibor Nowotny (Károly Eperjes making his second appearance for Szabó), to abandon medicine and use his abilities on the stage. Nowotny, a shrewd operator and a former showbiz entrepreneur in peacetime, realises the enormous appeal and money-spinning potential of this man who has already demonstrated that he is an accomplished hypnotist and ‘mind-reader’. Initially they set out their stall in Karlovy Vary but Schneider is arrested and put on trial for fraud. He successfully and spectacularly defends himself and Nowotny only now realises the full potential of Schneider’s amazing talent, however that may be defined. With his acquittal, his fame and notoriety spreads and Schneider heads off, with Nowotny pulling the strings, to 78
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a new future in Berlin. On the train to the German capital, Nowotny remarks that Schneider’s name is ‘rather dull’ and at his insistence Schneider adopts the stage name Erik-Jan Hanussen (with its echoes of Northern and Viking mysticism). The successful outcome of the trial at Karlovy Vary establishes Hanussen’s reputation and in Berlin he quickly becomes a great success, filling theatres with enthralled audiences, but his flirtation with the Nazis is his undoing. At one of his stage shows he humiliates a heckler, a Brownshirt officer, by hypnotising him and getting him to make hen calls. It is this same officer who finally kills him at the end of the film but not before he too humiliates Hanussen in a similar manner. HanussenDPOUBJOTPOFPG4[BCPTNPTUBNVTJOHBOECMBUBOUMZPCWJPVTAFYUSBUFYtual’ references. The hospital where Schneider is recovering is to be visited by the Emperor who will bestow some medals on the wounded. However, the place has to be ‘prettied up’ and a cosmetic operation of Potemkin proportions gets underway. Nowotny, along with fellow officer Trantow-Waldbach (György Cserhalmi), arrives to take charge of the operation and orders a mass grave of soldiers to be opened up with the individual corpses to be buried in single graves. As their identities are unknown he orders the reburial squad to invent names for their crosses. The soldiers respond by putting the names of certain members of the Austrian royal family on the crosses and Nowotny is less than amused. He yells out: ‘I want real names like Wajda, Menzel, Jancsó, understand!’ A Pole, a Czech and a Hungarian – a representative cross-section of the Empire – also film directors and good friends of Szabó. Schneider approaches Nowotny and says: ‘I’ve heard of the people you mentioned. They’re magicians, illusionists.’ The reference to Leni Reifenstahl has already been noted, while Schneider’s trial takes place in Karlovy Vary – the venue for the long-established Czech and international film festival; non-filmic references include Bruno Bettelheim, a famous Hungarian psychologist who moved to the USA and Nowotny shares the name of the notoriously Stalinist First Secretary of the Czech Communist Party ousted in early 1968 just before the beginning of the Prague Spring. As if these references to a Central European cultural, political and scientific milieu were not enough, in his defence during the Karlovy Vary trial Schneider articulates a point of view which could be seen as a summary of the motivating ideas behind all UISFFA.JUUMFVSPQBëMNT FYQPTJOHUIFIPQFTBOEGSVTUSBUJPOTPGQFPQMFCBDLJOUIF 1920s and early 1930s, and the underlying fear about what the future may hold for them: Hanussen: The Prosecutor calls me a charlatan because I know people’s thoughts, I know them because I also live here in the middle of Europe, in what used to be the Austro-Hungarian Empire. I live in a country shattered by war, where we feel no security because we are afflicted by inflation. I know the fears and longings of those in this courtroom. Their suppressed sorrows flow to me in this court. In the past such sorrows sustained churches and fortune tellers, I merely FYQSFTTUIFJSUIPVHIUTJOPSEFSUPTFFUIFGVUVSF UIFGVUVSFPGXBSXJEPXTBOE orphans, the abandoned in this mad world. Is this the life we longed for? In all eyes I see the question, ‘what will happen to us?’ v i si on s of e u rope
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At the end of his speech he asks those who support him to stand and everyone does so. It is easy and by no means wrong to point out that the film, from this point on, demonstrates the malleability and gullibility of the ‘masses’ who will follow a charlatan if the times are desperate enough, and the Hanussen/Hitler parallel (Austrian, Corporal in the army, born on the same day) is obvious and has been frequently commented on. )PXFWFS UIFëMNJTNVDIUPPDPNQMFYUPCFKVTUBOBMMFHPSZPG)JUMFSTSJTFUPQPXFS Although Hanussen is a charlatan he is not without intelligence and sympathy for the plight of ordinary people, and it could be argued that his stage performances, various tricks, illusions etc do not harm anyone. Despite the high-flown language in the courthouse, Hanussen’s speech describes a far-from appealing reality. In his home country, Austria, defeat had created a crisis of identity, social order and morale. There was widespread poverty and unrest while murder, domestic violence and other crimes had reached epidemic proportions (see Healy 2006). Whether he is a charlatan, playing to the gallery or making a heartfelt appeal, Hanussen is nevertheless posing important questions. The European tragedies of two world wars, the broader canvas of all three films, is the way in which these questions were ‘answered’ by history. In Berlin, Hanussen plays an increasingly dangerous game, although at times he seems unaware or blasé about what he is getting into. He meets a beautiful young woman, a cabaret performer, Valerie Tóth, who he knew as a child and they have an affair, much to the chagrin of the Chief of Police, none other than Trantow-Waldbach, although he later appears to accept the liaison and turns a blind eye to Hanussen’s BDUJWJUJFT8IJMFUIJTUPMFSBODFFYJTUT)BOVTTFOTFFNTTBGFCVUUIJTFWBQPSBUFT IPXFWFS when Trantow-Waldbach dies in a ‘car accident’ and Hanussen at this point realises the game is up as the Goebbels-type figure in the film is not very happy to have this TUSBOHFNBOBSPVOEXIPIBTBEWJTFEUIF'àISFSBOEDBOUFMMUIFGVUVSF0NOJQPUFODF PGUIJTLJOECFMPOHTPOMZUPUIF'àISFSBOEUIFGVUVSFJTGPSUIF/B[J1BSUZUPEFDJEF not some stage performer. Hanussen’s fate is sealed, but not before he utters his final QSFEJDUJPOUPIJTFYFDVUJPOFSToA:PVXJMMBMMQFSJTI Critical reception of the film was definitely on the cool side. Richard Combs, writing in the Monthly Film Bulletin, saw the film as too derivative of Mephisto, while it ‘never locates the theme of the style that will give its hero a proper role’ (1989: 182); ‘more than a little wearying’ was the verdict of Times critic Geoff Brown (1989: 20); and in the US, Village Voice critic, Georgina Brown, dismissed the film as ‘so implausible it mystifies. The rise of Hitler looks like science fiction’ (1989: 60), a rather strange comment as the film actually has little to do with the rise of Hitler in any direct sense. Fellow American, Vincent Canby, who seems to have had it in for Szabó, was likewise scathing in the New York Times (1989: 29). Nevertheless, despite its flaws, this is an interesting film and does not deserve the critical slating it received on its release. Apart from another fine performance from Brandauer (surely equal to his earlier performance in Mephisto) there is equally accomplished work from Erland +PTFQITPOBOEUIFUXPFYDFMMFOU)VOHBSJBOBDUPST,ÈSPMZ&QFSKFTBOE(ZÚSHZ$TFShalmi. Koltai’s cinematography is at times stunning, particularly in the early scenes where the interiors in the military hospital are clothed in a milky light that evokes the confused, clouded mental state of the wounded Schneider. 80
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To try and conclude, it seems that each of the three ‘Mittleleuropa films’ answers the questions posed in Schneider’s trial in different ways, yet each ‘answer’ is shown to be somehow deficient. The Faustian pact of Hendrik Höfgen brings some kind of transitory fame but little else. The blind, unswerving loyalty of the railway clerk’s son, Alfred Redl, is rewarded with betrayal and a bullet, while Hanussen, who of the three tries to maintain some independent course, still ends up as a victim with a bullet in his head. Szabó, however, offers us little in terms of what course they should have taken. Clearly the films are, at one level, some kind of warning or even a ‘lesson’; they are asking us to think about the possible repercussions of certain actions and stances, something of enormous historical importance given that the films are so obviously also about the Central Europe of Szabó’s time. It has now become almost a cliché, when talking about history and film to indicate that films set in the past also talk to us about the present. During the Stalinist years film directors, artists and intellectuals in Central Europe were constantly having to deal with the same issues that faced Höfgen, Redl and Hanussen: compromise or opposition? If the choice is compromise, how far should this compromise go? What tactics are necessary to push the boundaries a little? 8IBUDBOZPVSFWFBM XIBUNVTUZPVIJEF 5PXIBUFYUFOUJTJUQPTTJCMFBOENPSBMMZ acceptable to develop a modus vivendi with the authorities? Should you leave and try and work abroad? These were real concrete questions, faced by many in both periods, present in various forms in all three films and are directly relevant to Szabó’s position and those of his contemporaries in Hungary and other parts of Central Europe. Szabó offers no easy answers and the viewer is, more-or-less, left to work it out for themselves. More specifically, there are some obvious parallels between the fate of Redl, punished EFTQJUF IJT TVQFSMPZBMUZ BOE UIF GBUF GPS FYBNQMF PG -ÈT[MØ 3BKL UIF )VOHBSJBO $PNNVOJTU 1BSUZ MPZBMJTU XIP BMTP FOEFE VQ FYFDVUFE BT B SFXBSE GPS IJT TFSWJDFT Likewise, Redl’s almost enthusiastic embrace of his fate seems a warped parallel to those prominent Communists who, during the 1930s show trials in the Soviet Union, were accused of ‘anti-Party’ activity and incriminated themselves with enthusiasm in confessing their ‘crimes’ and their supposed disloyalty to Stalin. The regime’s propensity for totally fabricated accusations – the Archduke seems utterly blasé and shameless about the need to conjure up ‘evidence’ against some unfortunate scapegoat – is also uncomfortably close to the activities of the Stalin regime and his loyal Hungarian disciple Rákosi. It finds a very poignant echo in the episode in Sunshine when András Knorr, also a Communist loyalist, out of the blue and with absolutely no evidence, is accused of being a Zionist agent. Höfgen’s feeble attempts to separate out his art from the deteriorating political situation around him before he ultimately succumbs to the allure of the prestige bestowed upon him by the Nazis is a dilemma that resurfaces in Taking Sides and was one that all artists in Central Europe had to wrestle with. Despite the relatively low-key reception given to Hanussen, there can be no doubt that Szabó’s three ‘Mitteleuropa films’ established him solidly as an international director of major repute over and above any honour or acclaim that had been bestowed upon him previously. He was now able to do something that no Hungarian director IBEEPOFCFGPSFoUPTPNFFYUFOUIFDPVMEOPXADBMMUIFTIPUTBCPVUXIBUQSPKFDUTIF v i si on s of e u rope
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would or would not accept; demonstrating above all else that he could work outside the institutional and financial framework of the Hungarian film industry should he wish to do so. However, this was not without its own set of problems. Szabó now found himself subject to the pressures of producers intervening to ensure that particVMBSQSPKFDUTEJEOPUHPPWFSCVEHFUPSSVOPOUPPMPOHɨJT GPSFYBNQMF CFDBNFB particular problem during the shooting of Colonel Redl where the German producer kept a close eye on the length of the film, causing both Szabó and Dobai to make a number of economies. The aesthetic side of this coin was that the three films may usefully be thought of as constituting a new departure for Szabó, the development of what might loosely be called his ‘Grand Style’. I do not intend this as any rigorous analytical ‘category’, merely an indication of his newly developed tendency for historical dramas, added to which is his increasing ability to attract international financing and backing which, by his previous standards, allow him to work with sizeable budgets. With this turn Szabó also begins working with prominent acting talent from around the world (Glenn Close, Ralph Fiennes, Jeremy Irons, Harvey Keitel, Helen Mirren) while employing classic linear narratives with a minimum of stylistic devices such as flashbacks and ESFBNGBOUBTZTFRVFODFT SFBDIJOHEFëOJUFDMPTVSF.BOZPGIJTOFYUëMNTGPMMPXUIJT broad formula, particularly Sunshine. Some of the implications of this will be discussed in later chapters.
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CHAPTER SIX
New Europe, New Hungary, New Problems: Meeting Venus and Sweet Emma, Dear Böbe (Édes Emma, drága Böbe)
So, we’re joining Europe. Can someone tell me where the fuck we’ve been for the last thousand years? – Hungarian student [anon.] to the author; Keszthely, Hungary, c. 19931 The Hungarian artist’s dream of mastery comes true: in bed with the West, conducting Europe. – Anikó Imre, commenting on Meeting Venus In the 1990s there was much talk in Hungary and in the other countries of the former Eastern Bloc about ‘joining Europe’, which of course actually meant joining the European Union, as if this would somehow be the final episode in an untroubled, seamless transition from Hungary’s homespun and very much watered-down version of Stalinism to a full-blooded embrace of free-market capitalism. At last, Hungary, Poland and Czechoslovakia (soon to split) and others would be returned to their rightful place in the European heartland, although the process dragged on until 2004, but as the poet Robbie Burns once famously wrote‘The best laid schemes of mice and men…’. In fact the two developments – the system change and joining the EU – seemed to ‘morph’ into one continual, much-hyped and drawn-out process and if the road away from Moscow led to Brussels it was, nevertheless, a long and very bumpy one. On a personal note, certainly in the early T *SFNFNCFSCFJOHGSFRVFOUMZTVSQSJTFEBUUIFJHOPSBODFBOEOBJWFUZFYQSFTTFECZ some Hungarians towards the economic system they were now a part of. It was almost BTJGBQPTTFPG8BMM4USFFUCBOLFSTXBTFYQFDUFE BUBOZNPNFOU UPSJEFEPXOUIFIJHI street dispensing wealth, happiness and stability. The euphoria did not last for too long. The ‘new’ Europe did not – surprise, surprise – usher in some new dawn of utopian bliss and prosperity; instead it brought its own set of different problems, and although the bureaucracy in Brussels is without a doubt preferable to the Central Committee in Moscow (or Budapest), Hungarians were going to have to make some big and difficult v i si on s of e u rope
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adjustments in many areas of life. Filmmakers and other artists responded in different ways to the changes and some of them offered films which showed a darker, more ambiguous transition, sometimes a contradictory Europe where the authoritarianism of the old system has given way to the merciless cut and thrust of free-market capitalism, where rampant individualism was the order of the day and the old certainties of the past, however frayed they might have been, had disappeared for good. Nor did many Hungarians realise that Brussels or Strasburg would throw up its own absurdities sometimes equal to any proffered by the Five Year Plans, committees and planOJOHDPNNJTTJPOTPGUIFPMEEBZT4[BCØ BMXBZTBXBSFPGUIFXJEFS&VSPQFBODPOUFYU SFTQPOEFEJOBWFSZQFSTPOBMXBZUPUIFTFPGUFOUIXBSUFEFYQFDUBUJPOT DPOGVTJPOTBOE DIBOHFTJOIJTOFYUUXPëMNT#PUIMeeting Venus and Sweet Emma, Dear Böbe, but particularly the former, demonstrate a keen awareness of the pitfalls awaiting Hungarians (and others) in the ‘New Europe’ and both are based on personal encounters with aspects of this New Europe, the changes within Hungary and the fresh brutalities of the so-called free market and its consequences, side-effects and spin-offs (not to mention rip-offs). Meeting Venus was another major international undertaking; it was also a landmark in that it was Szabó’s first film in English and his first attempt at a film which contained substantial elements of comedy. At first glance the ingredients look promising: a budget of $9.7million, an international cast led by US star Glenn Close, a cultural clash of East and West, all set to the background of a disaster-strewn production of Wagner’s 1845 opera Tannhäuser, performed in Paris. Yet it never quite came off and Meeting VenusNFUXJUIBNJYFEDSJUJDBMSFTQPOTFBOEQFSGPSNFEQPPSMZBUUIFCPYPïDFɨF impetus for the project came directly from Szabó and his own decidedly troubled FYQFSJFODFPGEJSFDUJOHBTannhäuser production at the Paris Opera some seven years previous (one of Szabó’s occasional ventures onto the operatic stage). This is another of Szabó’s films where there is a strong autobiographical element, albeit a rather painful one. He approached David Putnam of the British company Enigma Productions to discuss the project, the two having already discussed an abortive adaptation of The Man Who Was Thursday, the 1908 novel by G. K. Chesterton. Putnam was keen to take on the project and brought together a consortium of Warner Bros. (who stumped up fifty percent of the finance), Fujisankei who contributed twenty percent, as did British Satellite Broadcasting (BSB), while County NatWest (the investment section of a major British bank) put up the remaining ten percent. Warner’s involvement ensured, on paper at least, that the film would get major international distribution and the participation and star appeal of Glenn Close held out the possibility of lucrative distribution in the US. Script development started in mid-1988, and Putnam and Steve Norris of Enigma, looking back on the film in 1994, appeared confident the opera film would be a success: The idea for Meeting Venus originated through István Szabó. He is undoubtedly a world-class director and David [Putnam] had, for some time, been very interested in working with him. Szabó seemed keen to work with more resources than he had previously been used to and to do a film which was both somewhat more commercial and more attractive to an audience outside 84
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Karin Anderson (Glenn Close) as Elizabeth in a rehearsal for Tannhäuser
of his own country. We found the original subject matter refreshing, and it was RVJUF DMFBSMZ DMPTF UP TPNF PG *TUWÈOT PXO QFSTPOBM FYQFSJFODFT 2VPUFE JO Ilot 1996: 83) "TBMSFBEZOPUFE JUXBTDFSUBJOMZDMPTFUPIJTFYQFSJFODFCVUJGBOZUIJOH4[BCØT FYQFSJFODFXBT JOTPNFBTQFDUT XPSTFUIBOUIBUEFQJDUFEJOUIFëMN*OUIFPSJHJOBM Paris Opera production both artists and technical staff went on strike and shortly before the premiere, the conductor, world-renowned Christoph von Dohnányi, who had originally suggested Szabó as director, walked out! As Szabó reflected some years later, ‘rehearsal[s] were so miserable and frustrating that after it was over I just wanted to forget the whole thing’ (quoted in Christiansen 1991: 51) ɨFëMNXBTTIPUNBJOMZJO#VEBQFTUXJUIFJHIUEBZTBMMPDBUFEGPSFYUFSJPSTIPUT of Paris (see Ilot 1996: 80). With a screenplay by Szabó and Michael Hirst (who later went on to write the screenplay for the British film Elizabeth, 1998) Meeting Venus tells of the problems encountered by the Hungarian conductor Zoltán Szantó (Niels Arestrup) when he is contracted to direct a production of Tannhäuser at the v i si on s of e u rope
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‘Opera Europa’ in Paris, for which Szabó utilised the Hungarian Opera House in Budapest (after, apparently, resisting suggestions to set the film in the opera house in Buenos Aires). Szantó’s enthusiasm for the project and his patience are tested to the limit as he falls foul of management-union working agreements, personality clashes, national animosities, egos, tantrums, problems over sponsors (green activists picket the production) and a difficult relationship with Swedish leading singer Karin Anderson (played by Close) which eventually develops into a romance, much to the chagrin of Szantó’s Hungarian wife, Edith (Dorottya Udvaros), who remains at home in Budapest. Some of the fictional problems that afflict the staging of Tannhäuser in the film are CBTFEPO4[BCØTPXOFYQFSJFODFTCVUEFTQJUFUIJTHSPVOEJOHJOUIFSFBMCVUGSBVHIU world of artistic international co-production, Meeting Venus ends up as a rather elaborate and, probably, over-worked metaphor for a well-intentioned but heavily bureaucratised and mind-bogglingly incompetent Europe/European Union. In particular, the film highlights the perennial European problem that despite the best intentions in the world it is incredibly difficult, if not sometimes impossible, to get agreement on anything – whether quotas for catching fish, agricultural subsidies or producing an PQFSBɨJTEJMFNNBJTQFSIBQTFYBDFSCBUFECZUIFQSFTFODFPGBOVNCFSPG BUUIF time non-EU) East Europeans, most notably Szantó and von Schneider, the alterOBUFMZXFBTFMZPSWJOEJDUJWF&BTU(FSNBOTJOHJOHUIFSPMFPG5BOIÊVTTFS UIFFYDFMMFOU Slovak actor Marián Labuda). On the point of being liberated from the yoke of the Eastern Bloc but at the same time not quite ‘European’, at least not in the sense of being a member of the ‘club’ (the EU), the Hungarian ‘outsider’ carries with him all the baggage of uncertainty and apprehension which Hungary faced in those early days after the collapse of the Berlin Wall. For his part, von Schneider acts as if the Cold War JTTUJMMSVOOJOHJUTDPVSTF USJFTUPëEEMFIJTIPUFMFYQFOTFTCZFOMJTUJOH4[BOUØTIFMQ much to the latter’s disgust, while buying copious amounts of canned food and other goodies to take back to the (soon to fade away) German Democratic Republic. For UIFWFSZNVDIQSP&VSPQFBO4[BCØ XIP GPSFYBNQMF XBTBGPVOEJOHNFNCFSPGUIF European Film Academy in 1989) it is a rather damning verdict and if, as some have suggested, the film ends up as the proverbial ‘Euro-pudding’, its critique nevertheless carries some punch as those (including the author of this book) who have attempted various forms of European collaborations can often attest. The cast and crew alone tell their own story: British production company, Hungarian director whose film shows a German opera, performed in Paris (but filmed in Budapest), conducted by a fellow Hungarian (played by Arestrup, born in France), with a Swedish diva, Karin Anderson (played by an American) with a voice-over by New Zealand opera star, Kiri Te Kanawa. The rest of the cast is a veritable League of Nations including the Swedish actor Erland Josephson (who had earlier appeared in Colonel Redl), Dutch BDUSFTT +PIBOOB5FS 4UFFHF XIP SFTVSGBDFT JO 4[BCØT OFYU ëMN
UIF "NFSJDBO +BZ O. Sanders, a Szabó favourite, Hungarian actress Ildikó Bánsági, and from Germany, 3JUB4DIPMMɨFUFDIOJDBMDSFXBSFBNJYPG)VOHBSJBO OPUBCMZUIFDBNFSBDSFX XJUI Koltai at the helm as always) and others, including a number of French and British (mainly working in editing and sound). Szabó adds, as he does in a number of his 86
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films, an understated self-referentiality: the American character is called Taylor, there is a Frenchman, Tailleur, the East German is Schneider and a Pole is Krawiecki, all names which translate into English as ‘tailor’ as does the Hungarian name Szabó, while the closeness of the director’s name to the leading male character should also be noted. 4[BOUØBSSJWFTJO1BSJTFYDJUFECZUIFQSPTQFDUBIFBE BMUIPVHIUIFSFJTBMSFBEZBIJOU of the problems to come. Szantó’s voice-over (he relates letters to his wife throughout the film), as he arrives at Charles De Gaulle Airport, notes how he is ‘bringing the stale smell of Eastern Europe’ with him and is treated by customs officials as if he has ‘dog shit’ on his shoes. He is dismayed but unsurprised when he is the only one singled out to have his luggage searched. Despite these omens, he is initially upbeat and confident that the project will be a success without too many problems; everyone appears keen and there is no shortage of talent in all departments. It soon becomes apparent, however, that the production will not go smoothly. The orchestra and the chorus are all unionised and, under their working agreements it is difficult, if not impossible, to rehearse them together. The union representatives for the chorus and the orchestra interrupt rehearsals to raise points, von Schneider is shown to be temperamental in the FYUSFNF NBMFWPMFOUBOEBXLXBSE POFPGUIFGFNBMFMFBETJTIFBWJMZQSFHOBOU SJWBMSJFT of various kinds emerge or develop and the leather-clad gay set designer, reminiscent of Werner Schröter, the former collaborator of maverick German director Rainer Werner Fassbinder, is rushed off to hospital after a drugs overdose, and outside the theatre Green activists protest against the sponsorship of the opera by a company deemed to be causing environmental damage. Szantó becomes increasingly frustrated at the mounting problems he faces while on the wall in his office the face of Ignátzio Sarto, his former teacher and musical director at the theatre (it is actually a photograph of Mariássy), looks down benevolently on the chaos. Despite all this the main thrust of the narrative pivots around the relationship between Szantó and lead singer Karin Anderson who will sing the part of Elizabeth. The two have met before, Szántó describing her as a ‘cold fish’ and initially the atmosphere between them is frosty to say the least. Anderson’s sudden unannounced appearance at a rehearsal where she upstages Szantó by bursting into song while the ‘maestro’ is discussing the performance with the rest of the cast sets a bad precedent. To say that Szantó is annoyed by the intrusion is an understatement and the tension between the two is palpable. The ice is broken when Szantó, driven to desperation by UIFDIBPT CVSFBVDSBUJDPCTUBDMFTBOEDPOTUBOUTRVBCCMJOHBSPVOEIJNFYQMPEFTɨF final straw comes when von Schneider and the émigré Hungarian Chief Secretary of the Opera House, Jean Gabor (Israeli actor Moscu Alcalay, originally from Romania) trade insults and come to blows in the middle of a rehearsal. Szantó belts out an impromptu song on the piano which runs through the gamut of national stereotypes; "OEFSTPO KPJOT JO UIF JNQSPWJTFE WPDBMT BOE BGUFS UIFJS TIBSFE DBUIBSUJD FYQFSJFODF they are soon romantically involved. Szantó, however, has only increased the problems he has to face – the production becomes more and more fraught and his wife, Edith, is JODSFBTJOHMZTVTQJDJPVTPGIFSXBZXBSEIVTCBOE)FSF UPTPNFFYUFOU UIFQMPUPGUIF film mirrors the Wagner opera itself as Szantó, like the minstrel-knight Tannhäusser, is forced to choose between two women: Wagner’s Elizabeth (Edith) is pure and spirv i si on s of e u rope
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itual while Venus (Karin) is all sensuality and passion, and there is an element of the elevated about her which Edith, not part of the operatic world (she is a doctor) and stuck in Budapest, can hardly match. However, it is certainly true, as David Paul points out, that ‘this grandiose theme becomes muddled and trivialised among the antics of the musicians, crew, and opera staff’ (1994: 197). ɨF ëMN DMJNBYFT VOTVSQSJTJOHMZ JO POF MBTU NBKPS DSJTJT ɨF NVDIBXBJUFE premiere is about to start but the electrician will not switch on the power to raise the safety curtain due to industrial action. All appeals are in vain and the performance is already half an hour late in starting. Karin Anderson suggests that the opera be staged in front of the curtain with the cast entering from the rear of the auditorium wearing their everyday clothes as they cannot gain access to the wardrobe. Art triumphs over all obstacles and adversity and the performance is hailed as a brilliant innovatory success. Sadly, the same cannot be said about the film. Unravelling why this is so is a bit of a conundrum, a point of view shared by Chris Norris: In all the conversations David and I have had, we’ve racked our brains as to what we might have done differently. I’m not sure there’s much we would have done. Certainly there have been other Enigma projects that with hindsight we might have approached in a slightly different way, but I don’t think that’s true of Meeting Venus. (Quoted in Ilot 1996: 85) There is no question that the story is engrossing and that the script is well-written with some fine performances. Guardian reviewer Derek Malcolm thought it was ‘a comedy XJUITPNFUIJOHUPTBZBOEUIFBVEBDJUZUPNJYJUTMBVHITXJUIBEFDFOUTFSJPVTOFTTPG purpose’ (quoted in Ilot 1996: 81). However, Verina Glaessner, writing in Sight and Sound, described it as ‘merely acute, telling and finely registered observation’ (quoted in *MPU #PYPïDFQFSGPSNBODFXBTVOFWFOBOENPTUTVDDFTTFTXFSFJOPQFSB loving countries such as Italy, and German audiences turning out in some numbers to see this tale of a Wagner production. There was a limited response in the UK, and in North America it was a disaster where further problems ensued. At a test screening of the film the US audience complained that they could not understand the English of Marián Labuda (playing von Schneider). Indeed Labuda’s grasp of the language was quite poor and he read his lines from cards as best he could. The American distributors insisted that something be done to rectify the situation and Labuda’s voice was eventuBMMZEVCCFECZ#SJUJTITUBOEVQDPNJD BDUPSBOEIVNPVSJTU "MFYFJ4BZMF XIPTQPLF his lines in English with a heavy German accent (see Sayle 1993: 9). The portrayal of the French trade unions leaves much to be desired. For all his espousal of democracy and democratic values, Szabó portrays the unionised chorus and orchestra as a bunch of malingering, grouchy, antediluvian obstructionists whose view of the world is so one-sided that it would not have been out of place in the Boulting Brothers’ reactionary but hilarious lampoon of British trade unions in I’m Alright Jack (1959). While certain French trade unions do have a reputation for obstreperousness (as friends better acquainted with France than I am have fallen over themselves 88
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to point out) their positioning as one of the central villains of the piece suggests that Szabó’s understanding of the West still requires some homework (as a life-long trade unionist myself, however, I am duty bound to declare a certain stance on this question). When I mentioned his negative portrayal of the unions in one of our conversations and, donning my liberal hat, suggested that trade unionism was a vital element of a vibrant democracy, he replied that the film was true to life and that he was not anti-union but did not offer any further elaboration. All well and good but Szantó, JGXFDBOBDDFQUUIBUIFJT UPTPNFFYUFOU 4[BCØTBMUFSFHPBOENPVUIQJFDF SFNBJOT unimpressed by or at best ambivalent about Western democracy. This point is picked up well by Anikó Imre: Szantó sums up the cause of the Opera’s troubles in a letter to his wife: ‘Bureaucrats pretend to be artists, and artists, bureaucrats. Impossible!’ And, ‘apparently due to democracy, nobody really seems to care about Tannhäuser&YDFQU perhaps Miss Anderson.’ ‘Democracy’ receives a derogatory name (‘bureaucracy’). In comparison with the magnificent demon of Communism, the omnipresent, everyday politics of Western democracies appear irritating and sad. (1999: 419) Ironically the notion of collectivity, at a time when Europe was enthusiastically embracing the free market, also takes a few knocks. The triumph of Szantó is a triumph for individualism and is achieved against the chorus, the orchestra and their unions – all, in one way or another, collective bodies. Reflecting further on this, it seems an odd judgement for a film director whose work is so intimately and intricately bound up with the joint labour and inputs of so many others. In his later film Taking Sides, the question of the artist and politics will again be brought to the fore, this time in a very EJêFSFOUDPOUFYUBOEXJUIWFSZEJêFSFOUPVUDPNFT*OMeeting Venus Szabó seems to pose a rather simplistic solution to the problems faced by his conductor – art eventually triumphs over politics by separating them out. Wilhelm Furtwängler’s dilemma TVHHFTUTUIBU POUIFDPOUSBSZ UIFUXPDBOOPUCFTFQBSBUFEɨJTJTDPNQMFYUFSSJUPSZ and I will try and return to a discussion of these issues later. Questions were raised by a number of critics about the choice of both Glenn Close and Niels Arestrup in the lead roles. Both are fine actors but the ‘chemistry’ between them (whatever that vague term may mean) never quite comes off and I wonder if Close was the right choice for an opera diva. Although the part does not necessarily call GPSBLJMPBYFXJFMEJOH#SVOIJMEFMPPLBMJLF $MPTFQFSIBQTMPPLTTPNFXIBUMJHIUweight and never totally comfortable when in singing (i.e. miming) mode and Kiri Te Kanawa’s beautiful, soaring voice seems too powerful for Close’s slight frame. The choice of a Wagner opera as the background to the drama, particularly when it is the relatively unfamiliar Tannhausser (at least to non-Wagnerians), possibly worked BHBJOTUUIFëMNBUUIFCPYPïDF SBJTJOHRVFTUJPOTBCPVUXIBULJOEPGBOBVEJFODFUIF film was aimed at. Wagner, to put it as politely as possible, is an acquired taste (and try as I may I haven’t acquired it) and Tannhausser is hardly a light-hearted romp in the hay. As a last consideration, although this hardly puts the lid on the discussion, the case of v i si on s of e u rope
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Meeting Venus raises a number of questions about what a ‘European’ film is (or is not) and demonstrates the pitfalls involved in international casting and production. Is it the case that in casting this ‘League of Nations’ the filmmakers tried to please everyone but ended up with a muddle, or ‘Euro fudge’ which pleased no-one? Whatever its possible faults, the film has merit in that it treats a question which is actually quite difficult to represent onscreen in a convincing fashion and Szabó remains one of the few directors UPNBLFUIJTBUUFNQU)JTOFYUFêPSUXBTUPCFUJHIUFSBOENPSFGPDVTFE After four films on the international arena, Szabó returned to his native Hungary GPSUIFTVCKFDUNBUUFSPGIJTOFYUëMN Sweet Emma, Dear Böbe, and if Meeting Venus concerns some of the problems associated with the ‘new’ Europe and the EU, then this film is directly concerned with the domestic problems of the ‘new’ Hungary. It is the most critical and engaged of a number of films, Fekete Ibolya’s Bolshe Vita (1996) and Ferenc Török’s Moscow Square (Moszkva tér UPUBLFUXPFYBNQMFT made in Hungary about the transition or just after. The film is set in 1989, just as Hungary breaks away from the Soviet Union and begins its difficult transition to a different LJOEPGTPDJFUZ*UJTUIFQBJOBOEQSPCMFNTBTTPDJBUFEXJUIUIFTFDPNQMFYBOEEJïDVMU changes, coupled with the personal stories of two school teachers, Emma (Johanna Ter Steege with Hungarian voice-over by Ildikó Bánsági) and Böbe (Enikő Börcsök), that make up this occasionally flawed but interesting, powerful and, at times, angry film. The origins of the film are worth recounting. There is no literary source although there is a large element of personal involvement for Szabó. One day he was walking in Budapest through Vörösmarty Tér, a popular square, in the tourist zone of the city, probably best known for the location of the beautiful, and mouth-watering, Gerbeaud’s cukraszda (a cake and coffee shop). This is a popular spot for street artists to sketch passers-by, part of the unofficial tourist infrastructure that has grown up over the years; similar phenomena can be seen in London, Paris and many other places where the OBNFPGUIFHBNFJTQBSUJOHUPVSJTUTGSPNUIFJSNPOFZJOFYDIBOHFGPSAQPSUSBJUTPG often dubious verisimilitude and artistic quality. Szabó was surprised to see someone he knew among these pavement artists drawing tourists’ portraits, in his own words, AGPSQFBOVUTɨFZFYDIBOHFEHSFFUJOHTBOE4[BCØBTLFEIJNXIZIFXBTEPJOHUIJT The man replied that as a school teacher he did not make enough to live on and had to supplement his meagre wages somehow. Teachers in Hungary, around this time, were finding life a struggle and having a second job was the norm (among my personal acquaintances in Hungary in these years, driving instructor was often a popular choice of second job) and some even had a third job. Szabó had his picture drawn and the conversation continued over a cup of coffee. It transpired that the teacher lived in a miserable hostel and that some of his female colleagues were part-time prostitutes, so desperate were their circumstances. There were even suicides among their number. Szabó emerged from the conversation an angry man; angry at what this represented in personal terms and what it said about the Hungary of the time. This state of mind was no doubt not eased when he later visited the teacher’s hostel to see conditions for himself. He went then wrote the story of Sweet Emma, Dear Böbe in a couple of days. Emma and Böbe are Russian-language teachers. They both hail from the countryside and live and teach in Budapest; their accommodation is a shared room in a 90
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squalid, cramped hostel and Emma works as a cleaner to supplement her meagre wages XIJMF#ÚCFNBZXFMMCFFBSOJOHFYUSBNPOFZBTBQSPTUJUVUF8JUIUIFDPMMBQTFPGUIF ‘system’ imminent, so is their livelihood. For years the Russian language was compulsory (and much-resented) in Hungarian schools and the authorities were now faced with the enormous problem of what was to be done with these teachers whose skills were soon to be utterly redundant. The answer was an ambitious national programme to re-train them as English teachers, so as well as all the strains of trying to live on an inadequate income they also have to undergo intensive re-training. This creates its own problems as Emma finds the process difficult, not helped by the authoritarian rotelearning that she is forced to endure. Emma is having an affair with Stefanics (Péter Andorai), the married director of the school where she works, but he will not commit himself and remains with his XJGF#ÚCFIBTBOVNCFSPGBêBJSTBOEBUPOFQPJOUJOUIFëMNBVEJUJPOTGPSBOFYUSBT part in a film which will depict a scene in a harem. The parade of naked flesh as a large number of women pose for the camera is an indictment not just of a certain kind of filmmaking but also of a certain attitude which was growing in Hungary at the time, of an increasing, often crass, commercialisation of just about every aspect of life. Hungary had turned its back on one devil only to be confronted by another, of a very different stripe. Böbe accepts the grim reality of the situation she is in and is unreserved about flirting with Western men when she is out with Emma; they are the ones with the money. However, Böbe’s relationships with various men, already fairly murky, reaches a point where she is arrested and, probably, imprisoned for illegal currency dealing and/or prostitution. After an absence of a couple of months, which is OPUGVMMZFYQMBJOFEJOUIFëMN TIFSFTVSGBDFTBOEWJTJUT&NNBJOUIFUFBDIFSTIPTUFM Emma tries to help her friend but when she turns her back Böbe throws herself out of a window and is dashed to death on the courtyard below. The film ends showing Emma now reduced to selling newspapers in one of the Budapest Metro stations. She has survived but there is not really much more that can be said; her plight is now worse than at any point in the film. This is a relentlessly depressing film and if, as I believe, it captures a certain sense of the changes (economic, emotional, etc) that Hungary was
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going through in this period, then the perspective is one of unremitted gloom and the overall point of view is condemnation. The only break comes when the two women take a holiday at Lake Balaton (a popular holiday destination) away from their work, their miserable hostel and the city. Szabó, however, denies that it is a depressing film. He emphatically disagreed with my suggestion that this is probably his most depressing film, on the contrary asserting that it is optimistic. When I pointed out that at the end of the film, Böbe is dead and Emma is reduced to selling newspapers in the Metro, he replied ‘But she’s alive!’ This, of course, is undeniable but I must confess to finding the logic of this argument somewhat flawed if not totally unconvincing. The conversation I have mentioned took place in early 2008 but in the summer of 2009 Szabó attended a screening of the film at the second Hungarian Film Festival, Check the Gate, at the Institute of Contemporary Art in London. During the question and answer session after the screening he mentioned that this was the first time he’d seen the film in many years and that he found it very ‘bleak’ and unfortunately still very relevant to the situation in Hungary today. At this point it is perhaps appropriate to raise what might be one of the problems with this film and this is a discussion which, I want to suggest, has some repercussions for Szabó’s films in the post-Confidence/Mephisto period. There is no doubt that Szabó is very adept at working with actors and, as he has mentioned on a number of occasions, he has a huge amount of respect for actors and has referred to his approach to cinema as one which is to work for the actor, to create the right conditions for them to deliver their very best in terms of emotion, performance and involvement. Yet in Sweet Emma, Dear Böbe he sometimes does not quite pull this off. The actors are provided with lines and directed in such a way that, in some scenes, the situation appears artificial and contrived. It is a perennial problem for filmmakers who wish to UBDLMFDPNQMFYJEFBTBOETJUVBUJPOTBOEUPIJTDSFEJU 4[BCØIBTOFWFSTIJFEBXBZGSPN this challenge and usually he is more than capable of meeting it. It is possible that this is most pronounced in films where Szabó has been in total, or almost total, control PGUIFTDSJQU*UEPFTOPU GPSFYBNQMF IBQQFOJOUIFUXPëMNTXIFSFIFXPSLFEXJUI Ronald Harwood, nor is it pronounced in his adaptations, again the collaborations with Harwood, but also here I would include Mephisto and Relatives. In Sweet Emma, Dear Böbe there is a tendency towards verbosity and speechifying XIJDI BUUJNFT TFFNTBSUJëDJBM*UJTBTJG4[BCØOFFETUIFEJTDJQMJOFPGBOBMSFBEZFYJTUJOH UFYUPSBOPUIFSXSJUFSUPXPSLXJUI1SPCBCMZUIFXPSTUFYBNQMFPGUIJTPDDVSTJOUIF scene when the teachers at Emma and Böbe’s school are sitting around at a lunch break bemoaning their lot. The headmaster, Stefanics, appears in the doorway and proceeds to give them a verbal dressing down by listing ‘five points’. He is framed in the doorway as he delivers, basically, a very wooden-sounding lecture running through his five points. The whole scene looks ‘stagey’, contrived and didactic; people very rarely, if ever, will begin a conversation saying ‘I’ve got five points’ and then go through them, numbering each one. Szabó briefly loses contact with the real world, which is actually one of the strengths of this film, and gives his actors too much to do instead of letting the film tell the story. An additional problem may be located in Szabó’s general reluctance to depart from his script and allow much improvisation (although this is an observation which comes second-hand and is not something I have ever discussed with him). 92
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The film was premiered on 20 March 1992, a time when Hungarian films were TUSVHHMJOHBUUIFCPYPïDF*OGBDU )VOHBSJBODJOFNBBQQFBSFEUPCFJOBUFSNJOBM nosedive: production of feature films went from 23 in 1990 to 13 in 1998, while the number of cinema screens dropped alarmingly from 1,963 in 1990 to 571 in 1999 (see Screen Digest 2001: 310, 380). By the end of 1992 Dear Emma, Sweet Böbe had been seen by just over 29,000 (Filmévkönyv 1993: 197) which is hardly shattering but nevertheless made it the third-best performing Hungarian film for that year. As a fairly random comparison, the US-produced desert island love story (released in January), Return to the Blue Lagoon (William Graham, 1991) drew in 242,000 Hungarian viewers in 1992. $SJUJDBMSFDFQUJPOPGUIFëMNXBTNJYFE3FWJFXTJOUIF6,XFSF POUIFXIPMF guardedly favourable although, once again, distribution was limited. Writing in the Spectator, Vanessa Letts thought it was ‘unusually serious and should you leave you feeling depressed, but it’s worth going to see’ (1993: 5) – the sort of comments in the UK usually reserved for a Ken Loach film. The Daily Telegraph reviewer echoed the sentiments of many describing it as ‘a bleak, even harrowing journey, but a brilliantly revealing one’ (Davenport 1993: 16). Most of the festival awards won by the film went to Johanna Ter Steege for her gutsy performance as Emma (Best Actress, Berlin, 1992; Hungarian Critics, 1993) and although the film was distributed to 27 countries, significantly these did not include the US. This was another problem faced by the Hungarian film industry, although by no means a new one. Penetration of the MVDSBUJWF64NBSLFUIBTBMXBZTCFFOFYDFQUJPOBMMZEJïDVMUBOEXBTOPUHFUUJOHBOZ easier. Only two films released in 1992 made it across the Atlantic, although both of them were restricted to TV and video distribution. By way of a crazy contrast, eight Hungarian films were distributed in Lichtenstein in the same year! Nevertheless, despite my critical observations, this was one of the few Hungarian films from the transitional period of the early 1990s which tackled the subject of system change and its implications for the population head-on (something which documentary filmmakers such as Tamás Almási were more ready to take on). As such it was undoubtedly a brave film and contains some powerful material; it deserves praise for this if nothing else. The economic crisis in Hungary (late 2008) and the resulting multibillion bail-out by the IMF suggests that the film still has enormous relevance and its themes and concerns have not gone away and, almost certainly, are not going to for some time. "MUIPVHIUIFSFXBTBMPOHHBQVOUJMIJTOFYUGFBUVSFëMN Sunshine TFFUIFOFYU chapter), Szabó maintained a busy work schedule. His interest in opera resurfaced with a TV film, Offenbach’s Secret (Offenbach titkai), centred on the work of German-born composer Jacques (Jacob) Offenbach, ‘the Mozart of the Champs Elysées’, who spent most of his life in Paris. Best known for introducing the world to the Can-Can, Offenbach composed ninety operettas but his masterpiece, and arguably his most serious piece of work, Les contes d’Hoffman, was unfinished when he died in 1880. As Szabó mentions in an interview in Hungarian Quarterly, seven years passed between Sweet Emma, Dear Böbe and Sunshine. Of course we did a lot of work in that time. We completed a highly subjective documentary v i si on s of e u rope
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on Budapest called The Boat’s Stability [sic] for the BBC and we turned two one-act operas by Offenbach into an ironic, musical costume drama for the German-French channel Arte. (Quoted in Albert 153) This 95-minute TV film was critically well-received and won the Special Jury Prize at .POUSFBVY*OUIFJOUFSWJFXKVTUDJUFE4[BCØSFGFSTUPBëMNIFDBMMTThe Boat’s Stability which was made for the BBC. Strictly speaking this was a BBC Scotland production and goes by the title of Steadying the Boat, possibly one of the most interesting of all the ‘Budapest’ films Szabó has ever made. While many of his short films engage with the city in various ways this film, a documentary sketch of 56 minutes, has the strongest historical dimension, using archive footage, particularly of events in Heroes Square (Hősök Tere) such as a state visit by Mussolini’s son-in-law, a Kádár rally and the visit of Pope John Paul II. We are also treated to a boatmaker discussing his craft (hence the title of the film). With numerous pieces of staged action in front of a vista of the Danube, a panorama of Hungarian history unfolds, including that rarity in Szabó’s ouvre: interviews with people talking straight to camera. The idea of ‘steadying the boat’ used here as some kind of broad metaphor for surviving in troubled political UJNFT JT SFTVSSFDUFE JO 4[BCØT OFYU ëMN XIFSF B DIBSBDUFS VTFT TPNFUIJOH BQQSPYJmating to these words as a metaphor to depict similar sentiments. After these small-scale ventures it was back to the big-screen with a vengeance as Szabó confronted a subject which had featured in a number of his previous films, sometimes as a central element (e.g. Father) but more often on the margins and, in one case, Hanussen, deleted almost entirely. Sunshine, his epic study of a Hungarian Jewish family and its various confrontations with anti-semitism in the twentieth century, was to become his biggest production yet and, inevitably given the subject matter, a source of controversy.
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CHAPTER SEVEN
‘The man who comes from somewhere else is always suspect’; Sunshine
Will it last long, still longer The old fate, the old curse? – Endre Ady ɨFSFJTBTDFOFSFMBUJWFMZFBSMZPOJO4[BCØTOFYUëMN Sunshine, where, at the New Year celebration ushering in the twentieth century, Ignátz, one of the main characters, says: ‘This will be a century of love, justice and tolerance.’ At the end of the film (at around three hours, his longest to date), after the viewer has followed the tragedy of successive generations of a Hungarian Jewish family through revolution and counterrevolution, fascism and Stalinism, two world wars and the Holocaust, it is painfully obvious that this was never to be. It also becomes obvious that this statement and the FYQFDUBUJPOTQFSIBQTBSJTJOHGSPNJUJTKVTUPOFPGNBOZJOUIFëMNUIBUBSFXSPOH often disastrously so. This epic story of Hungarian Jewry, told through the vicissitudes of four generations of the same family, was a film that, on reflection, István Szabó was bound to have made at some time, in one form or another. After a period in his career which could CFSFHBSEFEBTBMVMM XJUIUIFEJTBQQPJOUJOHCPYPïDFQFSGPSNBODFPGMeeting Venus, the limited success of Sweet Emma, Dear Böbe, his film for BBC Scotland and the TV film Offenbach’s Secret, Szabó now returned to the broad canvas of Central European history. From the breadth of the subject matter, which brings together a number of thematic concerns touched on in the ‘Mitteleuropa’ films, the casting of some of the finest acting talent available, to the audacious attempt to capture the essence of being Jewish in Central Europe in the twentieth century, this was a bold film in just about every sense and Szabó’s most ambitious film to date. The film actually starts at an unspecified time in the nineteenth century with a young Jewish boy, Emmanuel Sonnenschein, from a place referred to as ‘somewhere in the Austro-Hungarian Empire’, making his way, on foot, to Budapest to begin a new v i si on s of e u rope
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life. In a flashback (a now rare use of this device by Szabó), we see the death of his father, BWJMMBHFJOOLFFQFS JOBEJTUJMMFSZFYQMPTJPOɨFJOOLFFQFS BDPNNPOPDDVQBUJPOGPS Jews in Central Europe, brewed a health tonic, popular with the locals, and the boy is given the recipe (sewn into the lining of his coat). In Budapest, Emmanuel ‘works endless hours in a brewery’ according to his great-grandson, Iván, whose voice-over we hear at various junctures throughout the film, contributing to the sense of the film as history but particularly a family history and a personal memoir. Eventually, Emmanuel establishes himself by setting up his own business and through the widespread brewing of the tonic, now called A Taste of Sunshine (sonnenschein means sunshine in English), he becomes prosperous and well-established. The film then follows Emmanuel’s son Ignátz, grandson Adám and, finally, great-grandson Iván, and ends at a point sometime after the system change in Hungary, although the rooftop point of view which closes the film gives few clues about this. The pedestrianised street shown in this final scene is a quite recent development in Budapest so, presumably, the end of the film is roughly contemporaneous with the time of its making. It is an astonishingly bold time frame, unlike anything Szabó had attempted before and reminiscent of Bernardo Bertolucci’s film 1900 (1976) in both its scale, historical sweep and thematic audacity. It is not an autobiographical film in any major sense, more a bringing together PG WBSJPVT TUSBOET PG FYQFSJFODF GSPN B SBOHF PG TPVSDFT TPNF QFSTPOBM TPNF OPU Speaking in London in 2010 the director specifically denied any autobiographical JOUFOUJPO#VU BT4[BCØFYQSFTTFEJOBOFBSMJFSJOUFSWJFXJO/FX:PSLBSPVOEUIFUJNF of the film’s release, the personal dimension cannot be ignored: ‘I spent forty years for this. All the stories I heard around the table from my grandmother and grandfather and friends I tried to put in this film’ (Indiewire 2003). In an interview with Susan 3VCFJO4VMFJNBO 4[BCØFYQBOEFEPOTPNFPGUIJTCBDLHSPVOE My grandmother, my mother’s mother, was half-Austrian, very proud, very cold, with a kind of aristocratic dignity. That was the source of my mother’s own aloofness. It’s very Hungarian-Jewish, hard to understand. They were snobbish, they always asked, ‘What does your father do?’ They had high positions. My mother’s uncle was an MP, a right-wing member of Parliament, but he was Jewish – his name was Samu Hazai [a ‘Magyarized’ surname, meaning ‘of the homeland’, coupled with the Jewish ‘Samuel’]. These were the Jews of Budapest, not like the kis Zsido, the ‘little Jews’ from the provinces. My mother and grandmother scorned those kind. Theirs was a Jewish world composed of the wealthy and the intellectuals, and they thought that because Franz Joseph was favourable toward them, they belonged. It’s the story I tell in Sunshine. My grandfather was offered a baronetcy, but he had the good sense to refuse – my grandmother said, ‘We don’t need such honours.’ Other wealthy Jews accepted, like the writer Baron Hatvany’s family, or some big industrialists like the Weiss family or Baron Korin. (Quoted in Suleiman 2008) There are also a large number of references, direct and indirect, to events and personages from Hungarian history. The film is based on a story originally written by Szabó 96
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(Israel Horovits worked with Szabó on the screenplay) and intended as a TV series. A long-time friend, the Hungarian-born, Canada-based film producer Robert Lantos, was given the story, read it and liked it. In his own words: I flew back from Hungary to Canada and began reading it on the plane and couldn’t put it down. I was captivated. I hadn’t read so much Hungarian since I was a child. It was a fascinating story and I knew I had to speak to István and say forget mini-series, forget television; we have to make this as a movie. It is a great magnum opus; if anything has the sweeping size to be a movie, it is this. So many movies get made which should be TV and this was the other way round. (Sunshine Production Notes 2003) Lantos and his Canadian production company, Alliance Communications, along with András Hamori of Alliance Pictures, became the producers of Sunshine. The Lantos CV is impressive to say the least, including credit for co-producer on a number of ëMNTCZ"UPN&HPZBOBOEFYFDVUJWFQSPEVDFSPO%BWJE$SPOFOCFSHTCrash (1995) to mention just a couple of items from a long list. Both Lantos and Hamori also have FYQFSJFODFJO)VOHBSZ IBWJOHNBEFBOVNCFSPGëMNTGPS57UIFSF JODMVEJOHThe Hunchback of Notre Dame and A Shot Through the Heart (both 1997). The ‘sweeping size’ to which Lantos refers places Sunshine in a rather select group of films which combine family, group or community sagas within an epic sense of history, one of the first of which was D. W. Griffith’s Birth of a Nation (1915). Other films in the same mode are the already mentioned 1900 by Bertolucci and the Austrian films The Angel with the Trumpet directed by Karl Hartl (1948) and The Inheritors (1998) directed by Stefan Ruzowitzky (with Danny Krausz as producer who was later to work on Sunshine). This epic form, however, is more common on TV (the trend Lantos resisted), particularly as it lends itself so readily to serialisation with dramas such as Andrzej Wajda’s eight-part As the Years Pass, As the Days Pass… (1980), the tedious but enormously popular British ‘Country House’ dramas The Forsythe Saga and Upstairs Downstairs or Edgar Reitz’s stunning Heimat from West Germany. The cast of Sunshine is formidable and reflects Szabó’s now well-established international reputation and ability to attract talent from far and wide. In order to procure the distribution and financial backing for such a big production it was thought essential that the language of the film should be English. British actor Ralph Fiennes, in a display of acting virtuosity (although this view is not shared by everyone), plays all the three main parts, one for each generation – Ignátz, Adám and Iván. Jennifer Ehle, Rachel Weisz, Deborah Kara Unger, Molly Parker, Rosemary Harris and William Hurt are among the rest of the galactic cast while British viewers will also recognise many other familiar faces such as Mark Strong (Tosker in the TV drama Our Friends in the North) and Trevor Peacock (Jim Trott in the popular TV comedy The Vicar of Dibley). Hungarian acting talent is limited, however, to the less prominent roles; veteran actress Mari Törőcsik plays the older version of the family servant, Kató, and Péter Andorai who had earlier appeared in Confidence, Mephisto and Colonel Redl, plays the instructor Anselmi, the easy-going Italian who initiates Adám into the sport of fencing. v i si on s of e u rope
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The over-arching theme of Sunshine is the attempts by succeeding generations of a Jewish family to achieve acceptance into broader Hungarian society. In the days of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, when the film starts, there was a certain liberalism towards Jews, at least at the legislative level and a number of measures, most notably in 1867, were introduced to further their civil rights. In this atmosphere Hungarian Jews, particularly in the urban centres, prospered. Despite this, there were still tensions in their relationships with the wider, non-Jewish society and as the film’s narrative progresses through the twentieth century the situation gets worse and worse, culminating in the Holocaust which was as catastrophic in Hungary as anywhere else in Europe. The film breaks down into three main chronological sections; the first, centred around Ignátz, takes in the period of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, the First World War and ends after the collapse of the 1919 Republic of Councils Revolution when Ignátz, a Habsburg loyalist and high-ranking judge, dies. Ignátz, along with his socialist-inclined brother Gustav (John Neville), changes his family name from the Germanic-Jewish Sonnenschein to the Hungarian Sors (in English, sors means fate) because of anti-semitic sentiments which may prevent him from moving up in the legal world. Although at this point in the film, anti-semitism is more hinted at than actually manifest, Ignátz responds to the suggestions and gentle pressure from his superiors and in doing so furthers his career, but also makes the first compromise of many in the family saga that is unfolding. There is the feeling, running through much of the film in this section, that Ignátz is constantly thinking of the cautionary words of his father: ‘The person who comes from somewhere else is always suspect.’ Although Emmanuel does not say it, the idea of ‘somewhere else’ is not just a different place, in the sense of geography, but also the broader idea of the ‘other’, the outsider, the one who has a different set of ideas, a different world outlook, or a different religion. The attempt, to move from outsider to insider status, is thus one of the key themes of the film. In the second section of the narrative (roughly the 1930s up to the outbreak of the Second World War) one of Ignátz’s sons, Adám, now a young teenager, is confronted by the classic ‘school bully’, also an anti-semite, who goads him, calls him a ‘stinking Jew’ and forces him to kneel by using his sword in a threatening manner (some of the school students wear uniforms and carry swords). After talking to his elder brother, István (Mark Strong), Adám also takes up the sword. He turns to fencing, initially to develop the necessary skills to defend himself but he soon becomes totally absorbed in the sport. Encouraged by his bother he joins the Civic Club where he practises constantly, eventually achieving fame and national prominence by becoming Hungarian national fencing champion. In order to advance his career he follows the advice of the fencing instructor Anselmi, and joins the elite Officers’ Club to the obvious displeasure of at least one of the officers. He is picked for the national team and wins a Gold Medal at the notorious 1936 Berlin Olympics. Adám, along with István, converts to Catholicism, although both name change and religious conversion ultimately do little to protect them or their wives as the political climate in Hungary moves further and further to the right. Sometime in the early 1940s Adám and his son Iván are conscripted into a Labour Batallion BOEJOBDBNQ QPTTJCMZDMPTFUPUIF&BTUFSO'SPOU IFJTFYFDVUFEJOBQBSUJDVMBSMZTBEJTUJD 98
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NBOOFSɨFSFTUPGIJTGBNJMZ XJUIUIFFYDFQUJPOPG*WÈO (VTUBW *HOÈU[TCSPUIFSXIP is in France) and Valerie, Adám’s mother (Ignátz’s wife), all die in the Holocaust. In the third and final section, Iván, the representative of the third generation, who XJUOFTTFEIJTGBUIFSTFYFDVUJPO SFUVSOTUP#VEBQFTUBGUFSUIF4FDPOE8PSME8BSBOE moves in with his grandmother, Valerie, who appears to be, along with him, the only survivor. However, much to their surprise, they are then joined by Gustáv, a long-standing $PNNVOJTU1BSUZNFNCFSXIPIBTCFFOJOFYJMFJO1BSJTFWFSTJODFUIFDPMMBQTFPGUIF 1919 revolution. The now ageing doctor is one of a number of Hungarian Communist 1BSUZNFNCFSTXIP IBWJOHMJWFEJOFYJMFGPSBMNPTUZFBST SFUVSOUPUIFJSIPNFMBOE after the war. The film ends with Iván, now the only survivor, changing his name back to Sonnenschein and clearing out the family home, intent on making a new start. In the process he overlooks the family recipe for A Taste of Sunshine, the source of the family’s original prosperity and long misplaced, which is thrown into the rubbish along with everything else, an event only witnessed by the camera, reminiscent of the fate of Charles Foster Kane’s Rosebud sleigh in Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane (1941). ɨJT JT B DPNQMFY NVMUJMBZFSFE ëMN BOE BMUIPVHI ëDUJPOBM IBT B OVNCFS PG ‘hooks’ and references to Hungary in the twentieth century. The choice of the tonic, A Taste of Sunshine, and its relation to the title of the film and one of its iconic elements immediately evokes a parallel with the popular Hungarian liquor, Unicum, with its famous round black bottles, brewed by the assimilated Jewish Zwack family; the character of Adám, the fencing champion, appears to be a compound of the converted Jew "UJMMB1FUTDIBVFSBOE&OESF,BCPT BMTP+FXJTI
CPUIFYUSFNFMZBDDPNQMJTIFEGFODFST Although Petschauer did not participate in the 1936 Olympics he met his death in a similarly brutal fashion to that depicted in the film. Kabos did participate in the 1936 Olympics, winning 24 out of 25 contests (he can be seen briefly in the fencing section in Leni Riefenstahl’s Olympia, 1930) and, like the fictional Adám, is left-handed. Later he served five months in a Labour Batallion. Andor Knorr (William Hurt), the policeman dedicated to hunting down fascists in the immediate post-war years, is based on Ernő Szűcs, a former officer in the AVH; Knorr, in turn, falls prey to the Secret Police in their crack-down on ‘Zionists’, mirroring the so-called ‘Doctors’ Trials’ in the Soviet Union and other manifestations of official anti-semitism and purges in the late 1940s and early 1950s such as the 1952 Slansky trial in neighbouring Czechoslovakia. Knorr’s reburial (and rehabilitation) in the period immediately before 1956 carries obvious parallels with the reburial and rehabilitation of Laszló Rajk, while the cameraman, arrested and interrogated by Iván and Knorr, bears some resemblance to cinematographer Rudolf Icsey (although he left Hungary in 1949 and I have no evidence that Szabó intended any parallel here). Changes in the political and cultural climate in Hungary are indicated, tellingly, in both the mise-en-scène and in the language of the protagonists. As Hungary descends into fascism and then Stalinism, the once beautiful and refined coffeehouse frequented by the Sors family declines in appearance and, by the 1950s, ends up as a rather shabby self-service cafeteria which would not look out of place in a British motorway service station. One cannot help but also notice the growing prevalence of uniforms of one regime or another, as the years progress. Two scenes, both from very different v i si on s of e u rope
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eras, encapsulate these changes and the attitudes involved; just before the First World War, as a newly appointed judge and on his way up in the world, Ignátz is invited to a hunting party organised by the Hungarian elite, who like their kind everywhere, derive pleasure from killing animals. With their immaculate tweeds and their imported English Purdy shotguns, the hunting party is the epitome of bourgeois elegance. Much later in the late 1940s or early 1950s a similar party goes out on a hunt, but this is a different elite serving a very different master. The tweeds are gone and replaced by Honvéd (Hungarian Army) or AVH uniforms and they blast away at wild boar and deer with their Soviet sub-machine guns. In the early part of the film the characters speak a refined, clear, almost poetic form of language but again, as the Stalinist era approaches, there is a noticeable sense of decline. The coarseness and crudity of the language, particularly from the members of the Secret Police, increases. In Szabó’s own words: We wanted to show how the world is going down like the Titanic […] And then slowly, at the end of the twenties and thirties, when vulgar people took over the power – the Nazis and the fascists – the taste goes down and you see how cold everything becomes […] then we arrive in the Communist period, which is even worst taste and even colder and dirtier. (quoted in Kauffman 1999) Unsurprisingly, given the subject matter, the film did not appeal to everyone. On the SJHIUPGUIF)VOHBSJBOQPMJUJDBMTQFDUSVNUIFSFXFSFHSVNCMFTBCPVUUIFFYFDVUJPO scene where Adám dies, which some thought bore too much resemblance to a cruciëYJPOɨFEFDJTJPOPG*WÈOUPDIBOHFIJTOBNFCBDLUP4POOFOTDIFJOEJEOPUQMFBTF the reviewer in Népszabadság who thought it supported the anti-semitic point of view by suggesting a rejection of Hungarianness (see Suleiman 2006: 128). A number of Hungarians also commented on the preponderance of British and Canadian actors and the corresponding lack of any main roles for Hungarians. Szabó responded on the lack of any major roles for Hungarian actors: A film is made for an audience, so it is in effect public. Picking a quarrel with it depends on that person’s taste, and on the interests motivating him. My aim is just to tell a story, and I consider it important that the public should accept the people depicted in the film. If I am lucky, they may even come to like them, UIFZNBZVOEFSTUBOEUIFJSTUPSZ UIFFYQMBOBUJPOTGPSUIFJSBDUJPOT*GTPNFPOF does not want to do that, that’s their business. It is undeniable that in Sunshine my Hungarian actor friends only play minor roles. That is because the producUJPOXBTëOBODFECZ$BOBEJBOTBOE(FSNBOTɨJTëMNXBTWFSZFYQFOTJWFCZ Hungarian standards and we could not have done it otherwise. The relatively high costs demanded that we make the film in English, and that’s what we received the money for. You can only make a film in English with actors whose native language is English. Those non-English actors who speak English well enough were given minor roles. (Quoted in Albert 2000: 155) 100
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8JUITVDIBOFYUFOTJWFOBSSBUJWFPWFSBMPOHUJNFTDBMF JUJTEJïDVMUUPQMBDFBQBSUJDVMBSFWFOUPSQFSTPOBHFBUUIFDFOUSFPGUIFëMNCVUJGTVDIFYJTUTUIFOJUJTNPTUMJLFMZUIF character of Adám, who is born before the First World War and dies during the Second. Of all the Sonnenschein/Sors family members he is the one who achieves the greatest success in public life as an Olympic Gold Medal winner who becomes a national hero, whose face even appears on a commemorative postage stamp – ‘our national treasure’ as a radio commentator puts it. He has inherited the name change and, taking the assimilationist path a logical step further, he converts to Catholicism, a move that is necessary to enable him to join the Officers’ Club, particularly as Adám is not a soldier. By the time of the First Anti-Jewish Law, however, and despite his Olympic success, hostility UPXBSET IJN DPOUJOVFT UP HSPX ɨF FYUSFNF OBUJPOBMJTUT BOE BOUJTFNJUFT UBLF PWFS and he is eventually thrown out of the Officers’ Club. However, his status protects him and although the legislation bars Jews from many walks of life, Adám and his family are spared as he is an Olympic Gold Medal winner and therefore his relations are also FYFNQU 6MUJNBUFMZ IPXFWFS UIFSF JT OP QSPUFDUJPO ɨF BOUJTFNJUJD BUNPTQIFSF JO Hungary intensifies and he is ordered into the Labour Batallion, where he meets his fate (the choice of the new family name is by no means arbitrary). Despite his fervent OBUJPOBMJTNoIFFWFOFYQSFTTFTIPTUJMJUZUPXBSET+FXTBUWBSJPVTQPJOUTJOUIFëMNoBOE his constant stress on his Hungarianness, Adám’s efforts at assimilation ultimately do OPUIJOHUPQSPUFDUIJN BUCFTUIFCVZTIJNTFMGTPNFFYUSBUJNFɨFSFJTFWFOFWJEFODF to suggest that assimilated Jews were regarded with even more suspicion by anti-semites than ‘normal’ Jews. Nor was this a solely Hungarian phenomenon; in France the antisemitic writer Edouard Drumont argued a similar point in his notorious book La France Juive. According to this twisted logic the very fact of assimilation suggests that the assimilated or acculturated Jews are even more devious and treacherous than non-assimilated Jews. Thus in the Labour Camp, Adám is singled out for wearing a white armband (signifying a ‘Christian Jew’) by the sadistic camp officer. When asked who he thinks he is, Adám replies that he is ‘Adám Sors, Hungarian Olympic Gold Medallist’. This infuriates the officer who demands a different answer; he wants him to confess his Jewishness (and presumably throw in some self-debasement as well), and beats him mercilessly. Eventually, Adám is stripped naked, in the freezing cold of mid-winter, tied up with rope and suspended from a tree. He is then hosed with water and eventually, encased in ice, IFGSFF[FTUPEFBUI0NFS#BSUPW JOIJTFYDFMMFOUXPSLThe ‘Jew’ in Cinema, argues the point strongly that despite Adám’s obvious courage, his death is not ‘elevating’ but on the contrary is ‘stupid and meaningless, and precisely for that reason also profoundly tragic in its blind and stubborn courage’ (2005: 160). Adám, more than anything else, wants to be accepted as a Hungarian but it these very Hungarians who reject him; their view of Hungarianness is closed and restrictive – it defines itself only by drawing boundaries, FSFDUJOHCBSSJFSTBOECZFYDMVTJPOɨVT"EÈNFNCSBDFTBGPSNPGQBUSJPUJTNXIJDI ultimately, is a fantasy; he has ‘transformed himself into an entity for whom there is no place, and who sacrifices himself in the name of a belief that everyone around him has long rejected’ (Bartov 2005: 160–1). Iván the son, haunted by the memory of his father’s brutal death, returns to Budapest after the war, joins the Communist Party and dedicates himself to hunting v i si on s of e u rope
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down fascists. He is shocked, however, when Auschwitz survivor Knorr, his friend and comrade, is framed in a crude ‘Zionist’ conspiracy. Andor Knorr later dies under interrogation and, come 1956, Iván throws in his lot with the revolution which eventually earns him a prison sentence. On his release, all his remaining family now dead, he refuses any longer to play along with the ‘game’ and changes his name back to Sonnenschein and the film ends. There is, however, a ‘hole’ in the film. The narrative passes over the period from post-1956 or the early 1960s to the time of the system change in 1989/90. Thus, this almost thirty-year period, which afforded Hungarian Jews a time of considerable stability and protection from anti-semitism and discrimination, is skipped over and UIFRVFTUJPOOFFETUPCFBTLFE XIZ *IBWFOPBOTXFSTFYDFQUUPTVHHFTUUIBUUIJTNBZ have upset the film’s fairly neat (perhaps too neat) thesis – that all Hungarian regimes were, in their own specific way, anti-semitic and, perhaps, Szabó was resistant to this. ɨJTJTDPNQMFYUFSSJUPSZ IPXFWFS BTUIJTTFDVSJUZXBTCPVHIUBUUIFQSJDF PGUFO PG keeping quiet about what had happened during the 1930s and then the war. The responsibility for anti-semitism was officially shunted off onto the Nazis, the Arrow Cross and the Horthy regime and the participation or acquiescence of numbers of ordinary Hungarians was rarely if ever mentioned. The one-dimensional view of the world demanded by Stalinism placed the stress on sloganeering rather than analysis and ‘proletarian unity’ and ‘internationalism’ became the order of the day, although only at the level of public rhetoric. However, despite all this, the fact remains that of all the periods in Hungarian twentieth century history this was the one, roughly from 1960 to the late-1980s, in which Jews were safest and by leaving this unstated the film is somewhat unbalanced. By ending the film around or just after the time of system change, the question of the resurgence of anti-semitism in Hungary in the TJTBMTPFYDMVEFE0CWJPVTMZBëMNIBTUPFOETPNFXIFSFBOEBOEJUT immediate aftermath seems appropriate, particularly given the historical sweep of the OBSSBUJWF BOE JUT TUSVDUVSF PG GBJSMZ XFMMEFMJOFBUFE QFSJPET XJUI UIF FYDFQUJPO KVTU noted). Nevertheless, the growth in anti-semitism since the system change is alarming and it does leave the ending of the film ‘hanging’ somewhat. At the time of writing, the current wave of anti-semitism in Hungary may well have peaked but it also appears not to have decreased significantly, and the election of a number of openly anti-semitic &VSP.1TBOEUIFHSPXUIPGUIFFYUSFNFSJHIUXJOH+PCCJL1BSUZJTBMBSNJOHUPTBZ the least. Staying with broader considerations of anti-semitism, the film can also be seen as an intervention, whether deliberate or not, into the debates around Holocaust ‘revisionism’ and as such takes its place alongside a number of other films addressing issues of Jewishness but particularly the Holocaust, such as Schindler’s List (Steven Spielberg, 1993), Life is Beautiful (Roberto Benigni, 1998), The Grey Zone (Tim Blake Nelson, 2002) and Fateless (Lajos Koltai, 2005). It is also part of a larger stream of films, documentaries, novels, memoirs, published diaries and autobiographies which have appeared in Hungary and elsewhere in the last thirty years or so. In Hungary this would include Béla Zsolt’s memoir Nine Suitcases (Kilenc koffer) originally published in book form in Hungary in 1980, Imre Kertész’s autobiographical novel Fateless (Sorstalánság, 102
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1975), György Dalos’s novel The Circumcision (Körümetélés, 1990), Miklós Jancsó’s documentary Messages of Stone (Kövek üzenete, 1994) and many more. It can surely be no coincidence that the preceding decades had witnessed a number of often very acrimonious and heated controversies over the issues of the Holocaust, historical interpretations (including elements of ‘denial’ or ‘revisionism’), the act of remembering or forgetting, questions of guilt etc. A convenient, if not necessarily accurate, date for the commencement of these debates is 1986 when German historian Ernst Nolte published an article in the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung arguing, not denial of the Holocaust, but in effect, denying its uniqueness while attempting to place JUJOUIFDPOUFYUPGBTVQQPTFESFTQPOTFCZUIF(FSNBOBVUIPSJUJFTPGUIFUJNFUPUIF UISFBU GSPN UIF 4PWJFU 6OJPO +àSHFO )BCFSNBT SFQMJFE BSHVJOH BHBJOTU /PMUF BOE the Historikerstreit (Historians’ Dispute) took off. Although strictly speaking outside the terms of the Historians’ Dispute, the attempt by British author David Irving to sue the historian Deborah Lipstadt for libel is one of the most notorious episodes in this whole saga. Irving failed and was crippled by court costs and later imprisoned (February 2006) in Austria on the (separate) charge of Holocaust denial. Clearly, throughout many countries of Europe and elsewhere, there emerged an often heated debate about UIFOBUVSFPGUIF)PMPDBVTU UIF+FXJTIFYQFSJFODFBOEPUIFSSFMBUFEJTTVFToUIFGVSPSF around the trial of Klaus Barbie in France, the trial of John Demanjuk in Israel to name just a few cases and to this can be added the debates around the Holocaust Memorial in Berlin, the establishment of Holocaust Memorial Day in the UK and so on. Hungary was the first country in Europe to introduce specifically anti-semitic legislation in the twentieth century and, outside of Germany, it polled the largest vote for an openly fascist party in a European election. It is therefore hardly a surprise that antisemitism and the Holocaust, particularly the role of Hungarians in it, have been difficult and thorny issues for a long time and there has undoubtedly been a reluctance, or even hostility, on the part of some to come to terms with what happened and the issues SBJTFE UPUBLFKVTUPOFFYBNQMF CZ$PTUB(BWSBTTëMNThe Music Box (1989). On the fortieth anniversary of the Holocaust, Shalom, an independent Jewish group published an ‘Open Letter to Hungarian Jewry and to Hungarian Society’ which called for a SFFYBNJOBUJPO PG +FXJTI IJTUPSZ JO )VOHBSZ BOE UIF BUUJUVEFT PG OPO+FXT UP UIBU history. In particular, they called into question the whole issue of assimilation. János Kis, a well-known dissident, responded to the open letter with his essay ‘On Ways of Being a Jew’ where he also calls for an ‘honest confrontation with the past’ (quoted in Falk 2003: 264). Szabó would have been only too well aware of these debates and he would almost certainly be well informed about the Historians’ Dispute (helped in this respect by his knowledge of German). His film can, in this light, be thought of as more than a history and a commentary but also as part of an intervention into an ongoing debate which has a European as well as Hungarian dimension. Given the number of articles that have been written about the film it has clearly impacted thinking about the Holocaust and the way it is theorised and discussed, particularly in terms of its visual representations. Returning to the question of omissions in the film there are some other issues that require brief consideration. Firstly, there is never any mention of Zionism as a political v i si on s of e u rope
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movement and not just as a put down or swear word which is basically how it is used by Iván’s AVH commander, General Kope (Trevor Peacock), a boorish, foul-mouthed lout. Secondly, there is likewise no mention of the establishment of the state of Israel in 1948. The first omission may not be a problem. Among the assimilated Jews of Hungary, Zionism was not a consideration of any great or long-term significance, although this ought to be weighed against the fact that Theodor Herzl, one of the founders of the Zionist movement, was Hungarian born. The same cannot be said about the lack of any reference in the film to the establishment of Israel, surely the most important event of the twentieth century, along with the Holocaust, for Jews all over the world even if, as in the case of Hungarian Jewry, this did not result in any major sustained migration to the newly-formed state. Finally, mention needs to be made of the remarkable conversion in 1914 of Ignátz’s socialist brother, Doctor Gustáv, from radical leftism to imperial chauvinism. Presumably Gustáv would have been a member of the Hungarian Social Democratic Party, which like most of its counterparts in the Second or Socialist International, abandoned internationalism in favour of supporting their respective ruling classes when the First World War broke out. Even so, his instantaneous transformation, without even a hint of any doubt or self-questioning, from radical left-wing doctor, arguing the case for the poor, into Austro-Hungarian army officer, saluting smartly in his brand new blue uniform, accompanied by the strains of the Radetsky March, is somewhat breathtaking. Historically speaking, there is also the probable inaccuracy of Iván (still a boy) and his father being imprisoned together in the labour camp as they would almost certainly have been separated. Yet this is essential to the developing drama of the film as personal and generational narratives intertwine. It is necessary for Iván, on his return to Budapest, to carry this memory with him, giving him a powerful and overwhelming motive to become a Nazi hunter. There is one more issue to raise, already briefly mentioned, although this is not an omission. At the end of the film Iván changes his name back to Sonnenschein but is there any evidence that any person of Jewish descent who ‘Magyarised’ their name ever changed it back? The traffic in name-changing, historically, has most definitely been on a one-way street. A number of Hungarians, most of them of Jewish origin, have told me such a phenomenon is almost unheard of. Clearly, Szabó is making a point here about a whole cluster of societal and cultural values and to use a rather well worn BOEWBHVFFYQSFTTJPOJTFNQMPZJOHAESBNBUJDMJDFODF TPJUJTQSPCBCMZOPUPGNBKPS importance (and Szabó himself has said that it is a secondary issue) and the film hardly suffers because of it. Yet given that the film has, throughout its three-hour traverse of history, been very strongly embedded in a sense of the real, this digression from that reality strikes a discordant note for those who pick up on it. There is a wider debate and discussion here and that is the relationship between film and history and how this manifests itself in Szabó’s films; this is discussed in the final chapter. Sunshine premiered in Hungary at the 31st Budapest Film Week on 27 January 1999. It was shown at the Toronto Film Festival in September and distribution in the UK began on 28 April 2000. Critical reaction was varied. Writing in Sight and Sound, Julian Graffy was less than bowled over by the film, accusing Szabó of ‘oversimplifications […] accentuated by an over insistent use of symbolic objects’ (2000: 104
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)PXFWFS TVSFMZJOBëMNPGUIJTTDPQFBOEVOEPVCUFEUIFNBUJDDPNQMFYJUZTPNF simplifications are necessary. In the same vein Graffy, was likewise unimpressed by the ending of the film: ‘Near the end of our epic journey we learn “the purpose of life JTyMJGFJUTFMG w BOEUIFTFOTFPGBOUJDMJNBYJTQBMQBCMF JCJE "ENJUUFEMZ UIFXPSET themselves might seem somewhat banal but there is more to this ending than simply B QISBTF JO GBDU UIF JTTVFT SBJTFE BSF RVJUF DPNQMFY &BSMJFS * EJTDVTTFE UIF JEFB PG repetition and circularity in Szabó’s representation of history (particularly with regard to 25 Fireman’s Street) but here, at the end of Sunshine, the circle is broken. Iván denies the lingering integrative/assimilative national myth of Magyarisation, confronts the burden of the past and appears to shake it off or leave it behind. That seems a definite possibility, but other questions need to be asked. Concretely, what is Iván doing at the end of the film? If he is restoring or renewing his sense of Jewishness why has he dumped everything connected with his past life? He has thrown away everything that bound him to any sense of the past (including, unwittingly, the recipe book for A Taste of Sunshine), the only object he keeps is a letter from his great-grandfather, Emmanuel; surely any sense of Jewishness he is reclaiming must mean some notion of continuity with his personal family history, particularly as that has been the main focus of the film? What about that myriad of artefacts, diaries, pictures, knick-knacks and trinkets that constitute the material fragments of each individual’s family history and life? He bins the lot and does not appear to retain anything; generations of family life, its memories and ties, seem to be just so much detritus to him now. As he stands in his now bare apartment, the film suggests that a certain stage of his life has come to a definitive end. Of course his family, as we know, are all dead and he has no children. Yet, visually and in most other senses the final scene is obviously optimistic and affirmative; the music soars, the sun(shine) is beautifully bright and Iván strides UISPVHIUIFTUSFFUXJUIDPOëEFODFBOEEFUFSNJOBUJPOBTJGIFLOPXTFYBDUMZXIFSF he is heading (something not shared with the audience). Just a few paces behind him walks the director making a brief appearance which is easy to miss on first viewing. 1V[[MJOHZFT FWFODPNQMFY CVUTVSFMZOPUBOUJDMJNBDUJD*T4[BCØTQSFTFODFSJHIUBU the very end of the film a personal affirmation by him? Having made a number of films which have touched, at various points and times, on concepts of Jewishness has he now, after over forty years of filmmaking, worked through this issue and reached some kind of rapprochement or understanding, partial or otherwise, of the Jewish condition in Central Europe including, possibly, his own past and situation? This of course is purely speculative but his self-placement, right at the very end of the film, invites, if not confirms, such a judgement. "TXJUI+VMJFO(SBêZTSFWJFXUIFSFTQPOTFPG"04DPUUXBTMJLFXJTFNJYFE By the time Ivan confronts his own crisis of conscience, the movie has accumulated sufficient power and momentum to erase the memory of its earlier awkwardness. It shows such sympathy for its characters, and approaches its subject with such intelligence, that it’s easy to forgive the clumsy editing, the haphazard insertion of black-and-white newsreels, and the hyperventilating TFYVBMBSEPVSUIBUTFFNTUPCFB4PSTGBNJMZDVSTF
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8IJMFUIFSFJTMJUUMFUPGBVMUJOTFYVBMBSEPVS IZQFSWFOUJMBUJOHPSPUIFSXJTF XIBU does need some comment, and is more central to the film, is the taboo nature of NVDIPGUIJTTFYVBMBDUJWJUZ*HOÈU[ëSTUIBTTFYXJUIIJTIBMGDPVTJO EFTQJUFIJTGBUIFST condemnation of such behaviour. Emmanuel reacts the way he does partly because this has happened before in family history and is therefore a taboo subject, and partly because of his wife’s somewhat hysterical reaction. Later Adám (appropriately, given his name) also eats ‘forbidden fruit’ and has an affair with his brother’s wife, while Iván, despite warnings from friends and superiors, indulges in some woodland rutting with Karola Kovács (Deborah Kara Unger), the wife of a high-ranking Party member and former Resistance hero (not someone who ought to be crossed). Thus Adám embarks on a potentially dangerous liaison and he is, at one point, warned off. In all this trysting the women are far from reluctant participants and, cursed or not, some of them meet an unpleasant end. Adám’s brother’s wife dies in Auschwitz, a fate shared by his own wife. Iván’s lover Karola has to have an abortion. Only Valerie, Ignátz’s wife (Iván’s grandmother), survives but not without much pain and torment, although it is a major point in the film that she is the only one who really achieves some balance and tranquillity in her life and comes out the least damaged; she alone has ‘the gift of breathing freely’ as her grandson’s voice-over attests. At the end of the film Iván appears to be single; in fact the film gives no indication of a wife, lover or even any friends and he appears totally alone in the world, emphasising the sense of a new beginning. I want to end this chapter on Sunshine not with a comment by Szabó or one of my PXO*OXBUDIJOHBOEXSJUJOHBCPVUUIJTDPNQMFYëMNXIJDI XIFOFWFS*SFUVSOUPJU I always find rewarding and deeply moving, I am struck time and again by the parallels between what Szabó has attempted to achieve onscreen and some of the ideas of the Hungarian writer and political theoretican István Bibó in his seminal essay ‘The Jewish Question in Hungary After 1944’, originally published in 1948.1 I am not suggesting that Szabó was influenced by reading Bibó, as I simply do not know, although I would be very surprised if he has not read him. Whatever is the case the parallels appear strong and shouldn’t be ignored. What follows is a quote from Bibó which seems to capture some of the essence of Sunshine and I offer it for the reader’s consideration: It is hopeless to seek a singular ‘solution’, a magic potion or an incantation to remedy this situation [i.e. anti-semitism]. Rather, we must deprive the circle of its momentum, change the fundamental conditions and humanise the atmosphere surrounding the issue. When it comes to the Hungarian situation our most urgent task is to formulate and disseminate an attitude of accepting responsibility for the persecution of Jews, and to create a public conception that takes the issue of responsibility and culpability seriously, while also clarifying the condiUJPOT FYUFOUBOEMJNJUTPGDBMMJOHQFPQMFUPBDDPVOU8IFOJUDPNFTUPUIFSFMBtionships between Jews and the community, we must recognise the reality and feasibility of both assimilation and a separate Jewish consciousness, create suitably clear conditions and a benevolent environment for both, and at the same time remove all generalisations, forced attitudes and demands from the entire issue of community identification. (1991: 310; emphasis in original) 106
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CHAPTER EIGHT
To Go or Stay?: Taking Sides
You must stay, and play good music. – Arnold Schoenberg’s advice to Wilhelm Furtwängler What gives me hope? Making music. – Daniel Barenboim 4[BCØTOFYUëMN Taking Sides, was a powerful adaptation of a play originally written by South African-born, London-based Ronald Harwood, whose works include The Dresser (1980), and screenplays for The Pianist (2002) and The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (2007) to name just a few titles from a long and illustrious list. Taking Sides first saw the light of day as a stage play in 1995, performed simultaneously at the Minerva Theatre in Chichester, UK (directed by Harold Pinter) and in Krakow, Poland (under the title Za I Przeciw, directed by Tamasz Zygadio). This was followed by a ten-week run on Broadway in 1996 and a revival at London’s Duchess Theatre in May 2009 as part of a dual bill with another Harwood play, Collaboration. The play is based on the real-life investigation of the world-renowned German conductor Wilhelm Furtwängler by the Allied De-Nazification Commission in the immediate aftermath of the Second World War. Furtwängler is widely regarded as one of the greatest orchestral conductors of all time yet controversy has surrounded his name ever since his refusal to leave Germany during the Nazi era. Much has been written about the pros and cons of his decision and his subsequent conduct, and he remains a source of controversy to this very day TFF GPSFYBNQMF 4DIOÚ[FMFS 4QPUUT $PXBO %FTQJUFUIFDPOTPMJdation of Hitler’s rule in the mid-1930s, the persecution and elimination of any political opposition, increasing anti-semitism, Krystalnacht, the Holocaust and the Second World War, Furtwängler not only stayed in Germany but held various prominent positions within the musical and artistic milieu, most notably and publicly as Musical v i si on s of e u rope
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Director of the renowned Berlin Philharmonic, one of the world’s greatest orchestras. )JT EFGFODF QVU BT TJNQMZ BT QPTTJCMF XBT UIBU NVTJD BOE QPMJUJDT TIPVME OPU NJY and that he could do more good by staying in Germany, a feeling that Furtwängler articulates in the film when he says he could not desert his country in its hour of need. There is also a body of evidence that he helped a number of Jewish musicians to escape persecution. In one case he hired a musician, Heinrich Wolheim, interned in Dachau, to act as his copyist. Although Wolheim was not released, through this action his conditions improved somewhat and quite probably this saved his life (see Schnözeler 1990: 90). Against this it is argued that Furtwängler performed at Nazi functions and rallies such as those held at Nuremburg, also performing in occupied countries, and that his continued presence in the Third Reich lent a veneer of credibility to the Nazi regime at a time when it was increasingly isolated and abandoned by most prominent German artists. Most of the internationally known artists left the country around the time, or quite soon after the Nazis had consolidated their power – Thomas Mann, #FSUPMU#SFDIU 'SJU[-BOH "SOPME4DIÚOCFSH .BY3FJOIBSEU UPOBNFKVTUBGFXGSPN a lengthy roll-call. Many but no means all of them were of Jewish origin and some, like Bertolt Brecht, were leftists of one description or another. Whether Jewish or leftist (or both – a not uncommon combination) these people were high on the Nazi ‘hit list’. The Faustian implications of Furtwangler’s stance are clear and it is perhaps not a coincidence, given the centrality of music to German culture, that in his novel Doctor Faustus: The Life of the German Composer Adrian Leverkühn as told by a Friend (its full title), Mann makes his central central protagonist a musician. "DPNQMFYNBUSJYPGBSHVNFOUTTVSSPVOET'VSUXBOHMFSTEFDJTJPOUPTUBZBOEOPOF of them will be resolved within these pages and, needless to say, the debate goes on. To XIBUFYUFOU GPSFYBNQMF EPFT'VSUXÊOHMFSEFTFSWFBOZTQFDJBMDPOTJEFSBUJPOCFDBVTF he was an artist? Is it possible, as Zoe Williams has suggested (speaking of the British singer Morrissey) in the Guardian, that ‘it remains impossible for a person capable of musical transcendence to be ideologically base or crass’ (2010: 29)? As respected musical critic and broadcaster Rob Cowan comments, ‘while his arch rival Toscanini remains a revered historical figure whose light is beginning to flicker, Furtwängler DPOUJOVFTUPFYDJUFEFCBUF DPOUSPWFSTZBOEJOìVFODF *O)BSXPPETPXO words (in the introduction to his Collected Plays), the purpose of his play was ‘to focus on a dilemma which seems to belong hideously to the twentieth century: the artist and the totalitarian state. Wilhelm Furtwängler, to me, personifies this dilemma’ (1995: YoYJ /PSJTUIJTEJMFNNBDPOëOFETPMFMZUPUIFXPSMEPGBSU TDJFOUJTUTUPPXFSFGBDFE XJUITJNJMBSDIPJDFT4IPVME GPSFYBNQMF OVDMFBSQIZTJDJTU8FSOFS)FJTFOCFSHIBWF left Germany? Heisenberg argued that he attempted to sabotage the development of a Nazi nuclear bomb by pursuing the blind alley of using heavy water as a fusion element (see Rose 1998). The play also has Furtwängler raising the question of German rocket scientists, the best known of whom was Werner von Braun. He asks why ‘certain high-ranking Nazi scientists are, even as we speak, being transported to the United States to work on missiles and rocket fuels’ (Harwood 1995: 32). Artists under another dictatorship also come under scrutiny. The names of Dimitri Shostakovich, Sergei Prokofiev and Sergei Eisenstein are mentioned, all of whom worked in the Soviet 108
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Union for most of their careers and likewise, made their own compromises. None of these references were included in the final screenplay, possibly because it would have overloaded an already dense narrative, although a number of German musicians are mentioned. The situation of Furtwängler is not dissimilar to other artists of one kind or another in Central and Eastern Europe during the years of Soviet domination and this XJEFSDPOUFYUoBTNVDIBTUIFTQFDJëDTPG'VSUXÊOHMFSTEJMFNNBoNVTUTVSFMZIBWF appealed to Szabó. Although both film and play are located precisely in a definite time and place, no major intellectual acrobatics are required to see the parallels. In Szabó’s own words, one of his motivations for making the film was to criticise the ‘numerous attempts in Post-Communist Eastern and Central Europe to bring to book famous artists and artists who worked during Communism’ and to encourage or suggest that the ‘situation should not be judged in black and white terms and to understand better UIFDPNQMFYJUZPGBSUBOEQPMJUJDTJOBUPUBMJUBSJBOSFHJNF RVPUFEJO4UPKBOPWB Given Szabó’s own compromised position in the aftermath of 1956, the relevance of these comments should be immediately apparent (see also chapter 10). ɨFQBSBMMFMTCFUXFFO'VSUXÊOHMFSBOE(SàOEHFOT)ÚGHFOGSPNMephisto (and to BMFTTFSFYUFOU)BOVTTFO BSFBMTPTUSJLJOH CPUIIBWJOHFOUFSFEUIFJSPXOQBSUJDVMBS form of Faustian pact. The dilemma of Furtwängler therefore seems almost ‘tailor made’ for a Szabó project. There was, however, a certain element of serendipity in the bringing together of Szabó and the Harwood play. Ronald Harwood recounts how, shortly after his play had been released, he was at a gathering in the London home of the Hungarian-born conductor György Solti, a close friend, when feeling the need for a smoke, Harwood retreated to the balcony, the Solti household being a nicotine-free zone. There Harwood encountered another fugitive from the anti-tobacco lobby, Peter Diamond, a former director of the Edinburgh Festival. Diamond remarked that the play ought to be made into a film, to which Harwood relied that yes, this was a good idea but, as yet, no-one had approached him about this. Diamond then arranged for the French producer Yves Pasquier to contact Harwood. Pasquier was enthusiastic and suggested Szabó as director, and from there the film took off. Harwood wrote a screenplay, making some major changes both in terms of deletions and additions (some of which have already been noted) and he and Szabó met on a number of occasions, sometimes in London, sometimes in Budapest or elsewhere to discuss the film and revise the script (unless otherwise stated all information, quotes and opinions about the play or the film, from Harwood’s point of view, are taken from my interview with the author). Pasquier and his team were able to pull together a kaleidoscope of European backers, JODMVEJOH+FSFNZ*TBBDT1SPEVDUJPOT 5XBO1JY 4BUFM'JMN #BZFSJTDIF3VOEGVOL 03' and Canal+. Shooting started on 16 October 2000 and continued for about eight and a half weeks in locations in Berlin, Dresden and in the famous Babelsberg Studio on the outskirts of Berlin. For the first time in his career Szabó worked with a crew decidedly thin on Magyar talent, and looking down the crew list only Koltai and the costume designer Györgyi Szakács stand out. The film has yet another fine cast with two internationally renowned actors in the lead roles. Swedish actor Stellan Skarsgård is the lofty, principled, imperious, yet vulnerable Furtwängler who is confronted by v i si on s of e u rope
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American star Harvey Keitel’s impetuous, volcanic and irreverent Major Steve Arnold. A classic confrontation, on the surface at least, between old European values of art and culture and New World brashness and impiety. Arnold has no respect for Furtwängler, has not heard of him, cares little for classical music, and repeatedly refers to the conductor as a ‘bandleader’. Stars, of a different kind, are also to be seen in the smaller roles – French footballer, World Cup winner and former Chelsea favourite, Frank Leboeuf, makes a brief appearance as one of the French army personnel checking and cataloguing looted art works. The play centres almost entirely around the confrontation between Arnold and 'VSUXÊOHMFSCVUUIFëMNFYQBOETUIFDBTU BOENBLFTTPNFEFMFUJPOT BOEWBSJFTUIF locations considerably. The play is akin to a chamber piece and the action takes place entirely in Steve Arnold’s Berlin office (the imposing staircase in the film can be found in the Bodesmuseum), but the film frequently shifts location: to Baden, an outdoor concert, a boating lake, a US army concert hall, and the HQ of a Soviet Army officer (actually a Potsdam villa), but always bringing us back to Arnold’s office, where the film ends. The Soviet officer is Colonel Dymshitz (a surname which amuses Arnold greatly), BOBSUFYQFSUBOEJODIBSHFPGUIF4PWJFUEFMFHBUJPOJOUIF"MMJFE$PNNJUUFFBMMPDBUJOH art treasures looted by the Nazis. Dymshitz (Oleg Tabakov) does not appear in the play and his inclusion in the film was at the suggestion of Szabó who wanted some kind of Soviet dimension, to widen the emphasis on the importance of art and artists to dictatorships and, no doubt, to connect more strongly with Hungarian and other BVEJFODFTJO&BTUFSO&VSPQFɨFSFXBTBO"MFYBOEFS%ZNTIJU[JOUIF3FE"SNZBU this time in Berlin but if this is an intended historical parallel then it is not developed and very little information is readily available on him, and Harwood based Dymshitz’s character on his Russian father-in-law. It is well-known that the Soviet authorities were eager to procure Furtwängler as a conductor and in real-life he was offered the position of Conductor at the Berlin State Opera which was in the Russian Zone of the city. The Western Allies were reluctant, in this instance, to indulge in such horse-trading and refused to contemplate his transfer. For his part Furtwängler detested the Soviet Union and their overtures were rejected on a number of occasions and ultimately came to nothing. Steve Arnold was an insurance investigator in civilian life and he pursues Furtwängler with all the dogged ruthlessness one might associate with that particular trade or its portrayal in at least one famous Hollywood film, Double Indemnity (1944) (which is actually mentioned at one point in the dialogue) where Edward G. Robinson plays the role of Barton Keyes who eventually rumbles his colleague, Walter Neff. Arnold is troubled and deeply affected by the British newsreel footage he sees of the BergenBelsen concentration camp where piles of corpses are bulldozed into mass graves, and throughout the film he adopts an attitude, common enough at the time and, in essence, the official Allied position, of ascribing collective guilt to the whole of the German people. A point emphasised by the inclusion of US Military information films warning of secretive Nazis just waiting for another opportunity, of the necessity to be wary, not UPUSVTUBOZ(FSNBOTBOEUPCFDPOTUBOUMZPOHVBSE0OFPGUIFGFXFYDFQUJPOT"SOPME 110
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makes in this respect is his secretary, Emmi Straube (Birgit Minichmayr), the daughter PGB(FSNBONJMJUBSZPïDFSFYFDVUFECZUIF/B[JTGPSIJTQBSUJDJQBUJPOJOUIFBTTBTsination attempt to kill Hitler in 1944 – the so-called October or Officers’ Plot. Arnold is appointed by the Allied De-Nazification Commission specifically to investigate Furtwängler’s connections with the Nazis. He is briefed by his commanding officer, General Wallace (played by R. Lee Emery, who before taking up acting once served in the US Marine Corps), and, like him, Arnold becomes convinced that Furtwängler either was a Nazi or worked closely with them in a spirit of active co-operation. For him, Furtwangler is more or less already guilty and, in line with his convictions, Arnold pursues his goal ruthlessly, intimidating, bullying, threatening and goading members of the Berlin Philharmonic who he summons to his office to give evidence. Wallace shares and also reinforces Arnold’s American ‘populism’ by referring to Furtwängler’s fame in Germany as equivalent to ‘Bob Hope and Betty Grable all rolled JOUPPOF"T*WBO4BVOEFSTOPUFTJOIJTFYDFMMFOUSFWJFXPGUIFëMNJOKinokultura, Arnold is ‘a brash American from a culture where it’s no shame to be a lowbrow’ (2008). Little that happens in the body of the film suggests that Arnold makes any kind of transition or develops a more sophisticated way of seeing the world; yet I want to suggest that, overall, the film is not a straightforward condemnation of Arnold or his ‘Americanism’. The Arnold character has no basis in real life. There appears to be no record of who interviewed/interrogated Furtwängler; indeed it was a job originally delegated to the British allies who prepared the first set of evidence but, for reasons which remain a little hazy, the case was handed over to the Americans, possibly because he fell under their jurisdiction in post-war divided Berlin. Harwood had also read a book, Berlin Days, 1946–48 by a British Intelligence officer, George Clare, who mentions the Furtwängler case. This scenario is then complicated by the way that the Americans deployed a team of specialist observers, based in Wiesbaden, to ensure that the defendants had a fair hearing. The Wiesbaden observers are not highly thought of by General Wallace who sees them as interfering beeding-heart liberals, summarising his dismissive feelings towards them with the pithy phrase ‘Fuck ’em!’ Nevertheless, these protocols ensure the appearance, early on in the film, of the observer, German-born JewishAmerican Lieutenant David Wills (Moritz Bleibtreu), who sits through all Arnold’s confrontations with the conductor, becoming increasingly uneasy at Arnold’s rudeness
Major Steve Arnold (Harvey Keitel) bullies the Second Violinist of the Berlin Philharmonic (Ulrich Tukur) into giving a Nazi salute while holding a conductor’s baton that once belonged to Furtwängler v i si on s of e u rope
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and confrontational tactics. He and Emmi Straube also provide the only love interest in the film, an element which Harwood does not care for. Although he included this in his original screenplay he later wanted it cut out but Szabó insisted otherwise. While their tandem bike ride in the woods outside Berlin may look a bit sugary there is nevertheless a major point here. We discover, through their conversation, that the Jewish Wills and the non-Jewish Straube have almost identical backgrounds in terms of social conventions, cultural tastes (particularly classical music), dinner table manners and other social mores. There actually is not that much difference between them; both are products of a German middle-class upbringing. In the wake of the Holocaust where the supposed difference of the ‘other’ had been elevated to a matter of life and death, this is a point worth making. Eventually, as Arnold’s voiceover in the penultimate scene tells us, his efforts to convict Furtwängler fail despite interrogating the conductor, along with members of the orchestra on a number of occasions. Furtwängler is eventually able to return to his work although he is never allowed to perform in the US, which Arnold sees as some kind of a victory. We first see Furtwängler on a tram heading for Arnold’s office. He is recognised by other passengers (one of whom is played by Szabó) reinforcing the sense of his popularity and reputation in German society. At the reception desk he says just one word, ‘Furtwängler’. He is no shrinking violet and clearly a man who has a strong sense of his own significance. Arnold, however, puts pressure on him immediately and makes him wait outside his office, not even offering him a cup of coffee. On entering Arnold’s office it becomes immediately clear that his reputation means nothing to Arnold and although Wills and Straube both treat the conductor with respect, the overall atmosphere is one of barely controlled hostility. He is almost constantly under fire from Arnold, and comes across as a deeply troubled individual, pushed into a situation where he is forced to take a difficult, ambiguous and contradictory stance (and in this respect he is something of a classical Szabó – indeed Mitteleuropa – protagonist). He is proud, just a touch arrogant and his efforts to appear measured and calm in the face PGUIFTBSDBTNBOEPQQSPCSJVNIFBQFEPOIJNCZ"SOPMECBDLëSFUPTPNFFYUFOU"T Saunders points out, ‘Furtwängler is not portrayed as a calculating opportunist. On the contrary he remains distant and aloof, curiously lebensfremd’ (2008). It is only at the end of the film that Furtwängler stands up to Arnold, giving as good as he gets. It is tempting to see the film, primarily as a clash between New World and Old World values and, certainly, this cannot be ignored. In fact the film could be accused, at times, of pandering to some of the worst European prejudices about loud, pushy, materialistic, uncultured Americans. At one point in his interrogation, towards the end of the film, an increasingly weary Furtwängler asks Arnold: ‘What kind of a world do you want Major? What kind of a world are you going to make? Do you honestly believe that the only reality is the material world? If so you will be left with nothing.’ However, this is not the most important question raised in the film, or at least, not the only one. As Harwood points out: ‘If you look at the play and the film, the American is the only character who speaks of the dead. Everyone else speaks of art and the soul, and he speaks of the dead. He’s the only one’ (quoted in Grode 2002). Arnold, frequently, comes across as a rude, ignorant loudmouth (and in this respect, again plays up to a 112
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number of European stereotypes about Americans) but he is not entirely irredeemable. Indeed, few of the characters in the film are without some degree of ambiguity, none more so than Furtwängler himself – a situation helped in no small degree by Stellan Skarsgård giving one of the best performances of his career. Furtwängler is torn between his role as a leading standard bearer and inheritor of a German musical tradition that goes back to Beethoven and beyond, and his belief in the irrelevance of politics to an artist (a belief riddled through with contradictions as is clearly shown in the film). For him art can be a counter, an opposition or at the very least a light shining in the dark, a contrast to the sordid world created by Hitler and his henchmen. However, in arguing this position, Furtwängler clearly undercuts his earlier statement about the separation of art and politics. Furtwängler certainly has a point; under the Nazis, musical life, to use the words of Theodor Adorno, amounted to ‘complete stagnation’. Adorno also suggests that the best that a German artist could hope for was a kind of escape by inner emigration (2002: 384), but clearly Furtwängler either rejects this or never even contemplates it as a possibility. Whatever the merits or demerits of his stance it is, nevertheless, a very public one and is certainly not without its dangers. In the second scene in the film, no less a person than Albert Speer, the Nazi armaments minister, suggests to Furtwängler that he looks ill and should take a holiday ‘abroad’ (which at this time in the war, in effect, meant neutral Switzerland). It is a thinly disguised warning as the conductor later reveals that Göbbels was about to have him arrested. ɨFMFJUNPUJGPGFYJMFBTBDIPJDFUPCFBHPOJTFEPWFSBOEEFCBUFEJT PODFBHBJO resurrected by Szabó. To go or stay is often a life-or-death decision and probably never more so than in this film. As Richard Wolff, the real-life First Violinist of the Berlin Philharmonic (whose Jewish wife, it is claimed, was protected by Furtwängler) commented, ‘he felt it his responsibility to stay behind and help educate the younger German generation and to keep alive spiritual values in Germany in her darkest hour’ (quoted in Gutmann 2002: 5). Likwise in the film, throughout his interrogation by Arnold, this is a major plank of Furtwängler’s defence. Taking Sides continues a preoccupation of Szabó’s which crops up in his films on numerous occasions. He frequently incorporates scenes of performances in his films, or – as in the case of Mephisto, Meeting Venus and Being Julia – centres the entire film around the notion of performance and performers of one sort or another. Taking Sides opens to the sound of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony (painstakingly recreated to sound like a Furtwängler production by renowned musician Daniel Barenboim) with Furtwängler (Skarsgård) conducting. There is also an outdoor concert where Schubert’s String Quartet in C Major is played, with Furtwängler in the audience, and several times music is played on a wind-up gramophone in Steve Arnold’s office, mostly Beethoven but also on one telling occasion the Adagio from Anton Bruckner’s Seventh Symphony. Not only was this the music chosen by Nazi Radio on the occasion of Hitler’s suicide but they also played the recording which is conducted by Furtwängler, although clearly he had absolutely no part in the radio station’s choice of music. This connection is eagerly latched on to by Arnold as he increasingly lays into the conductor, raising his voice and getting more and more abusive. There is other music v i si on s of e u rope
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from a different tradition. The free and easy atmosphere of the US Army Officers’ Club provides relief for Arnold from the seriousness of Beethoven and the officers drink and dance to the sound of such popular American classics as Route 66, with vocals provided by a female singer played by Israeli Rinat Shaham. In his review of the film, Ivan Saunders points out that it is not just a question of performance of this or that particular piece of music; the audience is also important and Szabó frequently shows the faces of the audience taking in the music. This ranges GSPNUIFJOGPSNBM SFMBYFE NJYFEBVEJFODFBUUIFPVUEPPSDPODFSUMJTUFOJOHUP4DIVbert, to the massed ranks of the Nazi elite, many of them in their terrifyingly immaculate black uniforms, at the concert of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, which opens the film – very different audiences, but they share the same rapt attention and complete immersion in the beauty and power of music, and parallels are suggested by the similarities of the camera movement and framing in the two scenes. The camera pans across the inside of a beautiful church, we see row after row of solemn, reverential, distinguished-looking listeners, the sequence probably inspired by the actual, documentary footage at the end of the film, where we see faces from the audience of a wartime Furtwängler concert. In Szabó’s film the faces are even more solemn and reverential and refined – yet these people are also enraptured, transfigured by the performance. (Saunders 2008) *UJTBQPXFSGVMNPNFOU JOUFOTJëFEBOEFYUFOEFECZ4[BCØTEJSFDUJPOXIFSFBMPOH majestic tracking shot slowly reveals the nature of the audience (many of them are uniformed SS). Yet even these killers and thugs are, momentarily at least, transported somewhere else by the sheer beauty and power of the music and, as Saunders goes on to point out, when the performance is curtailed by Allied bombers there is an ‘ironic intrusion’ as our enjoyment of the music is so rudely interrupted. Do we, as spectators watching the film and listening to the music (in this film you must never forget the music) feel, along with the Nazis, a (fleeting) resentment at the Royal Air Force’s intrusive nocturnal activities? Is this part of the power of art that Furtwängler so eloquently defends against another bombardment, this time from the aggressive Major Arnold? Ultimately the film, like the play on which it is based, provides no answers to the question as to which side one should take and the viewer has to make up his or her own mind, a point forcefully emphasised by Harwood in conversation. The penultimate scene sees Furtwängler walking out of Arnold’s office and down a flight of stairs to the sound of Beethoven’s Fifth which is blasting out on the gramophone, deliberately turned up by Wills who by this point in the film is openly antagonistic to Arnold. The American has not won but does state ‘I winged him’, and he derives some satisfaction from the ban on Furtwängler ever playing in the US, as was the case in real life. Furtwängler was officially cleared by the De-Nazification Commission (after two hearings) on 27 April 1947. Yet even here controversy did not go away and Furtwängler has both vocal detractors and equally vocal defenders, including Daniel Barenboim who conducts the Staatskapelle Berlin for Beethoven’s Fifth on the film’s soundtrack. Barenboim has argued that the US ban was wrong (see Barenboim and Said 2003: 114
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20), a point-of-view supported in its essentials by violinist Yehudi Menuhin, another prominent musician who sided with Furtwängler.1 The last scene is one of the most intriguing in the film; Szabó, once again using archive footage, shows the real Furtwängler receiving applause at the end of what must be a wartime concert. None other than the Reich Minister for Propaganda, Goebbels, comes forward to shake his hand; stiffly and without much obvious enthusiasm Furtwängler reaches out and in turn shakes the hand of this most loathsome and creepy of all the Nazis. He then shifts a handkerchief to the hand which had just shaken Goebbels’ hand and, as it were, wipes away the ‘contamination’. This is then SFQFBUFEJOHSBJOZDMPTFVQUXJDF*TUIJTJOUFOEFEBTBOFYPOFSBUJPOPGUIFDPOEVDUPS by Szabó? The use of repetition would suggest that is the case. Certainly it conveys powerfully Furtwängler’s intense dislike of Goebbels, but one might ask – so what? It is on record and hardly a matter worthy of debate, that even many high-ranking Nazis despised him. Personal detestation, even of the most repulsive individuals cannot, in BOEPGJUTFMG CFBEFGFODFPGXIBU'VSUXÊOHMFSEJEɨFJTTVFTBSFTVSFMZNPSFDPNQMFY Again, the question of which side does one take is left hanging in the air. Taking Sides was given a world premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival in 2001 (Hungarian audiences would have to wait until the following year) and DSJUJDBMSFDFQUJPOXBTNJYFE*UBMNPTUXBTOPUTIPXOoBGFXEBZTMBUFSUIFFWFOUT of 9/11 prompted the organisers to close the festival down. Film critic Paul Fischer, reporting from the festival, thought it ‘insightful and intelligent […] a tough sell, CVUBSFXBSEJOHFYQFSJFODF .JLF(PPESJEHF XSJUJOHJOScreen International, was not so impressed and thought the film too ‘stagey’: ‘Unfortunately, in patently betraying its stage origins, this static and verbose piece demonstrates no powerful reason to be a film […] it feels like a war-themed feature made for Showtime or HBO. Television will indeed be its most appropriate home’ (2001: 23). Other reviewers were kinder (and, one might suggest, more nuanced and appreciative rather than merely dismissive). Geoffrey Macnab in Sight and Sound, despite some reservations about what he saw as Harwood’s simplifications, thought the film ‘intelligent and provocative’ (2001: 53). The mention of ‘simplifications’ is, however, a rather strange comment as some of Harwood’s additions and deviations from the stageplay actually make the ëMNNPSFDPNQMFYɨF'SFODIIBWFBMXBZTIBEBTQFDJBMSFDFQUJWJUZUP)VOHBSJBO films and Jean-Loup Bourget’s review in Positif XBT OP FYDFQUJPO EFNPOTUSBUJOH B warm appreciation of the film and a thoughtful assessment of what he sees as its major conflict – the binary opposition between, on the one hand the ethical consideration of the conductor’s position and on the other his profound sense of aesthetic mission (see Bourget 2002). Personally, I think this is one of Szabó’s most powerful films to date. He achieves an admirable balance between the proverbial political and personal which is nuanced, carefully constructed and ultimately fair to both parties and their arguments. The critiDJTNUIBUUIJTJT JOFêFDU BDIBNCFSQJFDFXJUIUPPNVDIUBMLJTFYUSFNFMZMJNJUFEBOE ignores the power and passion of the arguments delivered by two very fine actors at the height of their considerable abilities and the evident quality of a master writer. The scenes in Arnold’s office are not static – the framing, movement within the frame and v i si on s of e u rope
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cutting between the various protagonists creates a sense of dynamism, not stasis, and only adds to the power and frequent vehemence of the dialogue. Lajos Koltai demonstrates, yet again, his ability at lighting interiors using the dark, heavy decor of Arnold’s office to convey a sense of foreboding, contrasting these scenes with those in the open air, where, temporarily at least there is relief from the oppressiveness of Arnold’s relentless inquisition. The first scene in the concert hall when Beethoven’s Fifth is interrupted by the air raid is a master class in itself, demonstrating how lighting, camera movement and mise-en-scène can be combined at the hands of Szabó and Koltai, these two masters, to create a measured but emotionally and visually powerful opening which sets the tone and feel for much of the rest of the film. If the film did not achieve the success due to it then the answer probably lies in its wordiness. Taking Sides puts argument and debate at the very centre of its dramatic structure and, frankly, not many directors are prepared or brave enough to do this as audiences often shy away from this kind of cinematic fare. It is rare to see a film in which passionately held views are thrashed out in such detail and primarily in heated face-to-face confrontations (the ‘collectivisation debate’ in Ken Loach’s Land and Freedom GSPNTQSJOHTUPNJOEBTBOPUIFS EJêFSFOU FYBNQMF 4[BCØNBZXFMM IBWFQBJEBQSJDFGPSUIJTJOUFSNTPGCPYPïDFBQQFBMCVU OFWFSUIFMFTT UIFëMNJTB major achievement and deserves more recognition than it has received. As an afterthought I perhaps ought to add that when I saw the film in Sheffield (at the Cineworld $PNQMFY UIFSF XFSF POMZ UXP PUIFS QFPQMF JO UIF BVEJFODF ɨF QBSUOFSTIJQ XJUI )BSXPPEXBTUPDPOUJOVFXJUI4[BCØTOFYUGFBUVSFëMN Being Julia, his only film, to date, set in the UK.
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CHAPTER NINE
Adaptations: Being Julia; Relatives; and The Door
/PUCBEGPSBXPNBOPGGPSUZTJY – Julia Lambert, from Somerset Maugham’s novel The Theatre She was completely rejuvenated. Her face was as happy as when she was a little girl. – Istvan Kopjáss, observing his wife on the morning after he has been elected Town Clerk, from Zsigmond Moricz’s novel Relatives In 2002 Szabó, made a ten-minute short film, Ten Minutes After. This was part of a collection of ten-minute shorts made by a number of prominent directors titled Ten Minutes Older: The Cello. First seen at the Venice Film Festival in 2002 and then at the Yamagata Film Festival in Japan, it was later issued on DVD, along with another set of films, with the collective title, Ten Minutes Trumpet, Ten Minutes Cello: Visions of Time. The collection is divided up into a cello section and a trumpet section, with the former featuring Szabó’s film and offerings from such luminaries as Bernardo Bertolucci, Mike Figgis, Jiři Menzel and Jean-Luc Godard, while the ‘trumpeters’ include Victor Erice, Werner Herzog and Spike Lee. Szabó’s curious ten-minute ‘essay’ (actually it is a little longer) uses a nine-minute-long take (on Steadicam) with one cut intervening before the last minute. Ildikó Bansági is seen preparing a meal for her husband (we presume) but when he (Gábor Máté) comes home drunk there is an altercation and she stabs him with a cake knife; whether this is accidental or not is not clear. An ambulance and the police arrive and the film ends. All the while this action is going on, in the background there is a television set on which Szabó can be seen and heard repeating sentences in English, almost as if he was giving a, very bad, English lesson. Musical accompaniment is provided, as appropriate, by the trumpet of Hugh Masekela or, as in Szabó’s case, the cello of Claudio Bohorquez. As the sub-heading of the DVD collection suggests v i si on s of e u rope
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the films are intended as a treatment of ‘Visions of Time’, although with a number of contributions (and here I must include Szabó’s) the end result is rather confusing. Time passes in the film but I find it difficult to understand how this is a ‘vision’ of time. After this interesting if somewhat puzzling ‘digression’, it was back to feature-film NBLJOHXJUIUISFFNBKPSQSPEVDUJPOTPDDVQZJOHUIFOFYUOJOFPSTPZFBST"MMUISFF films are adaptations of literary works, two of them feature powerful leading female roles and, unusually, one is set in England while, with the other two, Szabó was once again back on home turf. At first glance Being Julia looks as far away from a Szabó project as it is possible to be; in geographical terms it is his only film to be set outside mainland continental Europe, and there is not a single Eastern European in sight. This adaptation of Somerset Maugham’s 1937 short novel Theatre (dramatized in 1941) was suggested to Ronald Harwood by Robert Lantos, the two having got to know each other while working on Taking Sides)BSXPPEXBTOPUFYBDUMZCPXMFEPWFSCZUIFJEFBBUëSTU ‘I thought it was bit loony because it’s a very English story.’ Loony or not the project went ahead; although Harwood is no doubt correct, the story is very English. Theatre was first adapted for the screen in a French-Austrian co-production, Adorable Julia, starring Lilli Palmer and Charles Boyer in 1962, directed by Alfred Weidenmann. There was also a German TV version, Bezaubernde Julia in 1960, and a further French version, for TV, in 1988. That this ‘very English story’ has been adapted for both TV and the big screen in France, Austria, Germany and Hungary suggests that under the TVSGBDFPG&OHMJTINJEEMFDMBTTUIFTQJBOJOUSJHVFT TFYVBMJOëEFMJUZBOEGSPMJDLTUIFSF lurks something else, more substantial. This is, no doubt, what Lantos was referring to when he stressed what he saw as the ‘universal’ elements of the story, ‘It’s about love, it’s about self-realisation and self-discovery. These are universal themes and the essence of all good movies’ (Being Julia, Pressbook). The screenplay follows the novel fairly closely and tells of the English stage actress +VMJB-BNCFSU "NFSJDBOBDUSFTT"OOFUUF#FOOJOH XIP BUGPSUZTJYJTCFHJOOJOHUP feel just slightly over the hill (shades of All About Eve). Her husband, also her manager, is the dashing but unfaithful Michael Gosselyn (Jeremy Irons). One of the few major departures from the novel is the deletion of a section describing how Julia and Michael NFUBOEUIFJSFYQFSJFODFTJOQSPWJODJBMUIFBUSFXJUIUIFJSGPSNFSNFOUPS UIFHSPVDIZ avuncular Jimmie Langton (Michael Gambon). The film fills the gap instead with some snippets of dialogue, which do just enough to provide the back story and Jimmie, although dead, appears on a number of occasions, speaking from the grave as it were, dishing out advice about life, love and acting. A young American accounts clerk, Tom Fennel (Shaun Evans), comes to work at the theatre as an accountant and pursues Julia who is flattered by the attention of this younger man. She has an affair with him which ends rather badly. Here there is a second major departure from the novel; in Maugham’s story Tom Fennel is English but Ronald Harwood changed him to an American thus BEEJOHBDVMUVSBMDMBTI*OUFSWJFXFECZ/JDL3PEEJDL 4[BCØFYQMBJOFE It was a good idea to bring this absolutely different culture into the story. The boy is so different because he’s open – he is fighting very openly. He doesn’t have 118
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Julia (Annette Bening) dancing with her young admirer, Tom (Shaun Evans)
the class system element in how he speaks and how he behaves – but he would like to learn it. So, he’s coming at it from another direction. (Roddick 2004) ɨFëMNSFBDIFTJUTESBNBUJDDMJNBYXIFO+VMJB BUUIFPQFOJOHOJHIUPGBOFXQMBZ brilliantly upstages a younger actress who has the role because she is having an affair with Michael and has slept with Tom. In the final scene Julia reaches some kind of understanding about herself and her life. Sitting in a restaurant after the successful opening night and her triumph, she signifies her new approach to life by downing a pint of beer, an act she has previously shunned, afraid that she will put on weight. The action is set in the West End of London in 1938 and Harwood’s script brilliantly captures the theatrical environment of clashing egos, posturing, temperamental UIFTQJBOT TFYVBMEFDFJUBOEUIFTFOTFPGBIFSNFUJDBMMZTFBMFEXPSMEGBSSFNPWFEGSPN the tedious realities of the world around it, where everyone seems to call everyone else ‘Darling’ and insincerity and showiness appear to dominate almost every human BDUJPO"UBOZNPNFOUZPVFYQFDU/PÑM$PXBSEUPXBMLJO NJYTPNFDPDLUBJMTBOE strike up some jolly tune about ‘Mad dogs and Englishmen’. Interviewed on BBC Radio Four at the time of the film’s disappointingly limited UK release, Szabó himself remarked that, compared to his other films, this was a piece of ‘soufflé’. In another interview he mentioned the influence of Ernst Lubitsch on the style of the film (see Wilmington 2004). v i si on s of e u rope
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Despite its setting (around the time of the Munich agreement) there is little that points to the ominous events unfolding in mainland Europe, although 1938 is also the year of Szabó’s birth and roughly contemporaneous with the time of Mephisto. In fact, the one reference to the forthcoming war in the whole film went in because of Szabó’s and Lantos’s insistence and against the opinion of Harwood. A busker entertaining the queue outside the theatre, alluding to the recent events remarks that he has ‘in my hand this piece of paper signed by me, Herr Hitler and Benito Macaroni in Munich – it is for peace in our time’. Adding further that if war breaks out the royal family and the Cabinet will all leave for Canada (actually based on something Harwood heard at Speaker’s Corner in Hyde Park during the days of the Cold War and CND, the $BNQBJHOGPS/VDMFBS%JTBSNBNFOU :FUUIJTPWFSBMMMBDLPGIJTUPSJDBMDPOUFYUVBMJTBtion is not a major fault; in many ways it reflects the isolation and insular mentality of England at the time from the ‘Continent’ and it certainly emphasises the closed world PG 8FTU &OE UIFBUSFMBOE 0UIFS DIBOHFT XFSF SFMBUJWFMZ TNBMM GPS FYBNQMF 4[BCØ wanted Julia’s son’s part to be built up more. When asked what the appeal of the Somerset Maugham story was, Szabó replied: One is the mask and the mirror relationship we are challenged by in society, to play roles all the time. Not just actors and actresses, but in a wider social DPOUFYU 8F IBWF DIBMMFOHFT BOE XF BDDFQU UIFTF SPMFT CFDBVTF XF MJLF UP please. I’m not speaking about pleasing a ‘system’ or a government, but your mother, wife and kids – everybody. So we accept these roles, and some people lose themselves in the roles. This is one side of the message, the other is ageing. You’re fighting against ageing, and you know that behind you is a long queue of people who are talented and are maybe a little better because they have more energy. So how to keep new energy to keep your position. This is also an enormous problem. (‘Being Szabó’) Another appeal of the story for Szabó is no doubt connected with his evident Anglophilia, although personally I have often found his view of England so one-dimensional that it verges on the bizarre. I have never heard him talk about this at great length FYDFQU QFSIBQT JOIJTPGUQSPOPVODFEBENJSBUJPOGPS&OHMJTIBDUPST GPSFYBNQMF at the end of one discussion I had with him he remarked as we left a cafe that he thought Helen Mirren’s performance in The Queen (2006) was one of the best he had ever seen onscreen (I did not realise at the time that he was, or would shortly be, considering Mirren for a role in a future film). Pursuing this line of thought a little further, there is a particular scene in Being Julia which is worthy of note in light of Szabó’s evident affection for the ‘rosbifs’. Julia, in the early days of her affair with Tom Fennel, persuades her husband to invite him to a weekend ‘in the country’. It is thought that he would make a good companion for Julia and Michael’s son and in one scene we see Julia, Michael, Tom and others sat around having a garden party and playing charades. The setting is picture-postcard rural England, with a river in the background, green lawns, beautiful sunny weather and everyone dressed in white, enjoying themselves with food, wine and games. This is a remarkable scene – Le déje120
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István Szabó directing Jeremy Irons in Being Julia
uner sur le herbe meets Brideshead Revisited with a hint of Jeeves – in what other film by Szabó is there such a pastoral, idyllic portrait painted? His films in Hungary and Central Europe hardly ever evoke anything even approaching this sense of tranquillity and bliss and when they do the scene is often undercut by something dark or EJTUVSCJOH GPSFYBNQMFXIFO)FOSJL)ÚGHFO EJOJOHBUIJTëBODÏFTQBSFOUTIPVTF in a similar elegant, outdoor setting, gets something stuck in his throat and starts to choke. Admittedly, Julia gets an inkling here that Tom’s eyes may well be wandering towards other women but that is all. It is almost as if Szabó had to transport himself somewhere else, away from Central Europe, to an England of his imagination, to discover this utopia. In a sense there is nothing wrong with this. Given his choice of BO&OHMJTIUPQJDPOFXPVMEIBSEMZFYQFDUIJNUPDIPPTFUPNBLFBëMNBCPVUGPPUball hooliganism, the 1926 General Strike or redundant Yorkshire coalminers, and .BVHIBNTOPWFMJTIBSEMZBOFYFSDJTFJOTPDJBMSFBMJTN Being JuliaJTBOPUIFSFYBNQMF JGPOFXFSFOFFEFE PG4[BCØTBCJMJUZUPDIPPTFUIF right actor or actress for the part and the way he works with them to bring out their best. In Ronald Harwood’s opinion this is the best performance of Jeremy Irons’ career, while Annette Benning is simply superb as Julia, deserving more recognition than only her Silver Bear at the Berlin Film Festival for Best Actress. Special mention, to use the terminology of film festivals, should also go to Lucy Punch as Avice Crichton, the young blonde actress whose success on the casting couch is not quite matched by her ability onstage. However, the ability to play, in a film, a not very talented stage actress, SFRVJSFT QBSBEPYJDBMMZ BTQFDJBMUBMFOU0UIFSëOFQFSGPSNBODFTDPNFGSPN.JDIBFM Gambon, no stranger to working with Hungarian directors (he appeared in Károly Makk’s adaptation of Dostoyevsky’s The Gambler), Juliet Stevenson as Julia Lambert’s assistant, Rita Tushingham and Miriam Margolyes. Unfortunately, the talent and inspiration that went into the film was not replicated in its marketing and distribution. Despite the formidable and frequently inspired English and American acting on display, distribution within the UK was very limited and half-hearted (to put it politely). The film was released in the US on 3 September 2004 and in the UK on 19 November. I remember seeing it in London but screenings in the provinces, beyond the hallowed portals of the Watford Gap, were few and far between. Not for the first time, a Szabó film suffered from unenthusiastic or lackadaisical distribution and it is a shame because although this is a somewhat ‘offv i si on s of e u rope
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beat’ production with a fairly light-hearted treatment (for a Szabó film) it nevertheless has considerable merit, not least in the performances, and deserves to be seen more widely. After Being Julia, Szabó returned to his native country for the subject matter of IJT OFYU ëMN IJT ëSTU NBKPS )VOHBSJBO WFOUVSF GPS ëGUFFO ZFBST BO BEBQUBUJPO PG the novel Relatives (Rokonok) by the esteemed Hungarian writer Zsigmond Móricz. This Hungarian classic first appeared in book form in 1932, having earlier been serialised. Móricz, a writer in the naturalist/realist mode, had a deserved reputation for FYQPTJOHNBOZPGUIFJMMTPG)VOHBSJBOTPDJFUZBOEXBTQBSUJDVMBSMZXFMMLOPXOGPS his critical depictions of rural and smalltown life. One of his novels, Behind God’s Back (Az Isten háta mögött) published in 1911, is reminiscent of Flaubert’s Madame Bovary and in 1929, along with Mihaly Babits, he became editor of the influential journal West (Nyugat) but in 1939 took over as editor of People of the East (Keleti Népe) which concerned itself with reportage, sociological surveys and the conditions of village life. He died in 1942. In an interview, when asked about the adaptation process in general, Szabó answered: One should not make a film based on a really good novel, because such a novel has already found its authentic form which is to be read. Films should be made from novels that have something important to be developed: a central character, a story, a leitmotif, etc. (Quoted in Hughes 1982: 14) While this is certainly an interesting point of view and may account for why so many non-classics are successfully adopted to the big screen, it seems questionable whether or not this applies to Relatives. For here is a novel that is, rightfully, part of the Hungarian literary canon (even if its standing has slipped in recent years) and, perhaps more to the point, it is difficult, when comparing novel and film, to find any central character or MFJUNPUJGUIBU4[BCØIBTFYQBOEFEPSEFWFMPQFEJOBOZQBSUJDVMBSXBZ BOEBMUIPVHIUIJT is a very engrossing adaptation of a fine novel it is not innovative in any major sense. Relatives is standard fare in Hungarian schools, although Móricz may be somewhat out of favour nowadays. On the silver screen Relatives had been adapted before, in CZOPMFTTUIBO4[BCØTSFWFSFEGPSNFSUFBDIFS 'ÏMJY.BSJÈTTZ UPXIPN4[BCØ dedicates the film). Although the story is set in the inter-war years, Szabó believes that its concerns are relevant to contemporay Hungary. Speaking after the screening at the 2006 Hungarian Film Week, he said ‘It is about Hungary today, about a kind of tribal or feudalistic behaviour’, a sentiment which finds a number of echoes in the film with comments such as ‘Clan unity is what kept the nation together for a millenium’. Certainly this notion of clannishness or tribalism is not a very flattering judgement about Hungary and, Szabó added, that the story shows the roots of the problems Hungary encounters today, a society ‘based on things which can’t be changed overnight’. To be fair to Szabó, the harshness of his opinions and the undoubted crudity of the analysis he put forward need to be measured, in part, against the criticism and pressure he felt under as the revelations of his role as a police informer were laid bare at around the time when the film was released. 122
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Relatives tell the story of a young Town Hall employee in the fictional provincial town of Zsarátnok which is regarded by most commentators as the eastern town of Debrecen. ‘Zsarát’ is the Hungarian words for ‘embers’ – which carries with it the possible hint that they are still giving off heat and may flare-up in the right conditions. István Kopjáss (a superb performance from Hungarian actor, and current national heart throb, Sándor Csányi) is a minor functionary in the Town Hall. We are first introduced to this easy-going character as he breakfasts with his wife and their two noisy kids and, on the way to work, he kindly gives some money to a beggar. The reluctant, self-effacing, always smiling Kopjáss is put on the ballot paper for the post of Town Clerk, purely to make up the numbers as a minimum of three names are SFRVJSFE)FVOFYQFDUFEMZXJOTBGUFSBNBKPSHBêFCZUIFNBJODPOUFOEFS UIFOBVTFBUJOHDBSFFSJTU.BLSØD[Z XIPDPOëEFOUMZBOEBSSPHBOUMZ FYQFDUTUPXJO,PQKÈTT IF is informed, is a ‘nobody’ (senki). However, Makróczy scuttles his chances by using UIFFYQSFTTJPOA;T7 XIJDITPVOETMJLFA;TFIWFIXIFOQSPOPVODFEJO)VOHBSJBO within earshot of a number of Town Hall dignitaries, just before the votes are to be cast in this closed election (only members of the Town Council are eligible to vote). Formally, ‘ZsV’ is the logo of the Town – Zsarátnak városa (város = town) and it appears over the doorway of the town hall, it is stamped on the furniture owned by the local authority and so on, a point emphasised in the film by a quick collage. But it has another deeper meaning which relates directly to the recurring theme of patronage and corruption in the film. ZsV can also mean zsebre váglak - ‘in (or into) my pocket’, evoking either the idea of bribery or control – or both. Those who hear this remark take offence, probably not so much at the idea of corruption, which is manifestly widespread and implicates almost everyone, but at Makróczy’s arrogance and openness at using the phrase at an election gathering. Like the recent scandal over British MPs FYQFOTFT FWFSZPOFLOPXTBCPVUUIFEJSUZMJOFOJOUIFDVQCPBSECVUOPPOFEFTJSFT it to be taken out and washed so blatantly in public, particularly when the press are in attendance. The voters are then seen hastily crossing out the offender’s name and ,PQKÈTTXJOT BTJUXFSF CZEFGBVMU*OUIFOFYUTIPUIFFOUFSTUIF$PVODJM$IBNCFS somewhat dumbfounded, to loud applause and congratulatory handshakes. Unfortunately for Kopjáss his new elevated position brings him nothing but trouble. Evoking shades of Ibsen’s An Enemy of the People, he is catapulted into a world of corruption, bribery and provincial corridor politics. Nothing in this provincial political cess-pit is decided in terms of political principle, or any other kind of principle; every move, FWFSZEFDJTJPOJTEFUFSNJOFECZBDPNQMFYQBUUFSOPGQBUSPOBHF FYQFEJFODZ LJOTIJQ and a system of ‘you scratch my back and I’ll bung you a wad’. Kopjáss gets sucked into this web of corruption and double-dealing, despite his early idealism reflected in his desire to work honestly and actually do some good for the town and its people. Almost XJUIPVUFYDFQUJPOIFJTUIFPOMZQFSTPOJOUIFëMNXIPJTOPUJOUPTPNFLJOEPGEFBM of one sort or another. A scheming relative (family figures highly in this film, hence the title), tries to involve him in a scam he has devised for purchasing coal for the County "VUIPSJUZBOEUIFSFJTBOFYUSFNFMZEVCJPVTQJHGBSNJOHWFOUVSFoJOUPEBZTUFSNJnology it would probably be called money laundering – which appears to involve just about everybody else on the Town Council. It all proves too much for the young, relav i si on s of e u rope
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his increasingly materialistic wife, who is not averse to using her husband’s new position to improve the lot of the family. On hearing the news of her husband’s position she is, at first, elated but rapidly adopts the mentality of the envious and grasping ‘nouveau riche’ and sets about climbing the rather greasy provincial social ladder with a vengeance, becoming increasing moody and venomous as the narrative progresses. Kopjáss becomes overwhelmed by the situation he finds himself catapulted into and, at the end of both novel and film, he shoots himself, although in the novel the shooting, Chekhovian style, is only mentioned but not detailed and it is not clear if he is actually dead. The film is less ambivalent; the Mayor’s secretary says ‘He is dying’ and in the penultimate shot of the film, we see Kopjáss at the pig farm, lying on the ground, surrounded, unsurprisingly, by pigs, for all intents and purposes dead. At the very end his lifeless body is cradled by the old beggar who was seen receiving some money from Kopjáss in the early scene. This bare-bones outline of the plot does not do justice to either the novel or the film. The former, particularly, is a detailed and finely-drawn portrait of Hungarian provincial life and town and county politics. As such there is much detail that a nonHungarian readership or audience would probably miss or struggle with. In the English translation by Bernard Adams (Corvina Books, 1997), this is partly remedied by the JODMVTJPO PG FOEOPUFT XIJDI FYQMBJO UIF DPNQMFY TUSBUJëDBUJPOT PG )VOHBSJBO political and social life of the time, as well as a number of historical and other points. Obviously, the film has a problem in this respect and the attempts to get round this are not always successful. The post to which Kopjáss is newly elected in Hungarian is főügyész which Adams translates as ‘Town Clerk’ (although one Hungarian Dictionary also gives ‘public prosecutor’ as the translation). However, in the film (at least in the subtitled version screened at the Budapest Film Week and later released on DVD by Intercom) this is rendered as ‘Attorney General’ which is surely wrong. In the UK the Attorney General is a national position and in the US the Attorney General is a State position, advising on legal matters, providing legal counsel and representation for State Agencies and employees and much more. In one scene in the film Kopjass is talking to representatives of the Small Holders’ Party (a major player in rural politics in the inter-war years). He tries to reassure them saying, in the novel, that the important thing is ‘to have enough cabbage left over to feed the goat’. The Small Holders are suitBCMZJNQSFTTFEBOEIFBSUJMZFOEPSTFUIJTFYBNQMFPGSVTUJDXJUBOEXJTEPN CVUJOPOF version of the film the subtitles read ‘having your cake and eating it’ which is not quite the same. There are other, smaller, questions or problems arising from translation from Hungarian into English. The title of the film is perhaps best translated as ‘Relations’ not ‘Relatives’ as the former term suggests, more strongly, the notion of blood ties and inter-connections (see Sherwood 2009 for further discussion of questions relating to translation). Other problems with the film and its language are difficult if not impossible to surmount. Hungarian society at the time of the novel was rigidly stratified and this was reflected in a whole catalogue of forms of address and terms to denote social posiUJPOBOEPOFTQMBDFJOUIFQFDLJOHPSEFS GPSFYBNQMFJOUIFVTFPGTFDPOEBOEUIJSE 124
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QFSTPOBEESFTT#SJUJTI&OHMJTIBOE"NFSJDBO&OHMJTIIBWFOPFYJTUJOHFRVJWBMFOUPG UIJTPSTJNJMBSDPNQMFYMJOHVJTUJDIJFSBSDIJFTɨJTTUSBUJëDBUJPOXBTTVDIUIBUBUPOF UJNFUIFSFFYJTUFEBSJHJETPDJBMBQBSUIFJEJO%FCSFDFO ;TBSÈUOPL XIFSFUIFMPXFS classes were only allowed to walk on one side of the main thoroughfare through the town centre. The specifics of the film, particularly its rootedness in a small provincial town dependent on agriculture, its ‘parish pump’ politics and its sheer ‘Hungarianness’, have thus probably contributed to its limited distribution abroad. Relatives has performed relatively well in Hungary but other countries’ distributors have shown MJUUMFJOUFSFTU UIFNBKPSFYDFQUJPOCFJOH*UBMZ XIFSFQFSIBQTUIFSFBSFTPNFTJNJMBSJties in social structures and habits from the period. The cast is a stellar selection of Hungarian acting talent; Sándor Csányi is one of the most popular of Hungarian male actors, while Ildikó Tóth is widely admired BOEBQQSFDJBUFECZUIFQVCMJDBOEDSJUJDTBMJLFɨFFYDFMMFOUBOEWFSZGVOOZ$TBCB Pindroch plays the Mayor’s Secretary, while Károly Eperjes makes his third appearance in a Szabó film and, standing alongside the director after the screening at the Hungarian Film Week, commented (no doubt with a sense of humour injected) ‘He has the same subtle method but now combined with gentleness’. Szabó was obviously delighted to have worked with them, praising their skills and Hungarian actors in general. His friend, the Czech director Jiři Menzel (with voice-over by Szabó) and the Russian Oleg Tabakov (Colonel Dymshitz from Taking Sides; voice-over by Tibor Szilagyi) make up the limited non-Hungarian contingent. Relatives, along with Being Julia, is quite probably Szabó’s most straightforward film so far, in the sense that he follows the book closely; the narrative is linear and has a classical structure of cause and effect which would not be out of place in a Hollywood film. It is true to say that neither adaptations are innovative, however, given such fine material by such accomplished writers (in this respect it is a shame that Móricz is not better known in the English-speaking world) this is, perhaps, not a problem. Does every film have to be innovative and ground-breaking, surely not? Nevertheless, RelativesJTCZOPNFBOTBTJNQMFëMN UIFQMPUCFDPNFTRVJUFDPNQMFYJOQMBDFTBTUIF various threads in this spider’s web of corruption, bribery and wheeler-dealing begin to unravel. $JOFNBUPHSBQIFS-BKPT,PMUBJXBTBOYJPVTUPPCUBJOUIFSJHIUMPPLGPSUIFëMN which would convey the world of the time and place of the story, and the simple structure of the tale should not detract from the artistry that went into to its making: We thought we’d make it a dusty movie. Something has come to a halt in this film, in this plot. In Zsarátnok, the city bureaucracy still functions as a machinery, yet it is an outdated wound-down structure. We decided it should be a world where there is always something moving, twirling in the air. Paintings depicting the great plain came to our mind, where the wind is always blowing, it always carries something, the sand the dust. The air is never clear. […] At first everything is in place, everything is clearly visible, almost natural, and then it becomes more and more spotty, the world is becoming colder and IBSEFS MJHIUJOHTUBSUTUPEJWJEFTQBDF*OUIFEBZMJHIUTDFOFT*FYQFSJNFOUFE v i si on s of e u rope
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with tricks like following a character with light, as if the sun shone on him, and MBUFSUIFMJHIUTUBSUTUPFWBEFIJN JUPOMZTIJOFTOFYUUPUIFDIBSBDUFS ,PMUBJ quoted in the Hungarianfilm website) Combined with Koltai’s subtle use of darkened interiors – a recurring feature in the scenes in the Town Hall – this often gives the film a slightly dreamlike quality, offset and counterbalanced by its overall realism, an interplay of mood and atmosphere made all the more intriguing by the insertion of three dream sequences (not in the book) where Kopjáss runs to catch up with a departing train. Significantly, in the third and last dream, Kopjáss misses the train. The apparent lighter mood of Being JuliaBOE UPBNVDIMFTTFSFYUFOU Relatives (which I would suggest is only on the surface) might indicate a new direction for Szabó. Whether or not this is the case is difficult to say and it may be too early to state, as Zoltán Dragan does, that Szabó is repositioning himself in a similar manner to Miklós Jancsó with his Kapa-Pepe films (see Dragan 2007). After Relatives Szabó considered three projects, one of which was an adaptation of popular Hungarian writer Antal Szerb’s Journey By Moonlight (Utas és holdvilág), originally published in Hungary in 1937.1 Unfortunately, financial backing for an adaptation to the big screen proved hard to find and when I spoke to Szabó in February 2008 he thought ‘It was dead in UIFXBUFSɨJTXPVMEIBWFCFFOBOFYQFOTJWFQSPKFDUUPGVOE.VDIPGUIFBDUJPOPG the book takes place in Italy in various tourist spots, consequently location shooting in the actual places (Venice, Rome etc) would have been essential as replicating these in a studio in Hungary or elsewhere would have posed enormous problems. Szabó would thus have had to abandon his preferred practice of finding substitutes in Hungary; it would have to be the real thing or nothing. This, along with the aim of making the film in English, again using non-Hungarian actors for the main parts, ran the risk of pushing the budget too high. Potential backers were also, perhaps, not entirely convinced that Szerb was well known enough in the West to merit a production of this nature. Although highly esteemed in Hungary and with three of his novels and a collection of short stories now translated into English, Szerb, unfortunately, is hardly a household name west of the Danube, another sad comment and reflection on the limited reception of Hungarian (and Central European) culture in the Anglophone world. Eventually the project went ahead under the auspices of Focus Film (Hungary) and although the €50,000 provided by MEDIA was no doubt very welcome it looks as if this will be a much lower budget production than originally envisaged. Shooting started at the end of 2010 but without Szabó at the helm. When asked as to what other projects he was considering, particularly in light of the uncertainty, at the time, of Journey By Moonlight, Szabó, in line with his usual practice, was reluctant to give specific details. After a little prodding he admitted that an adaptation of Magda Szabó’s novel The Door (Az ajtó) published in Hungary in 1987, was under consideration.2 Although widely admired in France, where she has CFFOBXBSEFEUIF1SJY'FNJOB²USBOHFS 4[BCØ OPSFMBUJPO JTBOPUIFSXSJUFSOPUXFMM known in the Anglophone world and this, again, may affect the long-term fortunes of the project. The Door is an intense psychological drama, set in 1960s Budapest and 126
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features a sophisticated writer, Magda, and the close but difficult relationship she has with her housekeeper, Emerence, who lives nearby. The novel is partly autobiographical and in one scene Magda signs copies of her book with her full name – Magda Szabó. The Door may be a difficult film to visualise and render onscreen, as Szabó admitted in our last conversation, but in November 2009 it was announced that the project was going ahead to be produced by two Hungarians, Jenő Haberman of Hungary’s FilmArt Studio and Sandor Sőth’s Intuit Pictures based in Berlin. The financial backers include various Hungarians and the German Federal Film Board (FFA) and the German 'FEFSBM 'JMN 'VOE %''' CSJOHJOH JO BQQSPYJNBUFMZ ̣ NJMMJPO XIJMF XPSMEXJEF EJTUSJCVUJPO FYDFQUJO(FSNBOZBOE)VOHBSZ XPVMECFPSHBOJTFECZ-POEPOCBTFE Bankside Films. The adaptation is by Szabó and Andrea Vészits (who has worked with Szabó before on Sweet Emma, Dear Böbe) and he scored a major coup by securing the services of none other than Helen Mirren to play Emerence. This more-or-less guaranteed the film a degree of ready-made publicity, and the choice of Mirren for the lead role was, no doubt, seen as opening the possibility of penetrating the US market where the British actress is greatly admired. Much was made of Mirren’s Russian ancestry (though quite what this had to do with her playing a Hungarian house cleaner XBTOFWFSFYQMBJOFE BOEOVNFSPVTBSUJDMFTDPNNFOUFEPOUIFXPSMETIBUUFSJOHSFWFlation that she played the part without make-up. Preparation, shooting and post-production was a long process, the longest in Szabó’s career, involving the MMC Studio in Cologne and location shoots in Budapest and Leipzig. For his cinematographer Szabó invited fellow Hungarian Elemér Ragályi who has worked in Hollywood and was cinematographer on the Hungarian classic Football of the Good Old Days (Régi idők focija, 1973) directed by Pál Sándor. Alongside Helen Mirren appears German actress, Martina Gedeck (probably best known for her role in the German film The Lives of Others, 2006), as Magda while her husband, Tibor, is played by one of Szabó’s favourite Hungarian actors, Károly Eperjes (his fourth film with Szabó). Most of the rest of the cast are Hungarian (including Ildikó Tóth and Enikő Börcsök) although Jiři Menzel puts in another brief appearance. Given the multi-national casting and the desire to garner a share of the Anglophone market the film was released in dubbed English. Yet for all its talented cast and the undoubted FYDFMMFODFPGUIFTPVSDFNBUFSJBM UIJTJTBëMNXIJDIEJTBQQPJOUFENBOZBOEIBTZFUUP NBLFNVDIJNQBDUBUUIFCPYPïDFɨFEFQUIPGQTZDIPMPHJDBMFOHBHFNFOUCFUXFFO the two main characters is problematic and the nuances of this difficult and, it has to be said, often puzzling relationship, seem to get lost in the film. Mirren’s Emerence comes across primarily as grumpy and bad-tempered while Gedeck seems overwhelmed at times by the presence of the British actress. Maybe Mirren, as a major international star, CSJOHTUPPNVDIFYUFSOBMCBHHBHFUPUIFSPMFBOETPNFUJNFTBMFBESPMFJOBëMNDBO benefit from a relatively unknown actor or actress and maybe this is one such case. Again, as with Relatives, the film follows the book quite closely. Magda and her husband, both writers, are looking for a housekeeper and find Emerence, who lives nearby, who rapidly becomes a dominant presence in their lives through her powerful personality. This is despite her apparently incomprehensible mood swings and her secretiveness. Her door is always closed and she will not allow anyone into her flat; v i si on s of e u rope
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Helen Mirren as Emerence in The Door
Magda evokes her wrath when she visits Emerence and it appears that she wants to be BMMPXFEJOTJEFɨFSFBSFNBOZHBQTJO&NFSFODFTACBDLTUPSZoEJETIFGPSFYBNQMF benefit from a Jewish family’s deportation during the war?; neither the book nor the film reveal everything. When she dies at the end of the film, Emerence remains as much an enigma as when she was alive. Emerence has a troubled past which no doubt accounts for, or at least contributes to, the way she behaves in the present. There are flashbacks to the time when, as a young girl, she attempted to stop ‘her’ calf being taken away for slaughter, and the traumatic incident when her younger twin sisters are struck by lightning and killed, leaving two charred stumps under the tree where they were sheltering. This accounts for her fear of lightning which we are shown early in the film when Emerence returns a carpet she has cleaned and is caught in a storm. Central to her past is her relationship with a Jewish girl who, at the end of the film (but not in the book) returns to Hungary from the US and visits Emerence’s grave along with Magda. While much of UIJTQFSTPOBMIJTUPSZNBZFYQMBJOXIZ&NFSFODFJTUIFDPNQMFYBOEEJïDVMUQFSTPO she is, it does not help understand her sudden mood swings – from almost childlike play to venomous spite, her sentimental attachment to a dog, originally rescued by Magda and her husband, the large number of cats she keeps (and never lets out) and her hostile attitude to religion while at the same time saving up for a crypt where she is to be buried after her death. Klari Muhi, in an interesting online review, suggests that in the novel that Magda fights Emerence but in the film she is merely a ‘raisonneur’. In Muhi’s view the novel is passionate and smart, ‘like a verbose Greek tragedy’, but this is lost onscreen. Emerence ‘does not fight, she just thrashes about; the film does not let her tell her story ... Emerence is merely a strange, half-crazy old woman’. While neither 128
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the writer nor the director are under any obligation to provide us with answers to these WBSJPVTDPOVOESVNTBOE&NFSFODFJTIBSEMZUIFëSTUDPNQMFY BNCJHVPVTëMNDIBSacter to grace the big screen, it’s unclear why Magda simply does not tell Emerence to ‘fuck off and have done with her’ (as I overheard one puzzled spectator at the London premiere comment). The Door was shown at the shoe-string budget ‘alternative’ Hungarian Film Week in February 2012 organised by Béla Tarr, and in the same year it featured at the Hungarian Film Festival of Los Angeles and opened the 13th Tbilisi International Film Festival. It was first shown in the UK on 23 November 2012 at the Coronet Cinema in Notting Hill, London with Szabó and Ragályi in attendance. The audience, many of them part of the London-Hungarian community, were enthusiastic about the film but reception elsewhere has been very uneven. It is not hard to find numerous complaints about the dubbing of the Hungarian actors into English and although CPYPïDFSFUVSOTIBWFCFFORVJUFHPPEJO)VOHBSZUIFëMNIBTDPNFJOGPSRVJUFB drubbing from some quarters. Boyd van Hoeij, writing in Variety, thought the film was ‘an unconvincing and rather dull series of scenes in which two women talk a lot but don’t say very much’ (2012). The Hollywood Reporter’s Deborah Young was kinder: for her the film was ‘faultlessly directed with Old World taste and conviction [but] this character-driven drama feels too traditional, however, to rally the audiences that Mirren’s performance, in particular, deserves’ (2012). Much of the criticism, as already OPUFE TUFNTGSPNUIFEJïDVMUJFTNBOZTQFDUBUPSTIBEJOGBUIPNJOHPVUUIFDPNQMFYJUJFTPGUIFSFMBUJPOTIJQCFUXFFO&NFSFODFBOE.BHEB1PTTJCMZUIFDPNQMFYJUJFTPGUIJT relationship required something more than the classical narrative strategy adopted by Szabó in this and his two previous adaptations. At the time of writing, The Door has received only limited distribution.
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CHAPTER TEN
The Controversy Surrounding the Events of 1957 and After
I made a film – Confidence – it’s all in there. – István Szabó, speaking at a specially organised press conference during the Hungarian Film Week, 3 February 2006
Many people in Hungary and elsewhere (and here I must include myself ) were shocked by the revelation, contained in the 26 January 2006 edition of the weekly magazine Life and Literature (Élet és Irodalom), that István Szabó had been a police informer in the late 1950s and early 1960s. Even the insularity of the British press, rarely inclined to comment on events in Hungary, was breached by this news as the Guardian and other papers covered it. The author of the Life and Literature article, András Gervai, a Budapest-based historian, claimed to be ‘appalled that István Szabó, of all people, was a spy. He was always considered a beacon of integrity in Hungary’ (quoted in Ferenci n.d.).1 Not that Szabó was alone; a well-known football commentator, Mátyás Eszterházy of the famous aristocratic family, László Paskai a leading cleric and others were all ‘named’ or ‘outed’ around this time, and since the Secret Police files were (partially) opened in 1997 Hungary has gone through a process of revelation, recrimination and often heated debate about the past, similar to that in the Czech Republic, the former East Germany and elsewhere.2 Szabó’s case, however, as ‘the conscience of the nation’ (Gervai quoted in Ferenci n.d.), world famous film director and unofficial cultural ambassador, was bound to rouse passions everywhere. The timing of these revelations may have been fortuitous but they occurred only five days before the start of the 2006 Hungarian Film Week, the country’s major showcase film event where Szabó’s latest film, Relatives, would receive its Hungarian premiere and, of course, 2006 was the year of the fiftieth anniversary of the Hungarian Revolution. It is difficult therefore to 130
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resist the conclusion that the timing was not an accident and designed, by someone, to JOìJDUUIFNBYJNVNEBNBHFPO4[BCØBOEIJTSFQVUBUJPO Life and LiteratureJTXJEFMZSFBEBOEUIFOFYUEBZTSFQPSUTJOUIF)VOHBSJBOEBJMZ newspapers and other media coverage picked up the story and spread the news. The documents unearthed by Gervai reveal that Szabó wrote 48 reports which named 72 people (see Holloway 2006), mainly his fellow students and staff at the Film Academy and included others such as Márta Mészáros, Hungary’s best-known female director. The reports include comments on close friends such as Miklós Jancsó whom Szabó describes as ‘an anarchist adolescent’ (see Jancso n.d.). He reported from 1957 to early 1961 to the notorious II/5 Domestic Security Department using the code name ‘Endre Képesi’, after which he was ‘dismissed’ in 1963. Jancsó for his part, despite being named (and as far as I could tell quite amused by the description), has stood by his friend and was quoted as saying: We knew about it and also that someone had to save him [i.e. Pál Gábor – see below]. But that someone could save him in this way, in the way that István did, is really fantastic. It couldn’t have been easy for him to live with something like that. (Jancsó n.d.) Szabó was interviewed by Népszabadság on the following day, in a full-page spread where he defended his actions. On 3 February Life and Literature printed a two-page essay by Zsolt Kézdi-Kovács where he presented a detailed account of what happened on the evening when he and Szabó were arrested, and the following days when they were held by the security services and interrogated. This was actually an account which, as he mentioned at a press conference, he had written ‘three or four years ago’ but thought would not be published. As well as becoming informers he and Szabó had to recount what they knew about the events of 1956, who took part, who had done what and so on. They attempted to keep Pál Gábor’s role from the authorities and also tried not to implicate others. It is impossible to judge how successful they were in this. I have CFFOUPMEUIBU*NSF(ZÚOHÚTTZ GPSFYBNQMF SFDFJWFETPNFIBSTIUSFBUNFOUGSPNUIF authorities although if there is any evidence connecting this to anything said by either Szabó or Kezdi-Kovacs I am unaware of it. If this happened it may well have been for his past record, having brushed with the authorities before. In the same issue of Life and Literature there was also a declaration of support for Szabó signed by Hungarian film personnel, including such luminaries as Jancsó, Krisztina Deák, Pál Sándor, János Szász, Péter Timár, Ferenc Kósa, Zoltán Kamondy, and writers, academics, actors and actresses and first President of the newly independent Hungary, the highly respected Árpád Göncz. Impressive as this list was, it has to be said that there were some notable absences and not everyone was inclined to forgive Szabó and defend him. Writing in the New York Review of Books, US-based Hungarian historian István Deák was sceptical: ‘The manifesto, written in the style of a small country’s cultural establishment, GBJMTUPFYQMBJOXIZHSFBUUBMFOUJTBWBMJEKVTUJëDBUJPOGPSNJTCFIBWJPVS (ÈCPS Murányi, a journalist on the weekly economics and current affairs weekly HVG, was even more critical: ‘Among the frankly hysterical and insincere statements that were v i si on s of e u rope
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issued following Gervai’s article, those by István Szabó himself came across as embarrassing to say the least’ (2011: 164). The guests and delegates at the Hungarian Film Week were buzzing with anticipation when it was announced that on the morning of 3 February, with the Film Week only a few days old, there would be a press conference at the nearby Millenáris Theatre where Szabó, Kézdi-Kovács, Éva Kármentő, János Rózsa and Judit Elek (the surviving members of the Group) would make a series of presentations. The five mounted a TQJSJUFEBOEEJHOJëFEEFGFODFPG4[BCØBOE UPBMFTTFSFYUFOU ,Ï[EJ,PWÈDTXIPXBT spared much of the opprobrium directed at Szabó. Judit Elek in an amusing aside pointed out that two women, who had been present at the Petőfi Theatre on the night in question, were not taken away, noting that ‘it was a strange gallantry for the period’. 5PJMMVTUSBUFUIFDPNQMFYJUJFTPGUIFUJNFT TIFSFDPVOUFEIPXJOUIFTUIFJSëMNT ‘went to the limit’ but when faced with the choice of signing a declaration in support of Czech dissident Vaclav Havel or risk having her current project scrapped she opted not to sign. She was criticised for this but if she had signed there would have been no film and the films, in her opinion, were important because of the way they could voice criticisms of the system. Szabó declared that he was very grateful to his classmates and in response to a question that had been put in the media – why had he not come out with all this at the time of the political changes, he answered that he did not feel he had any authorisation to speak, he had no word from his classmates. The overall feeling CPUIGSPNUIFQMBUGPSNBOEGSPNUIFBVEJFODFXBTUIBU4[BCØ GBDFEXJUIBOFYUSFNFMZ difficult, if not impossible situation, had done what he could to keep his friend and classmate, Pál Gábor, alive. All those attending this remarkable and quietly moving event could not help but be impressed by the dignity of Szabó and his classmates and everyone present (as far as *BNBXBSF XFOUBXBZGFFMJOHUIBU UPTPNFFYUFOUBUMFBTU IFIBECFFOWJOEJDBUFEBOE justice had been done. Later that evening, as chance would have it, I spent some time talking to Szabó in his flat near the centre of Budapest. Although he looked tired, he felt happy about how the events of the day had gone. I put to him the question which was foremost in the minds of the foreign guests at the Film Week – why were these revelations being made now and by whom? He answered in only vague terms, either through fatigue or a reluctance to engage in name-calling (or both). He knew the people who were behind this – ‘Hungary is a small country’ – their motivations were ‘political’ but beyond this he would not go. For my part I did not feel it was appropriate to push him on this and our conversation moved on to other, less stressful and much more interesting and pleasant topics. Throughout our conversation the phone frequently rang with messages of support from friends and colleagues from Hungary and elsewhere. Szabó told me that among the messages of solidarity he had received was one from Klaus Maria Brandauer who had even offered to come to Budapest to speak in his support (an offer Szabó, probably wisely, declined). There appears to be little consensus in Hungary on this issue. There is no argument that Szabó was an informer; this he has agreed to and it is not a bone of contention. ɨFSFXBTTPNFEJTQMFBTVSFBUUIFXBZ4[BCPFYQSFTTFEIJNTFMGBUUJNFT QBSUJDVMBSMZ when he said he was ‘proud’ of what he had done, hardly the best choice of word to use 132
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in the situation and it has to be said that this has not helped him in some quarters. Nor was Szabó helped by some of his supporters who succumbed to cliché by suggesting that an artist should be judged by different criteria from those used to assess ‘ordinary’ people. It is difficult, particularly for an outsider, to unravel the various claims and counter-claims that have been made and many Hungarians I have spoken with EJTQMBZBTJNJMBSSFMVDUBODF5PUBLFKVTUPOFFYBNQMF UIFSFXBTNVDIEFCBUFBCPVUB photograph that was reprinted in a number of Hungarian newspapers – a grainy black and white shot of a man in a white or light-coloured raincoat carrying a rifle over his shoulder. There are claims that this is Gábor and if true it goes some way to vindicating 4[BCØTTUBODF JG(ÈCPSIBECFFOBSSFTUFEIFXPVMEBMNPTUDFSUBJOMZIBWFCFFOFYFDVUFE as bearing arms against the State was a capital offence. However, some (including apparently his widow) say this is not Gábor, while there were also claims that the man in the QIPUPJTOPXBOFYJMFMJWJOHJO$BOBEB Complicating matters even further, Szabó has also backtracked on the centrality of Gábor to this whole question. In later statements he has downplayed this issue and instead stressed that he was protecting himself and, more than anything, afraid of being thrown out of the Film Academy. The international repercussions seem to have been limited. There are rumours (which, like much else in this controversy, are unconfirmed) that German director Wim Wenders adopted a hostile attitude towards Szabó after the revelations came out but, apparently, little else. Most if not all of Szabó’s nonHungarian friends (including people like Jiři Menzel) have stood by him. Untangling this Gordian knot of rumour and counter-rumour, accusation and counter-accusation is simply impossible without access to the files and documents and the chance to talk in-depth to the people concerned. A number of people I spoke to made it clear that they did not wish to be quoted, hence the rather ‘hearsay’ nature of much of what is written here. As my circumstances do not permit me to go any deeper into this (even if I had the inclination, which I must say I do not) I leave the debate, of necessity, ‘hanging in the air’. For my part I can only say that I believe Szabó should, at the very least, have the benefit of the considerable doubt there is regarding many aspects of this affair. A subsidiary, although hardly vital, question is raised by this controversy. To what FYUFOUJT4[BCØTDPNQSPNJTFEQPTJUJPOCFUXFFOBOESFìFDUFEJOIJTëMNT *U would seem odd, to say the least, if this was not the case and Szabó himself has said that it’s all in Confidence. Nor is there any shortage of other films where characters are placed in situations where they have to make difficult, moral choices between what might be a principled but ineffective stance or some kind of compromise. Colonel Redl is an PCWJPVTFYBNQMF BTJTMephisto. In Sunshine the three generations of the Sonnenschein/ Sors dynasty are faced with comparable dilemmas – to support the monarchy or not, to convert, to represent your country at the Olympics when you are treated as a pariah and so on. Rather than Confidence I would suggest that the film which has the most parallels XJUI4[BCØTHFOFSBMFYQFSJFODF CVUOPUUIFTQFDJëDEFUBJMT JTTaking Sides. What is tempting, but I think to be avoided, is a strategy of ‘reading backwards’ into Szabó’s films and his various public statements, searching out those moments when his position is hinted at by the use of some subterfuge, a phrase here or there, a gesture and so on. Given the conditions under which Hungarian directors worked v i si on s of e u rope
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for many years and given the subjects about which they made films it surely cannot be EJïDVMU GPSUIPTFXIPGFFMTPJODMJOFEUPDPNFVQXJUIBOZOVNCFSPGFYBNQMFT'PS UIFSFDPSE*XJMMDJUFKVTUPOF SBUIFSUSJWJBM FYBNQMFPGXIBU*BNSFGFSSJOHUPoBOE* only mention this because Szabó himself told me of this at our very first encounter. He was once called in to the office of a government official who worked in the ministry run by Cultural Secretary Aczél. Foreign reviews of one of his films had been favourable and some adverse comments had been made in the French press regarding the political situation in Hungary. On entering the office the official gestured to Szabó, using both his hands, pointing first to his ears then to the walls several times, almost like some kind of demented semaphore. The message was obvious, certainly to anyone living through these times in Central Europe. The presence of hidden microphones was being indicated with the warning that Szabó should be on his guard about what he said. The official had his reasons for adopting this attitude and the peculiar sign language which went along with it, and these need not concern us here; of more interest is that this gesture (fingers pointing to the ears and then to the walls) is repeated by Hendrik Höfgen in Mephisto when he is talking to Otto Ulrich, the Communist actor, warning him to be wary of what he says. Quite what this ‘proves’, if anything, I am OPUTVSF*UTVHHFTUTUIBUDPOOFDUJPOTEPFYJTUoJOEFFEJUXPVMECFSFNBSLBCMFJGOPOF did – though what profit may be gained by pursuing them is, I repeat, questionable. I am happy to leave this up to others should they feel so inclined. The initial controversy seemed to die down fairly quickly and became lost in the controversy surrounding the 1956 commemorations in October when far-right demonstrators took to the streets of Budapest and a number of sometimes violent clashes ensued. My enduring memory of this whole affair is a very personal one. When talking to Szabó in his flat on that evening after the press conference, at one point in our conversation he stopped, paused for a moment or two and then said ‘Maybe I should have left’ (i.e. left Hungary). This is the only time I have ever heard such TFOUJNFOUTFYQSFTTFECZIJN OPSIBWF*FWFSTFFOBOZUIJOHTJNJMBSJOBOZPGIJTJOUFSviews. It is easy to make too much of what may well have been a passing comment, an off-the-cuff remark made by someone who was tired and had been under great stress; nevertheless there is, perhaps, a hint or a suggestion that the whole business affected him in ways that were not visible during the press conference or in subsequent interviews and public statements. Speaking to Hungarian friends about a year or so later I asked if there were still any repercussions being acted out over the revelations and the answer was no, although some kind of a backlash has developed against Krisztián Ungváry, a historian who has CFFOBDUJWFJOFYQPTJOHGPSNFSQPMJDFJOGPSNFSTɨFSFBSFBMTPSFQPSUTUIBUBOVNCFS of journalists are being pursued in the courts for defamation by some of those named, BDPVSTFPGBDUJPOGPSXIJDI BTGBSBT*BNBXBSF 4[BCØIBTFYQSFTTFEOPJOUFSFTUJO at all. Putting these legal battles aside (and they could go on for years) the issue now appears dead, although it would be foolhardy indeed to suggest that the controversy will not re-ignite at some point. Having dipped, probably too deeply, into this very Hungarian ‘pot’ I feel disinclined to go any further.
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CHAPTER ELEVEN
Szabó, Hungarian Cinema and the Question of Censorship – A Note
There has been a tendency on the part of some Western writers who comment on post-Second World War Central European cinema to put a certain amount of stress on issues of state control and censorship as if, somehow, censorship and the fight against JUEFëOFTBMNPTUëGUZZFBSTPGXJEFTQSFBE PGUFODPNQMFYBOEEJWFSTFëMNNBLJOHɨJT IBT GSFRVFOUMZ BMUIPVHI OPU FYQMJDJUMZ CFFO MJOLFE UP UIF OPUJPO UIBU TPNFIPX B censored or banned film is more ‘worthy’ or artistically or politically more interesting than one that has not been affected in this way. The April 2008 event at the London Barbican, Censorship as a Creative Force, and within this the decision to include a presentation with Szabó, Jiři Menzel and Agnieszka Holland (a last-minute replacement for Andrzej Wajda who was ill), suggests that, for some, censorship is still an important if not a defining characteristic of the period under consideration. However, it is interesting that none of the platform participants accepted this framework; Szabó going so far as to state (not for the first time) that, for him, censorship was never really a QSPCMFN/PSXBTUIJTBOJTPMBUFEFWFOU TJYZFBSTFBSMJFS UIF3JWFSTJEF4UVEJPT BMTPJO London, ran a seven-day event, Banned! Films They Didn’t Want You to See (see Jeffries 2002). I have no wish to criticise the Barbican or the Riverside or the organisers of either event but it is necessary, I believe, to put these activities and the attitudes that drive them into some kind of wider perspective. As I suggested in my earlier work, Hungarian Cinema: From Coffee House to Multiplex, censorship, certainly in Hungary, was not a major issue for most filmmakers. From the early 1960s on, the authorities EJTQMBZFE BO JODSFBTJOHMZ SFMBYFE BUUJUVEF UP UIF ëMN JOEVTUSZ BOE ëMNNBLFST XFSF able, gradually, to push the boundaries of what was acceptable.1 Before looking into the specifics of the situation in Hungary it might be useful to undertake a brief detour into the broader questions of state censorship of the arts. )PX GPSFYBNQMF JTBXPSLPGBSUADPOUSPMMFE 8IBU DPODSFUFMZEPFTUIJTNFBO )PX JTBSUJTUJDDSFBUJWJUZIFMEJODIFDLPSNPOJUPSFE *TUIJTQPTTJCMF *OBDPNQMFYBSUGPSN v i si on s of e u rope
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such as filmmaking, with its many and varied inputs, technical and artistic, how can DPOUSPMCFFYFSDJTFE "UXIJDIQPJOUJOUIFQSPDFTTEPFTUIFDFOTPSJOUFSWFOF *UJT probably true to say that censors (of whatever political stripe) have never been able to satisfactorily answer these questions, most likely because no convincing answers are QPTTJCMF BOEJGUPUBMDPOUSPMFYJTUT IPXFWFSAUPUBMNBZCFJOUFSQSFUFE UIFOUIFSFJT obviously the danger that artistic and cultural life of any meaning or worth is simply snuffed out or becomes seriously diminished and impoverished, as was the case in Nazi Germany or Stalin’s Soviet Union. State censors of repressive and totalitarian regimes have always struggled with art, caught between, on the one hand, the urge to control and, on the other, the desire to show to the rest of the world that artistic endeavour flourishes. Hence, the tame artist (or the not so tame) can demonstrate to a potentially sceptical world that GSFFEPNFYJTUT.BOZBSUJTUT UIF4PWJFUDPNQPTFS%JNJUSJ4IPTIUBLPWJDIUPUBLFKVTU POFFYBNQMF TUSVHHMFEBMMUIFJSMJWFTXJUIUIFQSPGPVOEBNCJHVJUZPGUIFJSTJUVBUJPOT This is one of the main reasons why dictatorships take art and artists seriously, even if UIJTFOETVQXJUIUIFNCFJOHUISPXOJOQSJTPOPSXPSTF1BSBEPYJDBMMZ UIJTJTQPTTJCMZ a reason why some democracies do not take art that seriously and are content to see it plod along, underfunded and unloved, at least at governmental level. In Hungary in the late 1940s and early 1950s, during the worst years of Stalinist FYDFTT BSU XBT UBLFO WFSZ TFSJPVTMZ JOEFFE BOE JUT QSJNF GVODUJPO XBT UP TFSWF UIF state. Hungary was by no means alone in spawning a huge, unwieldy bureaucracy which attempted to control artistic production. However, the constantly changing nature of this bureaucracy and the ‘musical chairs’ replacement of one bureaucrat with another testified to the problems inherent in state control of art. In Hungary, a central plank of state policy with regard to filmmaking was to control and, if necessary, censor the script. The script was something tangible, concrete and could be looked at by a committee or a commissar in a way which, say, rushes or a rough cut, could not. Accordingly the script was seen as the most important single element in the filmmaking process. Yet a script is only one component, although a vital one, in this QSPDFTTBOESFXSJUJOHTDSJQUTJOPSEFSUPNFFUTPNFFYUFSOBMMZJNQPTFEJEFPMPHJDBM ‘benchmark’ simply results in scripts with ludicrously contrived situations and wooden dialogue utterly divorced from real life – something immediately apparent to anyone brave or foolhardy enough to sit through virtually any Socialist Realist film from this period. In Hungary the authorities, increasingly aware of growing audience dissatisGBDUJPO SFMBYFEUIFJSQPMJDZJO BMTPUIFZFBSPG4UBMJOTEFBUI BGUFSNPVOUJOH criticism from within the industry and elsewhere (see Rainer and Kresalek 1991). The changes brought about in 1953 were short-lived due to the events of 1956 and after, but were back on the agenda only a few years later. In the 1960s, when the world really started to take notice of Hungarian films, directors were often granted privileges which were unprecedented in comparison to the rest of the population. Filmmakers travelled widely and there can be few major countries in the world where Szabó, at one time or BOPUIFS IBTOPUQVUJOBOBQQFBSBODF"TBOPUIFSFYBNQMF .JLMPT+BODTØXBTBMMPXFE to live and work in Italy for a considerable period of time. The view of Hungary often portrayed in these films, even those that were critical, was seen by the government 136
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as important in conveying to the world that Hungary was a lenient, humanistic and open society. Szabó has mentioned how he was even once encouraged by a government bureaucrat to be critical as this was a good thing and demonstrated the regime’s openness. Whether or not these and other tactics succeeded in convincing a sceptical world (particularly the West), whose abiding memory of Hungary was, for years, the scenes of repression in 1956, seems highly unlikely. Even so, despite all qualifications to the contrary, of all the countries of the Warsaw Pact, Hungary was usually regarded as the most open and liberal and the films no doubt played a part in conveying this idea. In the last analysis, censors, however clever and manipulative (or stupid and brutal), are trying to do the impossible – to control human creativity and thought. As the Russian writer and political analyst Boris Kagarlitsky has noted: Cultural creativity, as I have said, is less submissive than anything else to FYUFSOBMDPOUSPM)PXDBOPOFDPOUSPMBQMBTUJDJNBHFPSBOBDUPSTHFTUVSF *UJT easy to control the worker at his bench, for the production process is regulated and the result is known beforehand. But how is one to control the artist before his canvas, if the result is not known in advance even to himself? Adequate DSJUFSJBBOENFUIPETPGDPOUSPMEPOPUFYJTUGPSUIJTQVSQPTF BOEUIFCVSFBVcratic mentality is incapable of inventing them; this is not only true of art but of all branches of culture. (1988: 86) In addition to the brief overview just offered, there are more specific and localised SFBTPOT GPS UIF SFMBUJWF PQFOOFTT JO )VOHBSZ ɨF JODSFBTJOHMZ NPSF SFMBYFE BOE progressively open policy in Hungary from the early 1960s on can be located primarily in the response of the authorities to the aftermath of 1956. Put at its simplest, the Kádár regime realised that a state of outright repression could not be maintained against virtually the whole population. From any perspective, such a policy was simply not viable; concessions of some kind would have to made – the alternative would be so stifling and retrogressive that Hungary would be reduced, culturally at least, to TPNFUIJOHMJLFUIFMFWFMPG"MCBOJBVOEFSUIFVMUSB4UBMJOJTUEJDUBUPS&OWFS)PYYBɨF wider implications of this policy of ‘appeasement’ need not concern us here but one dimension was seen as crucial and this was winning over the artists and intellectuals, or, at least, neutralising or keeping them reasonably happy. 1BSUMZUIJTSFMBYFEBUUJUVEFPOCFIBMGPGUIFBVUIPSJUJFTDBOCFQVUEPXOUP(ZÚSHZ Aczél who became Deputy Minister of Culture under the Kádár regime in 1957. %FTDSJCFECZ3PHFS(PVHI JOIJTFYDFMMFOUTUVEZPG,ÈEÈS BTAFOHBHJOHBOEDPNQVMsively social’ (2006: 129), Aczél’s task was to win over, as far as was possible, the intellectuals and artists to the side of the government in the post-1956 atmosphere of tension and mistrust. I have spoken to a number of Hungarians who met or encountered Aczél in various situations and all are agreed on his intelligence, charm and a certain craftiness. The popular image of a Communist Party apparatchik may be that of uncultured, blundering dolt and however plush the velvet on the outside of the glove, the iron fist inside could still deliver a crushing blow, but with Aczél, at least, this was not the case. He realised quite early on that writers, intellectuals and artists v i si on s of e u rope
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were not going to be won over by the continuing repressive use of a big stick. The response would be emigration, underground publication (szamizdat), a retreat into silence or private contemplation. Better, thought Aczél, to enter into some kind of dialogue with this group. The release, in 1960, of a number of writers imprisoned after 1956, notably Tibor Déry and Gyula Háy, demonstrated his willingness to reach out and although it might be possible to dismiss this as the politics of gesture, the gesture was, nevertheless, of some significance. Slowly and no doubt reluctantly, artists and writers began to make ‘their peace’ with the regime. The state and the artist ‘entangled in a mutual embrace’ to use Miklós Haraszti’s phrase in his memorable work The Velvet Prison (1989: 5). Aczél would wine and dine artists, engage in discussions, and on a couple of occasions even collaborated with them (within very definite pre-set limits) in framing legislation. So central was Aczél to Hungarian culture that he seems to have, almost grudgingly, become a figure in popular folklore and mythology, and a superb and very funny parody of the man can be seen in Gergely Fonyó’s rock ‘n’ roll film Made in Hungaria (2009). In 1958 Aczél had already formulated the policy of the ‘three T’s’ for which he will always be remembered. This divided artistic works, including films, into three categories: officially approved (támogatott), tolerated (tűrt) and banned (tiltott). Although Kádár was initially unenthusiastic and remarked ‘Whose idea is this bullshit?’ (see (PVHI BOE POQBQFS UIFQPMJDZMPPLFEJOìFYJCMF JUBDUVBMMZXPSLFEJO some kind of rough and ready way. The middle concept, that of the tolerated work, provided much room for manoeuvre by both the authorities and the artist; in fact, listening to accounts from various artists of what happened in the 1960s and 1970s, it almost seems like a game as each ‘side’ manoeuvred and wheeled and dealed. The policy, most importantly, left a lot of scope for self-censorship and artists quickly learned the ‘rules of the game’. The end result was that few films were banned outright (only two in the whole of the 1960s) and whatever problems cropped up were usually sorted out. So, rather than a heavy-handed, top-down policy where Party apparatchiks cracked the ideological whip and artists simply jumped to their commands, there was an often subtle (and in some cases almost comic) game of give and take. Sometimes, more than likely, very small changes were made or, at worst, there might be a delay of a few weeks in the release of a film while some question was sorted out. Péter Bacsó’s Oh Bloody Life (Te rongyos élet
GPSFYBNQMF XBTIFMEVQGPSTFWFSBMXFFLTCFGPSF finally being released. At least two of Szabó’s early films, The Age of Daydreaming and Father, suffered slight delays to their release, in the case of the former because of a relatively minor dispute over the subtitle. The situation is complicated, however, by the frequent lack of any of consistency on the part of the Party bureaucracy, but this very inconsistency was, itself, something UIBU DPVME CF FYQMPJUFE $FSUBJOMZ TPNF PG UIF 1BSUZ CVSFBVDSBUT XFSF AJO PO UIF game. Szabó once recounted how one of Aczél’s secretaries had demanded a certain length of film be cut from one of his films, even specifying the length of film strip that IBEUPFYDJTFE4[BCØ DBVHIUPOUPXIBUXBTSFRVJSFE XFOUUPUIFTUVEJPQJDLFEVQ some waste film strip lying on the cutting room floor and returned to the Ministry XIFSF UIF TFDSFUBSZ FYQSFTTFE IJT TBUJTGBDUJPO /P EPVCU UIF TFDSFUBSZ IBE EFNPO138
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strated his ‘vigilance’ to his superiors and everyone, Szabó included (I presume), was satisfied. Even in the few cases where films were banned the issues were rarely clear cut. ɨFNPTUGBNPVTFYBNQMFPGBCBOOFEëMNJOQPTUXBS)VOHBSJBODJOFNBIJTUPSZJT doubtless that of Péter Bacsó’s Witness (Tanu), a satire which mercilessly lampoons the Communist authorities, their ways, their crazy schemes (such as large-scale cultivation of oranges in Hungary despite its unsuitable climate for such a venture) and their ridiculous clichéd language (‘the international situation is intensifying’, ‘life is not a cream bun’). Yet this was a film seen by many, even while banned – ‘selected’ audiences were allowed to watch in closed screenings and the ban did little, if anything, to hinder Bacsó’s career. Made in 1969 the film was eventually released in 1979 and went on to win an award at Cannes in 1981. The only other film to be banned in the 1960s was Desző Magyar’s Agitators (Agitatorok), also made in 1969 and finally released in 1986. ɨFSFBTPOTGPSUIFCBOBSFOPEPVCUDPNQMFYBOESFMBUFEUPUIFUIFNFPGUIFëMN the 1919 Revolution, the participation of prominent intellectual and Communist Party philosopher György Lukács and the screenplay of Magyar and the avant-gardist Gábor Bódy which treated these key events in a manner which probably displeased the authorities. Of course much manoeuvring went on behind the scenes and no matter how SFMBYFE UIF TJUVBUJPO NBZ IBWF BQQFBSFE UIFSF XFSF MJNJUT CFZPOE XIJDI B EJSFDUPS could not transgress, yet these limits receded as the years progressed and increasingly UIFOVNCFSPGUBCPPTVCKFDUTBOEUIFNFTEFDSFBTFE4P GPSFYBNQMF JO,BSPMZ Makk was able to release a film, Another Way (Egymásra nézve) which quite openly represented a lesbian relationship between two journalists, and it would be difficult to imagine a film more damning of the Stalinism of the late 1940s and early 1950s than Pál Gábor’s masterpiece Angi Vera (1979). Clearly the old Cold War ‘model’ of Hungary as a grey prison yard, where art and culture were controlled by ever vigilant UIPVHIU QPMJDF BOE DVMUVSBM DPNNJTTBST JT TJNQMZ XSPOH ɨJT JT OPU UP FYDVTF UIF Rákosi or Kádár regimes of their many stupidities and brutalities; it is simply to put the argument that the black-and-white propaganda of either side during the Cold 8BSEPFTOPUIFMQVTVOEFSTUBOEWFSZNVDIoUIFSFBMJUZJTNVDINPSFDPNQMFY/PS am I saying that there was an ‘anything goes’ policy in Hungary; this clearly was not UIFDBTFBTUIFFYJTUFODFPGBUISJWJOHTBNJ[EBUDVMUVSFUFTUJëFT8IBUFYJTUFEJTNVDI harder to define; the shifting parameters and boundaries, various ‘codes’ to be deciphered and various personnel and guidelines to be manoeuvred around resemble more a war of manoeuvre than head-to-head conflict from entrenched positions. In fact it may well be the case that we in the West will simply never understand all these various DPNQMFYJUJFT"TB)VOHBSJBOëMNEJSFDUPSPODFTBJEUPNFoUIFTZTUFNDPVMEPOMZ be appreciated, though not necessarily fully understood, by those who lived through it. Thus, I believe that attempts to define Hungarian cinema, partly or wholly, by the use of notions of control, government interference or censorship, or the idea that this was somehow a major element in the cinematic and cultural landscape are at best misplaced.
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C H A P T E R T W E LV E
Some Conclusions
Attempting to draw any conclusions and present a coherent overview of a director like István Szabó is not easy. Over the years his work has changed, sometimes subtly, sometimes dramatically and although it has a certain thematic coherence, in terms of narrative and style there is much variation, often from film to film, particularly in his early and middle work. In April 2005 Szabó, along with some others from the film world, gave a lecture under the general rubric of ‘Sources of Inspiration’. In this lecture he outlines one of his main ideas about cinema; he poses the question: ‘What is it that you can only have on the screen or even on television?’ (2005: 5). His answer, which echoes some of the ideas of Béla Balázs in the first half of the twentieth century,1 is that the camera uniquely and intimately captures the human face: ‘how an idea just born in front of you turns into another idea, how an emotion born just in front of you turns into other emotions – only on screen. And even the intimacy of the camera – you can never see another human face, not even in love, with the intimacy of the camera’ (ibid.). Szabó then links this idea to the notion of stars and stardom and this goes some way to FYQMBJOJOHIJTFOUIVTJBTNGPSDBTUJOHNBKPS PGUFO8FTUFSOTUBSTJONPTUPGIJTëMNT post-HanussenɨJTFNQIBTJTPOUIFGBDFBMTPFYQMBJOTIJTUFOEFODZ JOUIFMBUUFSQBSUPG his career, to opt for an increasingly streamlined, classical style of filmmaking. Taking the ‘long view’, there are a number of themes that recur again and again and it is here, in its thematic concerns, that Szabó’s ouevre achieves its greatest coherence. He has remarked on a number of occasions that he reworks some basic themes constantly. Particularly apparent in this respect is the theme of the individual (often an artist or performer of some description) trying to find his or her place in the world under trying and difficult circumstances, where principles, morality and basic human integrity are tested to the limit. He may well have been overstating the case but Szabó’s remark that, ‘Every film I’ve made is about the same thing – it’s about the individual’s search for security’ (quoted in Goulding 1994: 158) has a powerful resonance. 140
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From his very first feature film, The Age of Daydreaming, the problems encountered by various individuals and their search or struggle for a certain something (whatever that might be) to which they can anchor themselves and their life crops up time and again. In Father, Takó, as a boy and as a young man, has to discover how to come to terms with the various myths associated with the memory of his dead father; Emma and Böbe struggle to find economic stability and some love in a world which is becoming increasingly harsh, uncaring and materialistic and, as I have tried to analyse in some detail, Hendrik Höfgen, Alfred Redl and Hanussen all adopt different strategies to gain recognition, fame, acceptability or maintain some degree of independence in deeply disturbing and dangerous times. Julia feels her prominence and position threatened by simply growing old and by the pressure of a younger rival. In Sunshine, successive generations of the Sonnenschein/Sors family struggle with the dilemma of TFDVSJUZBOEBDDFQUBODF BTJUVBUJPONBEFBMMUIFNPSFDPNQMFYBOEQSFDBSJPVTCZUIF growing threat of anti-semitism and the rise of fascism. Furtwängler is tormented by his decision to stay in Hitler’s Germany and all that this entails. In these two films particularly Szabó brings together, in a concentrated and powerful form, many of the arguments and debates that had previously been scattered throughout his films. *IBWFBMSFBEZNFOUJPOFEPOBOVNCFSPGPDDBTJPOTUIFSFDVSSJOHUIFNFTPGFYJMF and emigration. Put at its most basic – should you go or stay? Given Hungary’s history JUJTIBSEMZTVSQSJTJOHUPëOEUIBUUIFRVFTUJPOPGFNJHSBUJOH FYJMF HPJOHPSTUBZJOHJT one which permeates many of Szabó’s films. As a theme, of varying weight, it features in Love Film, 25 Fireman’s Street, Mephisto, Meeting Venus, Sunshine and Taking Sides. Hungarian history is punctuated with moments where the question of going or staying was posed in a very direct manner, sometimes involving considerations of life and death. Yet, however black and white the considerations appear to be, it is never an easy choice and always seems to hold its own internal contradictions. In the aftermath of the 1919 Revolution, many on the Left who had supported the Republic of Councils fled. As already mentioned, in the 1930s Béla Bartók was faced with the choice PGWPMVOUBSZFYJMFPSUPMFSBUJOHBSFHJNFIFGPVOEJODSFBTJOHMZSFQVHOBOU BOEPUIFS artists, particularly those from a Jewish background (the comic actor Gyula Kabos, GPS FYBNQMF
GPVOE UIFNTFMWFT JO B TJNJMBS QPTJUJPO "GUFS UIF 4FDPOE8PSME8BS some on the Right, particularly those who collaborated with fascism, fled, while many, from across the political spectrum, left to avoid the occupying Soviet forces and the puppet regime they soon installed. During 1956 and its immediate aftermath, many thousands fled to the West and today on the streets of major British and French towns it is not that unusual to hear Hungarian being spoken – a testimony to a new wave of migrants, this time moving for primarily economic reasons. The reasons for leaving XFSF BOEOPEPVCUTUJMMBSF PGUFODPNQMFYBOEOPUBMXBZTTPMFMZSFMBUFEUPQPMJUJDBM factors. In Szabó’s films leaving Hungary is rarely an easy or straightforward decision and there are frequent discussions and arguments about the pros and cons of such action. In Love Film and 25 Fireman’s Street GPSFYBNQMF UIFSFBSFIFBUFEBSHVNFOUT about what course to follow but if the decision is to leave it is usually permanent, as with Kata in Love Film. In 25 Fireman’s Street FYJMFTXSJUFMFUUFSTIPNFDPNQMBJOJOH of problems but some prosper, some do not, and it is worth noting that the status of v i si on s of e u rope
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FYJMFEPFTOPUBVUPNBUJDBMMZCFTUPXWJSUVFoJOMeeting Venus the ’56-er who is now the manager of the Europa Opera House in Paris is a devious schemer not averse to getting into a punch-up with those he dislikes. Szabó’s most prolonged, if ultimately VOSFTPMWFE SVNJOBUJPOTBCPVUFYJMFDBOCFGPVOEJOTaking Sides. Acrimonious and DPNQMFY BSHVNFOUT BSF BJSFE GPS CPUI HPJOH BOE TUBZJOH 6MUJNBUFMZ 'VSUXÊOHMFS decided to stay and this was the decision adopted by the majority of the Hungarian filmmaking community in the wake of 1956. Although this parallel should not be stretched too far (despite frequent journalistic-type ‘slippage’, Nazism and Stalinism were quite different in some fundamental ways), the majority of Hungarian filmmakers did not compromise themselves in the same way that Furtwängler undoubtedly did, BOE*XPVMETVHHFTUUIBUUIFDSVYPGUIFEFCBUFIFSFJTOPUUIFJTTVFPGDPNQSPNJTF itself but the nature and details of that compromise. Some did leave, István Szőts (director of the classic People of the Mountains [Emberek a havason > GPSFYBNQMF but they were in a small minority. Szabó, of course, stayed and some of the complications of his position have already been discussed; so far in his career he has resisted any temptation to leave Hungary, other than to work on particular projects for specific, usually short, periods. The idea of going or staying can also be linked to the idea of community. When the community breaks down or is under serious threat, the temptation is to leave it behind for something else or, as the case may be, to try to join another community; QSPCBCMZUIFNPTUPCWJPVTFYBNQMFIFSFCFJOHUIFDPOWFSTJPOUP$BUIPMJDJTNPGDFSUBJO members of the Jewish Sors family. Many of Szabó’s films feature communities in one GPSNPSBOPUIFSBOEPUIFSFYBNQMFTDBOCFGPVOEJOBudapest Tales and 25 Fireman’s Street. Speaking in London in mid-2009 after a screening of Sweet Emma, Dear Böbe, one aspect of modern-day Hungary that Szabó decried was precisely the collapse of DPNNVOJUZ BOE MJLFXJTF UIF TFOTF PG TPDJBM TPMJEBSJUZ UIBU PODF FYJTUFE $PNNVOJUZ is important to Szabó and is brought to the fore in a number of his films. In Budapest Tales the community is forged out of hardship, the need for survival, a distinct sense of mutual purpose and a common goal (getting the tram back to the city), while in 25 Fireman’s Street the community has simply developed over time and, as most communities do, it adapts, redefines or renews its bonds and struggles as conditions and times change. However, community can have its downside and the inward-looking and often crude tribalism displayed in Relatives (which Szabó sees as a very Hungarian phenomenon) demonstrates how it can become distorted and end up as some kind of self-serving ‘stockade mentality’. 2VFTUJPOTPGTFDVSJUZ FYJMFBOEDPNNVOJUZ IPXFWFS EPOPUFYJTUJOBWBDVVN but within specific histories, and it is one of the major strengths of Szabó’s entire filmmaking career that he always devotes a lot of attention to this. Whether it is the Budapest of the immediate post-war period, of 1956 and its aftermath, or Weimar or Nazi Germany the viewer is left in little doubt as to the historical, social and political DPOUFYUPGUIFESBNBPOTDSFFOɨFIJTUPSJDBMNBSLFSTBSFBMNPTUBMXBZTDMFBSMZEFëOFE and in a number of his films a sense of time and place is emphasised by the use PGOFXTSFFMPSBSDIJWFGPPUBHF EJFHFUJDBOEFYUSBEJFHFUJD BTJOFather, Confidence, Colonel Redl, Hanussen, Sunshine and Taking Sides, although I would also suggest that 142
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this is not necessarily the prime role of these inserts; they also connect to specific BTQFDUTPGUIFESBNBBOEOBSSBUJWF"OFYDFQUJPOIFSFJTBeing Julia, which does not use any archive footage and, as already suggested, the England portrayed is a curious one-dimensional world of West End theatreland and middle-class thespian intrigue and navel-gazing, although there is a strong dramatic point to this. Another curiosity is Budapest Tales which opens with a string of archive images all taken from Budapest’s history but the rest of the film is curiously non-specific about its time and location. Setting aside these anomalies, the strong sense of history is apparent. Szabó’s notion and deployment of history, however, although very strong, is not one that owes much UPBUFYUCPPLJEFBPGIJTUPSZ"TBMSFBEZNFOUJPOFEIFFNQMPZTUIFVTVBMFYQFSUTBOE advisers – ‘to get the buttons on the uniform right’, as he once remarked to me – but UIFSFBSFBOVNCFSPGFYBNQMFTXIFSFIFHFUTUIJOHTAXSPOHBOEIJTUPSJBOT BTUIFZ GSFRVFOUMZEP IBWFRVFVFEVQUPQPJOUPVUUIFTFFSSPST+VTUUPHJWFPOFFYBNQMF JO Colonel Redl, the young Redl and his friend Kubinyi, after committing the offense of CSFBLJOHBXPPEFOTUBêJOBUSBJOJOHFYFSDJTF BSFNBEFUPTUSJQUPUIFXBJTUBOESVOB gauntlet of blows from their fellow cadets. The historian István Deák points out that officers (even juniors) in the Habsburg Army would not have been subjected to this treatment as it was reserved only for the lower ranks (see Niesson 1996). This is pretty small meat, although it should definitely not be dismissed; were historians to ignore these points then they would not be doing their job. Szabó may be guilty of these occasional errors of detail but he rarely plays around with history, say, in the way Mel Gibson does in his Braveheart (1995) where such a farrago of half-baked nonsense and ludicrous blue-faced tartanry is offered up that one does not know whether to KVTUMBVHIPSBTLUIFCPYPïDFGPSPOFTNPOFZCBDL/FWFSUIFMFTT IJTUPSZGPS4[BCØ is more than just well-researched data (or not so well-researched as the case may be); he gives us both history (generally, he does get the buttons right) but also and perhaps more importantly a sense or feel of that history. Robert A. Rosenstone argues the general point well: There has always been another kind of contribution to our understanding of the past, one that depends less upon data than upon what we might call vision, upon how we look at and think about and remember and make meaningful what remains of people and events […] The historical film is history as vision. (1995: 6) This idea of history as vision (as opposed to, say, history as document or record) seems a good way to approach the element of history in Szabo’s films, particularly in those films where a sense of history is important, if not central. The films where history is really central are, I would suggest, Mephisto, Colonel Redl, Hanussen, Sunshine and Taking Sides BOE UP B MFTTFS FYUFOU 25 Fireman’s Street, Father and Confidence. I am reminded of a comment by a history lecturer when I was at Ruskin College who was of the opinion that if you wanted a good introduction to ‘a sense’ of what England was like at the time of the Reform Acts of the nineteenth century then you would be well-advised to read George Eliot’s Middlemarch. Although fiction the writer imparts v i si on s of e u rope
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a strong sense of what it was like to actually be a part of English society at that time. Following in this vein it would be difficult to think of a film which captures the sense, or spirit or essence (the zeitgeist if you like), of the declining years of the Hapsburg Empire better than Colonel Redl, despite the deviations from the known and generally accepted history (which, of course, Szabó readily acknowledges in the opening credits) and its occasional factual errors. It is this sense of a powerful historical vision coupled with the attention to detail – that sense of emersion in a particular period and time – which is so strong in Szabó. He thus usually avoids the trap of some historical films, namely a lapse into nostalgia, the sense of a ‘Golden Age’ when life looked simpler, rosier, more hopeful than the unappealing reality of the present. The coherence of much of Szabó’s ouvre is not only manifested in similarities in theme and its overall approach to history. There is also a body of cross-references, and the use of names in particular, that reinforces the sense that this is a corpus of films that intersects and re-intersects at a whole range of points from the first film up to the latest. In my discussion of the individual films I have already mentioned some instances of the use of names and I now want to try and elaborate on this a little. Certain names appear more than once in Szabó’s films and the most obvious of these is Sonnenschein: Doctor Sonnenschein (played by András Bálint) figures in Colonel Redl, there is a character called Fényes (i.e. shiny) in Budapest Tales (again played by András Bálint) and, of course, Sonnenschein is also the original family name in Sunshine. The name Bettelheim, first encountered in Hanussen, resurfaces in Sunshine. As Emmanuel Sonnenschein is forcefully reminded by his wife, Sara Bettelheim is the cousin who he was not allowed to marry, creating a parallel to the affair between Ignátz and Valerie. 25 Fireman’s Street not only provides the title of the film, it is mentioned in Love Film and as 25 Feurwehrstrasse (Fireman’s Street in German) in Hanussen. Szabó sometimes plays around with his own name and I have already noted this with regard to Meeting Venus but it can also be found in Hanussen where the main character’s original family name was Schneider (German for tailor; Szabó is Hungarian for tailor). Moving JOUPNPSFDPNQMFYUFSSJUPSZ TPNFUJNFTOBNFTDBOIJEFBTXFMMBTTJHOJGZBQBSUJDVMBS aspect of a character and this also suggests a certain fluidity about identity. In Sunshine the name change is not just about a different label it is also partly about the drift UPXBSETBNPSFìFYJCMF BOETPDJBMMZBDDFQUBCMF QVCMJDQFSTPOBɨFSFBSFPUIFSUJNFT when characters change their names, temporarily or permanently – as in Confidence, Hanussen and Mephisto. Hendrik Höfgen’s original forename was Heinz, which can be a shortened version of Heinrich, but Höfgen does not care for this, preferring the grander sounding Hendrick. His dislike of his original name turns to intense irritation when Juliette deliberately taunts him by using it. There is, as already mentioned, the black humour of the scene in Hanussen where names are given to the anonymous dead soldiers who are dug up from a pit and reburied in individual graves. This is probably a good place to introduce a discussion of the representation of women in Szabó’s films. Women have rarely taken a back seat in Szabó’s films; even so his first three films are centred around the male actor András Bálint whose gentle, nonmacho persona is later counter-balanced by the strutting, aggressivity of Klaus Maria Brandauer in Mephisto, Colonel Redl and Hanussen; actresses, however, have leading 144
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roles in Confidence (Ildikó Bansági), Meeting Venus (Glenn Close), Being Julia (Annette Benning), Sweet Emma, Dear Böbe (Johanna Ter Steege and Enikő Börcsök) and The Door (Helen Mirren). They are also prominent in other films such as 25 Fireman’s Street and Budapest Tales and it is hard to spot any pattern in all of this. It is tempting to describe them as ‘strong women’ but this cliché really does not address the issues SBJTFEBOEXIFOFYBNJOFENBOZPGUIFTFXPNFOFYIJCJUDIBSBDUFSJTUJDTXIJDIBSFOPU that desirable: Julia has no qualms about publicly destroying a younger rival in the most humiliating of circumstances, Glenn Close’s opera diva only ceases to be a ‘cold fish’ in the arms of a man and, given the choice, I am sure most people would prefer OPUUPIBWF)FMFO.JSSFOT&NFSFODFBTBOFYUEPPSOFJHICPVS8IFORVFTUJPOFE Szabó has not been particularly helpful. In an interview he suggested that, ‘Women stand closer to nature, to every part of nature, including blood, than men … For that very reason, they are less likely to fall prey to the attractions of history, they are more able to safeguard their identity than men’ (quoted in Suleiman 2006: 119). It is difficult to know what to make of this and it smacks of what might be called ‘biological essentialism’ or ‘biological destiny’ as in the ‘men are from Mars, women are from Venus’ idea. However, although it displays a certain ‘Old World’ charm, as an idea it JTBTUPOJTIJOHMZWBHVF XIJMFUIFNFOUJPOPGACMPPE JOKVTUBCPVUBOZPUIFSDPOUFYU would sound quite ominous. What precisely are the ‘attractions of history’? It is also profoundly patronising and probably should not be taken that seriously. Early in my discussion I suggested the idea (certainly not an original one) that Szabó’s early films are those of a generation and this observation, to do it full justice, must be followed up, developed and brought up to date. The generation that ‘came of age’, as it were, between 1956 and the time of The Age of Daydreaming (1965) has now seen something like five decades pass by. It is a generation that if not already in retirement is approaching it and, of course, many are dead, including a number of Szabó’s former colleagues from his days at the Film Academy. At the time of writing these lines Szabó is 75 years old. He is now part of a venerable tradition of Eastern and Central European directors and, I want to be absolutely clear about this, of a generation that has produced some of the finest work ever seen on the screen anywhere in the world. It is the generation of Wajda, Menzel, Forman and Dušan Makavejev, to name only a few. That fact alone should never be forgotten. However, the tradition needs to be discussed honestly and not put up on a pedestal, and I think this has happened too often in the 8FTU/PXJTQFSIBQTBHPPEUJNFGPSBDSJUJDBMCVUGSJFOEMZSFFYBNJOBUJPO Szabó and his friends, such as Miklós Jancsó, while at times under pressure from the political system that was foisted on them, and in Szabó’s case very real BOEQBJOGVMQSFTTVSF BMTPCFOFëUUFEGSPNUIBUTZTUFN1BSBEPYJDBMMZ ëMNNBLFSTJO Central Europe were able, often, to work in conditions which would be the envy of their Western counterparts. Usually, money and facilities were available for whatever project was undertaken and the time was made available. Filmmakers were a favoured community, important to the Kádár regime and were granted privileges – such as Jancsó’s sojourn in Italy – that others could only dream of. Whatever the crimes of the old system, and one could fill a few books on this topic (as a number of writers have already done), nevertheless they treated their filmmakers reasonably well when v i si on s of e u rope
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it came to the nuts and bolts of the filmmaking craft. The films are the ultimate testimony to this. The downside of this is that over the years I would suggest a kind of ‘Boys’ Club’ atmosphere developed where the established auteurs often received (and perhaps in TPNFDBTFTFYQFDUFE UIFMJPOTTIBSFPGTUBUFGVOEJOH NVDIUPUIFDIBHSJOPGOFX younger filmmakers who often saw themselves as marginalised or pushed to the ‘back of the queue’. With the system change a new generation of filmmakers has emerged who are less reverent to the ‘Boys’ Club’, less indebted to notions of art or auteur cinema and eager to portray the often grubby and sometimes unpleasant face of present-day Central and Eastern Europe. Their films (often working on very small budgets) are populated not by alienated geniuses, artists, intellectuals or historical figures but by youngsters driven by rock or rap music, the marginalised, petty criminals, Gypsies and other minorities, prostitutes, gays, lesbians, drug addicts and drug runners, peoplesmugglers and the unemployed. It is the world of the Budapest teenagers of Paper Planes (Papírrepülők, 2009), directed by Simon Szabó (no relation), which ends with nothing more than a clumsy blowjob by the Danube, or the rather sad, narrow world of the overweight nurse in Ágnes Kocsis’s Adrienne Pál (2010). It is the booze-riddled, feuding world of Gypsies, immigrants and misfits in Aron Gauder’s brilliant animation feature Ninth District (Nyockér, 2004) or the people-smugglers in the Slovenian film Spare Parts (Reservni deli, 2004) by Damjan Kožle, or the boozers of Misfits (Mistři, 2004) by Czech director Marek Najbrt; it is the blighted world of Iszka the young girl miserably eking her life out in a god-forsaken former mining town in Romania in Csaba Bollók’s Iszka’s Journey (Iszka utazása, 2007), or the illegal and almost botched abortion in 4 Months, 3 Weeks, & 2 Days (Christian Mungiu, Romania, 2007); it is the shifting, unstable, transnational world of the migrant as seen in Pawel Pawlikowski’s Last Resort from 2000, which, although set in a seedy out-of-season Margate (a holiday resort on the southeast coast of England) is a film which speaks volumes about Eastern &VSPQFBOT PS JO UIJT DBTF 3VTTJBOT
UIFJS VOGVMëMMFE FYQFDUBUJPOT BOE UIF AOFX Europe with a biting, critical and contemporary rawness also found in Szabó’s Sweet Emma, Dear Böbe. The list could go on. None of this is meant as a criticism of István Szabó – we all grow old and newer generations arise and challenge the assumptions and practices by which we have worked for many years (a theme which Szabó himself has addressed). This happens in film as in any art form, in fact in just about any walk of life, including until recently my own – the somewhat rarefied world of academic film studies. This is, on the whole, a good thing and to be welcomed. Many new, young Hungarian filmmakers, making their mark in recent years (the most recent – the so-called ‘Fifth Generation’), were only children at the time of the system change and there is now an almost seismic shift in Hungarian filmmaking. The cultural landscape has diversified and fragmented and the old guard no longer hold the positions they did. Talking and listening to these new, younger directors I get the sense that although there is respect for the older generation, much of the reverence has gone. They are not seen as models to emulate and, hardly surprising, they wish to branch out in directions of their own. I do not wish to suggest that Szabó and his contemporaries are past their ‘sell-by 146
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date’ and resentful of these developments or of the new generation. On the contrary, I have heard Szabó say many complimentary things about younger filmmakers such BT,PSOÏM.VOESV[DØ XIJMF.JLMØT+BODTØ UPUBLFBOFYBNQMFPGBOPUIFSWFUFSBO JT well-known in the Hungarian film community for his encouragement and support of young directors. Szabó is well aware of these shifts in taste and artistic and cultural attitude and puts it down mainly to generational factors. He recounted, at our last meeting, how disappointed he was that, when giving a class to a group of university students and talking at length about Fellini’s 8½ (which Szabó greatly admires), that the students were unresponsive. When he asked about their lack of enthusiasm for the film they replied that they were not interested in it. It simply was not their kind of film. Probing a little further Szabó discovered that what they really wanted to talk about was Quentin Tarentino and Pulp Fiction. Generations develop different tastes and outlooks, nor is this confined just to the world of film. In Hungary new HFOFSBUJPOT PG NVTJDJBOT GPS FYBNQMF BSF FYQFSJNFOUJOH XJUI BOE DIBOHJOH PMEFS GPSNTUIVT UPUBLFPOFFYBNQMF UIFCBOE'BLVUZB&OTFNCMFGVTFSPDLXJUIUIFPMEFS more traditional dancehouse (táncház) music. This groundswell in changes in taste, approaches to art and popular culture can be seen just about anywhere but is, I think, particularly apparent in Hungary and other Eastern European countries where generational changes have been accompanied by profound social and economic changes, the one reinforcing the other. And the changes have not only been social, political and economic. Szabó is now one of the few remaining personalities of the generation discussed earlier, a situation made even more pronounced by the death of Miklós Jancsó in early 2014. The restricted cultural climate in Hungary under the government of Viktor Orbán may not have affected him directly but it has no doubt affected filmmaking as a whole in Hungary. The withdrawal of of Béla Tarr from film directing (in 2012) along with the migration of some Hungarian directors to look for possibilities abroad suggests that options within Hungary are no longer what they were. In this changing world, it is reasonable to pose the question, where does Szabó now fit in? Has he retreated into a ‘safe zone’, taking ever longer between projects? His last three features are all adaptations, as was his aborted Antál Szerb project and his latest film – the adaptation of the Magda Szabó novel, The Door, only reinforces this perception of a turn towards adaptation. Do these choices suggest that he is now most at home in the sphere of literary adaptation and that he has relatively little to say about contemporary Hungary and, in this respect, can Sweet Emma, Dear Böbe be regarded as a one-off? Whether intentionally or not, has he turned to adaptations where, with his ability to attract large budgets (by Hungarian standards), he can engage his favoured big name actors – both Hungarian and foreign – and ignore or sideline other modes of working and topics? It is, of course, a possibility but only time will tell and this and other questions must be left to another author and another time. Whatever question marks I have tentatively raised about Szabó’s future there is no doubt that, even if he stopped filmmaking tomorrow, he will have left us a body of films that rank among some of the best in the world, particularly in the way they engage with a specific time and place, Europe – but particularly Central Europe – in the v i si on s of e u rope
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twentieth century. I would suggest that at least four of these films – Father, Mephisto, Sunshine and Taking Sides – are works of lasting permanency and outstanding merit. Whether or not the current phase of adaptations (Being Julia, Relations, The Door) ends up in a kind of artistic cul-de-sac remains to be seen. Fortunately, it looks as if István Szabó will be around for some time – so there will no doubt be more films to come and a final assessment must, of necessity, be deferred.
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NOTES
Chapter 1 1.
2.
3.
The so-called ‘Village writers’ (sometimes referred to as ‘Populists’) were a loosely defined, politically heterogeneous group who focused on peasant and rural life and its problems. They included Péter Veres, József Erdélyi, Gyula Illés and Géza Féja – who wrote one of this group’s best known works, Stormy Corner (Viharsarok). One of their major inspirations was Zsigmond Móricz whose novel, Relatives (Rokonok) Szabó adapted for the screen. Treaty of Trianon, 1919; part of the process of the post-war Versailles Treaty discussions about the future of Europe and the Middle East. So called because the proceedings, concerned solely with the fate of Hungary, were conducted in the Trianon Pavillion. The Allies agreed to dismember Greater Hungary thus reducing its size by around two thirds. The full story is told in Cartledge (2009). Admiral Horthy’s own, rather unreliable account is told in his Memoirs (1957). His daughter-in-law, Ilona Edelsheim Gyulai, tells her story in Honour and Duty (2005). See also Thomas Sakmyster’s Hungary’s Admiral on Horseback: Miklós Horthy 1918–1944 (1999).
Chapter 2 1.
2.
3.
For various essays and a full filmography of Mariassy’s work, see the Special Issue of Filmspirál 31, Balogh et al. (2003) published by the Hungarian National Archive, (in Hungarian). Szabó, at least in conversation with me, seemed to prefer not to discuss influences POIJTXPSLJOBOZEFUBJM$MFBSMZ 5SVêBVU #FSHNBOBOEUPTPNFFYUFOU'FMMJOJ once loomed large on his horizon. The BBS was not, strictly speaking, a studio and as its ‘First Commandment’ was that all shooting was done on location; studios were rarely used. It had very few
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technical facilities at its disposal and used other studio’s resources (editing facilitites etc) and equipment. Chapter 3 1.
2.
3.
The influence of this film by Munk is discussed by César Ballester in his interesting article ‘Subjectivism, uncertainty and individuality: Munk’s Człowiek na torze/Man on the Tracks (1956) and its influence on the Czech New Wave’ (2011). Although Ballester concentrates on the film’s influence on the Czechs, he also suggests that it resonated in other Eastern European countries. Hirsch develops this argument further in Afterimage: Film, Trauma and the Holocaust (2004). His chapter on Szabó, which unfortunately does not include any discussion of Sunshine DPOUBJOTNVDIPGJOUFSFTUBMUIPVHIUIJT UPTPNFFYUFOU depends on whether or not you accept his Freudian analysis. Miklós Radnóti (1909–1944). A popular and highly respected Hungarian poet, he was shot by Hungarian soldiers while a prisoner in a Labour Battalion. His last QPFNTXFSFGPVOEJOBOPUFCPPLXIFOIJTCPEZXBTFYIVNFEBOEXFSFQVCMJTIFE posthumously.
Chapter 5 Anyone looking for historical accuracy about Redl must look elsewhere. Of particular importance are the contemporary accounts of journalists such as Egon &SWJO,JTDIXIPëSTUFYQPTFEUIFBêBJS 3PCFSU"TQFSZTThe Panther’s Feast and UIFDIBQUFSEFWPUFEUPUIF3FEMBêBJSJO'SFEFSJD.PSUPOTFYDFMMFOUThunder at Twilight: Vienna 1913/1914. 2. ɨFUFYUPGA Patriot for Me can be found in John Osbourne: Plays Vol. 3. (1998). 3. The ‘Sissi’ films – a very popular trilogy (1955–57) depicted the youth and amorous adventures of members of the Habsburg dynasty and starred a young Romy Schneider. The films are regularly re-broadcast every Christmas on German and Austrian TV. 1.
Chapter 6 1.
I included part of this quote in my earlier book on Hungarian cinema, minus the FYQMFUJWF BOBDUPGTFMGDFOTPSTIJQ ɨJTJTUIFDPSSFDUWFSTJPO
Chapter 7. 1.
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István Bibó (1911–1979), centre-left theoretician who became a Minister in the government of Imre Nagy during the 1956 Revolution. His essay ‘The Jewish Question After 1944’ was published in 1948. In the wake of the defeat of the
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Revolution he was arrested and sentenced to life imprisonment. He was released under an amnesty in 1963. Chapter 8 1.
In sharp contrast to the opinions of Barenboim and Menuhin, the historian Frederic Spotts is very critical of Furtwängler (see Spotts 2003: 289–307).
Chapter 9 1.
1VCMJTIFEJO&OHMJTICZ1VTILJO1SFTT XJUIBUSBOTMBUJPOCZ-FO3JY 2. 1VCMJTIFEJO&OHMJTICZ7JOUBHF1SFTT XJUIBUSBOTMBUJPOCZ-FO3JY Chapter 10 1. 2.
Gervai has written at some length about this in his book Fedőneve: ‘szocializmus’ (Code Name: ‘Socialism’ ). Unfortunately, this is only available in Hungarian. Some of the issues relating to the past and its re-evaluation in the Post-Communist era are discussed in István Rév’s study Retroactive Justice (2005).
Chapter 11 1.
The idea of the pervasiveness and centrality of censorship in Central and Eastern Europe nevertheless seems to persist. In 2012, I was invited to speak on a BBC arts programme about Béla Tarr’s film The Turin Horse where, despite all my efforts, the interviewer remained adamant that censorship was an absolutely central concept in understanding the cinema of this region.
Chapter 12 1.
See in particular Balázs’s work Visible Man or the Culture of Film, originally published in 1924 and re-published in a new translation in 2010 in Béla Balázs: Early Film Theory. It should also be remembered that Szabó became acquainted with Balázs’s ideas at an early age.
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FILMOGRAPHY
This filmography has been compiled from the following sources: Hungarian Feature Films 1931–98, published by the Hungarian Film Institute, 1999; International Movie Database (IMDb); Metropolis 2003/3 Special István Szabó issue; Film Year Book (Filmévkönyv) published annually by the Hungarian Film Institute; Short Films (Rövidfilmek) published by the Hungarian Film Institute, 1981; Filmkultura website; Monthly Film Bulletin; Sight and Sound; British Film Institute Film and Database. Readers who wish to purchase any of these films will, unfortunately, have some TFBSDIJOH UP EP )PXFWFS UIF FYDFMMFOU -POEPOCBTFE 4FDPOE 3VO %7% DPNQBOZ have released superb editions of Father and Confidence in recent years. The Door has been released on DVD in Hungary by MOKÉP and the Hungarian National Film Archive (MNFA) has released editions of The Age of Daydreaming and Father. Colonel Redl is available on DVD from Anchor Bay Entertainment. Steadying the Boat is available from BBC Scotland. You..., Szabó’s short film from 1962 is available on a DVD collection, Beginnings (Kezdetek), issued by the Műcsarnok art gallery, Budapest, as part of a series of releases of some of the major films made by the Béla Balázs Studio. VHS copies of his other films may still be available. Notes: There is a small problem with the term ‘dramaturg’. When this is translated it is sometimes rendered as ‘script editor’, which I feel is inadequate. As no really TVJUBCMF"OHMP4BYPOFRVJWBMFOUFYJTUT*IBWFMFGUJUJOUIFPSJHJOBM*IBWFEJêFSFOUJated between Szabó’s infrequent acting appearances (listed under ‘Actor’) and his more frequent ‘Hitchcockian’ mini-cameos (not all of which I can claim to have spotted) which are not mentioned. Where two cast names are provided the latter name indicates the Hungarian actor or actress who has dubbed for a non-Hungarian. Director (Feature films, short films, documentaries and TV) 1959 On the Seventh Day (A hetedik napon) NJOTCX &YBNëMN
Screenplay: István Szabó Cinematogphy: László Lugossy Studio: Budapest Film Academy Cast: György Kézdi; Éva Timar; Iván Verebely 152
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1960 Hercules’ Bath Souvenir (Herkulesfürdői emlék) CX &YBNëMN
Screenplay: István Szabó Studio: Budapest Film Academy (The film is lost) Bill Poster (Plakátragasztó. In some sources: Plakátfalak) CX &YBNëMN
Screenplay: István Szabó Studio: Budapest Film Academy (The film is lost) Ruth Freidenheim CX &YBNëMN
Screnplay: István Szabó (based on The Disciples of Jesus, a short story by the German writer Leonhard Frank, 1882– 1961) Studio: Budapest Film Academy (The film is lost) 1961 Variations on a Theme (Variációk egy témára) 13 mins. b/w Screenplay: István Szabó Cinematographer: Tamás Vámos Editor: Zsuzsa Fazekas Sound: István Bélai Music; Arcangelo Corelli &YFDVUJWF1SPEVDFS"OESÈT/ÏNFUI Studio: Béla Balázs 1962 – Budapest, Second Prize, 3rd Hungarian Short Film Festival, Report and Documentary Film Category 1962 Concert (Koncert) 51 mins. b/w. (Diploma film) Screenplay: István Szabó Cinematographer: Tamás Vámos Editor: Zoltán Kerényi Music: Vujisics Tihamér Sound: István Bélai &YFDVUJWF1SPEVDFS"OESÈT/ÏNFUI Studio: Béla Balázs and Budapest Film Academy Cast: Katalin Gyöngyösy, Judit Tóth, Erika Szegedi, Klári Falvay, Sándor Siménfalvy, Géza Berczy, Ferenc Palotai, György Kézdy, Lajos Németh, Gábor Koncz, László Horesnyi, Tamás Erös,
Péter Szasz, Sándor Simó, József Lorinc, László Steiner, Matyás Sándorné. 1962 – Budapest, Hungarian Critics Prize; London, Honourable Mention 1963 – Amsterdam, Academy Prize; Oberhausen Festival Jury Diploma, You (Te – szerelmesfilm) 8 mins. b/w Screenplay: István Szabó Cinematographer: Tamás Vámos &YFDVUJWFQSPEVDFS"OESÈT/ÏNFUI Studio: Béla Balázs Cast: Cecília Esztergályos 1963 – First Prize, 4th Hungarian Short Film Festival, Budapest; Prizes at: Cannes, Tours, San Francisco 1964 – Oberhausen; Adelaide; Vienna; Melbourne; Vancouver; Krakow; Mannheim 1965 The Age of Daydreaming aka The Age of Ilusions (Álmodozások kora) 105 mins. b/w Screenplay: István Szabó Cinematographer: Tamás Vámos Editor: Sándor Zákonyi Sound: György Pintér Music: Péter Eötvös Costume: Asztalos Lajosné Director’s assistants: Nándor Kóvacs, Gábor Oláh Animation: József Nepp Production manager: György Szivó Studio director: János Herskó Studio: MAFILM 3 Játékfilmstudió Release date: 11 Feb. 1965 Cast: András Bálint, Ilona Béres, Judit Halász, Katalin Sólyom, Cecília Esztergályos, Béla Asztalos, Tamás Erőss, László Murányi, István Dekány, Miklós Gábor, Imre Sinkovits, János Rajz, István v i si on s of e u rope
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Bujtor, Dorottya Géczy, Frédi Háber, Károly Kovalik, Marta Korányi 1965 – Hungarian Film Festival, Pécs, Special Jury Prize; Silver Sail, Locarno Traffic Rules Tale for Children – You have to know this! (Kresz-mese gyerekeknek – ezt neked is tudni kell!) 14 mins. b/w Screenplay: István Szabó Cinematographer: Iván Lakatos Editor: Sándor Vákonyi Sound: György Pinter &YFDVUJWF1SPEVDFS(ZÚSHZ'BMVT Advisor: Béla Csanádi Studio: MAFILM Propaganda Stúdiója 1968 – Teherán Category A Best Film 1966 Father (Apa –Egy hit naplója) 98 mins. b/w Screenplay: István Szabó Dramaturg: János Herskó Cinematographer: Sándor Sára Editor: János Rózsa Sound: György Pintér Music: János Gonda Costume: Erzsébet Mialkovsky Production manager: Tibor Hranitzky Studio manager: János Herskó Studio: MAFILM Játékfilmstúdió Release date: 8 Dec. 1966 Cast: Miklós Gábor, András Bálint, Dániel Erdély, Klári Tolnay, Zsuzsa Ráthonyi, Katalin Sólyom, Rita Békés, Judit Halász, Anna Nagy, Zsuzsa Balogh, Judit Zsolnai, Teréz Nagy, Ila Lóth, Géza Pártos, Béla Asztalos, Géza Böszörményi, Lajos Pozsár, András Kozák, Ervin Csomák, Gyula Koltai, György Kézdy, József Madaras, László Balogh, Ilona Petényi, László Sztáno, Mátyás Eörsi, Gabi Bertha, Károly Versits, Győző Orgon, István Raits, Gábor Algács, 154
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László Bakos, Balogh Istvánné, Elek Dániel 1967 – Hungarians Film Critics Prize; Cannes, Director’s Prize; Acapulco; Locarno; Moscow; Vallodalid, Best Screenplay 1967 Homage aka Piety (Kegyelet) 14 mins. b/w Screenplay: István Szabó Cinematography: Sándor Sára Sound: György Pinter &YFDVUJWF1SPEVDFST5JCPS%FNÏOZ Tibor Hranitzky Studio: Mafilm 3 Studio Manager: János Herskó 1968 Quarantine on the Border (Vesztegzár a határon) Episode 3 of Season 1 of the TV series Bors 58 mins. b/w 8SJUFST+ÈOPT'àMÚQ .JLMPT,ÚMMƸ Cast: István Sztankay, Imre Antal, István Iglódi, József Madaras, István Szilágyi, Károly Gyulai, József Fonyó Studio: Hungarian Television (Magyar Televizió) 1970 Lovefilm aka A film About Love (Szerelemesfilm) 134 mins. colour Screenplay: István Szabó Cinematographer: József Lőrinc Editor: György Sivó Music: János Gonda Art director: Tamás Vayer Costume designer: Erzsébet Mialkovszky Production manager: Tîbor Dimény Studio manager: János Herskó Studio: MAFILM 3. Játékfilmstúdió
Release date: 8 Oct 1970 Cast: András Bálint, Judit Halász, Edit Kelemen, András Szamosfalvy, Éva Berényi, Mária Boga, Erzsébet Mialkovszky, Ervin Csomák, Rita Békés, Erika Kúnszenti, Lucyna Winnicka, György Aranyossy, Tamás Erőss, Mária Bajcsay, Péter Huszti, Gyula Machánszky, Maca Gonda, Kati Andai, #ÏMB'BMVEJ 7FSB(ZàSFZ *WÈO.ÈOEZ István Dékány, Lajos Pozsár, Gizella Ramshorn, Béla Asztalos. 1971 – Kőszeg: Hungarian Youth Prize 1971 Budapest, Why I Love It (Budapest amiért szeretem) Dream About a House (Álom a házrol) 11 mins. colour 1972 – Oberhausen Main Prize Mirror (Tükor) 3 mins. colour Danube: Fish, Birds (Duna: Halakmadarak) 11 mins. colour Portrait of a Girl (Lányportré) 7 mins. colour Square (Tér) 11 mins. colour Dawn (Hajnal) 7 mins. colour Sunset (Alkony) 6 mins. colour Screenplay: István Szabó Cinematography: József Lőrinc Editor: Klára Iványi
Music: Zdenkó Tamőssy Sound: György Pinter diszlet: József Romvári jelmez: Erzsébet Mialkovszky Studio: Mafilm, Propagandafilm 1973 25 Fireman’s Street (Tűzoltó utca 25) 98 mins. colour Screenplay: István Szabó Dramaturg: Luca Karall Cinematographer: Sándor Sára Editor: János Rózsa Music: Zdenkó Tamássy Sound: György Pintér; György Kovács Art director: József Romvári Costume designer: Erzsébet Mialkovszky Special effects: György Németh Screenplay consultants: Zsuzsa Takács; Péter Lengyel Camera operator: Péter Jankura Production manager: Tibor Demény 4UVEJPNBOBHFS*TUWÈO/FNFTLàSUZ Studio: Játékfilm Release date: 27 Sept 1973 Cast: Lucyna Winnicka-Magda Kohut (Maria), Margit Makay (Maria’s mother), Károly Kovács (Maria’s father), András Bálint (Andris), Erzsi Pástor, Rita Békes (Mrs. Gaskóy), Ervin Csomák, Edit Lenkey, János Jani, Zoltán Zelk, Ági Margitai, Kati Andai, Mari Szamai, Iván .ÈOEZ 1ÏUFS.àMMFS 4ÈOEPS;ÈLPOZJ Magda Darvas, Erwin Geschonnek, Hédi Temessy, Ági Mészárosz, András Békes, Béla Asztalos, Zsuzsa Gordon, Ilona Bakos,György Bánffy, Ági Mednyánszky, Mária Majczen, Irén Bódis, Ernő Szénási,Netta Újvári, Gyula Gazdag, Antal Farkas, Árpád Kóti, Zoltán Kovasics, Erzsi Kőmivés,Katalin Sólyom, Edit Soós 1974 – Hungarian Critics Prize for Cinematography, Best Female Actress v i si on s of e u rope
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Rita Békes; Locarno: Golden Leopard; Atlanta: Best Foreign Film 1974 Word Premiere (Ösbemutató) 67 mins. b/w Screenplay: István Szabó, Ferenc Karinthy Dramaturg: Tamas Sipos Cinematographer: Gyula Borni Editor: Vera Selmeczi Music: Zdenkó Tamássy Sound: György Pinter Studio: Hungarian TV (Magyar Televizió) Cast: Miklós Gábor, Mária Gór Nagy, András Kern, Éva Timar, Teri Tordai, Hédi Temessy, Gábor Mádi Szabó, Piroska Molnár 1976 Budapest Tales (Budapesti mesék) 89 mins. colour Screenplay: István Szabó (from an idea by Szabó) Dramaturg: Luca Karall Cinematographer: Sándor Sára Editor: János Rózsa Music: Zdenko Tamássy Sound: György Pinter Art director: József Romvári Costume designer: Fanny Kemenes Production manager: Lajos Óvári; András Ozorai Studio manager: Miklós Köllő Studio: Hunnia Release date: 17 March 1977 Cast: András Bálint (Fényes), Ági Mészáros (Aunt Gréti), Károly Kovács, Franciszek Pieczka-Mádi Szabó Gábor, Szymon Szurmiej-Zoltán Gera (Doctor), Rita Békes, József Madaras, Ildikó Bánsági, Maja Komorowska, Zoltán Huszárik, Vilmos Kun, Sándor 156
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Halmágyi, Irén Bódis, János Jani, Kati Fráter, Elemér Szilágyi, Pál Horváth, Lehel Óhidy, Szilvia Szabó Tóth, Lajos Racz, László Guj 1977 City Map (Várostérkep) 17 mins. colour Screenplay: István Szabó Cinematographer: Gábor Szabó Editor: Zsuzsa Csákány Sound: György Fék Studio: Máfilm, Híradó és Dokumentumfilm Stúdió Studio Manager: Attila Fehérvári 1977 – Oberhausen Prize; Miskolc: Honvéd Ministry Prize 1978 Sunday Places (Helyszínek vasárnap) 11 mins. colour Screenplay: István Szabó Cinematographer: Gábor Szabó Editor: Zsuzsa Csákány Sound: György Fék Studio: Máfilm, Hiradó és Dokumentumfilm Stúdió Studio Manager: Attila Fehérvári 1977 – Oberhausen Main Prize 1979 The Green Bird (Der grüne vogel; Zöld madár) 96 mins. colour Screenplay: István Szabó Cinematographer: Lajos Koltai Dramaturg: Rolf von Sydow Editor: Eva-Maria Grohmann Music: Peter Thomas, Frédéric Chopin Set designer: Antje Petersen Costume: Antje Petersen Sound: Jochen Schwarzat Director’s Assistants: Angela Petrik, Ernestie Kahn
&YFDVUJWFQSPEVDFST)BSPME .VDIBNFUPW (àOUFS1BUFJTLJ 3JDIBSE Malbequi Studio: Manfed Durniok Film und Fernsehproduction (West Berlin), SR 4BBSCSàDLFO Producer: Manfred Durniok Cast: Hannelore Elsner (Dr. Renate Winter), Krystyna Janda (Katzka Widuchowski), Johanna Elbauer (Barbara), Rolf von Sydow (German Porofessor), Andreas Briegel (Dr. Ewald), Angela Jaffé (Renata’s daughter), Danuta Saflarska, Piotr Galicki,Tadeusz Borowki, Andrzej Chrzanowki, Fredl Strasny, Kraus Kreklau, Rolf Dieter Kusatsz, Wilfried Effenberger 1980 Confidence (Bizalom) 115 mins. colour Screenplay: István Szabó Writer: Erika Szantó Dramaturg: Zsuzsa Biró Cinematographer: Lajos Koltai Editor: Zsuzsa Csákány Music: Tibor Polgár Sound: György Fék Art designer: József Romvári Costume designer: Teréz Mátrai Consultants: Vera Varga, János Rósza Singing: Katalin Karády Lyrics: Tibor Polgár Production Manager: Lajos Óvári 4UVEJP)FBE+Ø[TFG.BSY Studio: Objektív Release date: 10 January 1980 Cast: Péter Andorai (János), Ildikó Bánsági (Kata), Lajos Balázsovits (Kata’s husband), Zoltán Bezerédi (Páli), Judit Halász (János’s wife), Tamás Dunai (àOUIFS)PêNBO
*MEJLØ,JTIPOUJ (Erzsi), Károly Kovács (waiter), Danielle du Tombe (Elza), Gombik Oszkarné
(old lady), Károly Csáki (old man), Gyula Gazdag (man) 1980: Budapest Award; Berlin: Silver Bear; 1981: Academy Award nomination: Best Foreign Film; 1983: Tokyo, Culture Minister’s Award 1981 Mephisto 154 mins. colour Screenplay: Péter Dobos, István Szabó (based on the novel by Klaus Mann) Dramaturg: János Rózsa Cinematographer: Lajos Koltai Editor: Zsuzsa Csákány Music: Zdenkó Tamássy, Béla Reinitz, ,BSM.JMMÚDLFS 'FMJY.FOEFMTPIO Ferenc Liszt, Johann Strauss, J. Meissner Sound: György Fék Art director: József Romvári Costume designer: Ágnes Gyarmathy Adviser: Bertalan Papp, Sándor Zeidler Choreography: Mária Ligeti, Béla Szirmai Lyrics: Heinrich Heine, Klabund, Erich .àITBN "OESÈT4[FSFEÈT Singing: Magda Kalmár Production manager: Lajos Óvári 4UVEJP)FBE+Ø[TFG.BSY Production company: Objektív Stúdió, .BOGSFE%VSOJPL1SPEVLUJPO'àS'JMN und Fersehen Date of release: 8 October 1981 Cast: Klaus Maria Brandauer (Hendrik Höfgen), Ildikó Bánsági (Nicolette van Niebuhr), Krystyna Janda – Erzsébet Kútvölgyi (Barbara Bruckner), Rolf Hoppe-Tibor Szilágyi (President), György Cserhalmi (Hans Miklás), Péter Andorai (Otto Urlichs), Karin Boyd – Nóra Kálda (Juliette), Christine Harbort – Mári Csomós (Lotte Lindenthal), Tamás Major (Theatre director Kroge), Ildikó Kishonti (Dora Martin), Mária v i si on s of e u rope
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Bisztray (Mrs Motz), Sándor Lukács (Rolf Bonetti), Ágnes Bánfalvy (Angelika Siebert), Judit Hernádi (Rachel), Vilmos Kun (Inspector Knorr), Ida Versényi (Mrs Efeu, prompter), István Komlós (Böck, dresser), Sári Gencsy (Bella Höfgen), ZdzisławMrożeweski (Councillor Bruckner), Stanislava Strobachová (wife of the President), Károly Újlaky (Sebastian), Martin Hellberg (Theatre director in Berlin), Katalin Sólyom (Miss Bernhardt, theatre secretary), György Bánffy (Faust), Teri Tordai (Lennie, sculptor), Hédy Temesi (Banker’s wife), David Robinson (David Robinson, Times critic), Géza Kovács .àMMFS"OESFBT DSJUJD
*SÏO#PSEÈO (film actress), Oszkár Gáti (film actor), Ödön Rubold (aide de camp) 1981: Cannes, Best Screenplay, FRIPECSI prize. 1982: Academy Award (Oscar), Best Foreign Language Film; Rome, David Donatello Award for Best Foreign Film; London: British Film Critics Award and Best Foreign Film 1982 Letter to His Father (Levél apámhoz) 20 mins. colour Writer: Franz Kafka Translation: Ede Szabó Cinematographer: Iván Márk Art director: Lívia Mátay Sound: István Herbert Cast: András Bálint (Franz Kafka) Studio: Magyar Televizió (Hungarian Television) Studio Head: Géza Wéber Catsplay (Katsenspiel, Macskajáték) 85 mins. colour Screenplay: István Szabó, based on István Örkény’s story of the same name Cinematographer: Lajos Koltai 158
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Dramaturg; Ulrich Nagel Editor: Elke Niemietzek-Carmincke, Lutz Carmincke Sound: Peter Blattner Costume: Ágnes Gyarmathy Director’s assistants: Richard Sternd, (àOUIFS/BVNBOO Cast: Maria Becker (Mrs Orbán) Joanna Maria Gartin (Giza), Tane Tilden (Paula), Helmut Qualtinger (Viktor), Loni von Friedel (Ilona), Elizabeth Stefanek (Egérke) Studio: Telefilmstaar Saarlandischen Rundfunks 1983 Bali 90 mins. colour Screenplay: István Szabó Cinematographer: Lajos Koltai Dramaturg: Peter Göbbels Editor: Susanne Hart Music: Eberherd Schoener Set designer: Olaf Schiefner, Thomas Scheppet Costume: Marianne Emrath Director’s assistants: Richard Ster, Wilma Pradetto Sound: Lothar Mankiewitz Cast: Winfried Glatzeder (Michael Stern), Loni von Friedl (Martina Hillenbrink), Michael König (Henning Carius), Viola Sauer (Amegret Beil), Frankie Singen (Sibylle Stern), Nicole )FFTUFST (SJG.BSUFOT
3PHFS)àCOFS Milena Gregor (Stern children), Béla Ernyei (Geza Tassy), Volkert Kraeft (Thoma von Meerhofen), Heidelotte Diel (Jeanette), Ingolf Gorges (Lothar), Verena Peter (Mrs Schafer) Head of studio: Constantin Thoren Producer: Manfred Durniok Studio: Manfred Durniok Productions, ZDF, ORF
1985 Colonel Redl (Redl Ezredes) 167 mins. colour Screenplay: Péter Dobai, István Szabó. Partly adapted from: A Patriot for Me (John Osborne) and writings from Egon Erwin Kisch, Robert B. Asprey, Stefan Zweig Dramaturg: Gabriella Prekop, Heinz Freitag Cinematographer: Lajos Koltai Editor: Zsuzsa Csákány Music: Tamássy Zdenkó, Johann Strauss, Frederik Chopin, Ferenc Liszt, Robert Schumann Sound: György Fék Art director: Jószef Romvári Costume designer: Peter Pabst Consultant: Bertalan Papp, Márton Farkas, Ferenc Rácz, Florian Kalber Production manager: Lajos Óvári Producer: Manfred Durniok )FBEPGTUVEJP+P[TFG.BSY Production company: Objektív Stúdió, .BOGSFE%VSOJPL1SPEVDUJPOGàS'JMN und Fernsehen, ORF, ZDF, MOKÉP Date of release: 14 February 1985 Cast: Klaus Maria Brandauer – Sándor Szakácsi (Alfred Redl), Hans Christian Blech – Zoltan Gera (von Roden), Armin Mueller Stahl – Oszkar Gáti (Franz Ferdinand), Gudrun Landgrebe – Márta Egir (Katalin Kubinyi), Jan Miklas – Tamás Dunai (Kristóf Kubinyi), László Mensáros (Colonel Ruzitska), András Bálint (Dr. Sonnenschein), László Gálffi (Velocchio), Dorottya Udvaros (Klarissza), Károly Eperjes (Lieutenant Schorn), Robert Rátonyi (Baron Ulmann), Gábor Svidrony (Redl as a boy), Éva Szabó (Redl’s mother), Tamás Major (Grandfather Kubinyi), Mária Majláth (Grandmother Kubinyi),
György Rácz (Kubinyi as a boy), Dóra Lendvai (Katalin Kubinyi as a girl), Gyula Benkő (Colonel Feldhauer), Péter Gaál (Music teacher), Péter Andorai (Major), Sándor Szakácsi (Captain Tanhoffer), Sándor Halmágyi (Lieutenant Beatz), Péter Dobai (Frigate Captain), György Ordódy (Lieutenant Hidegkúti), Károly Újlaky (Lieutenant Saviola), Anikó Sáfár (Zoé), János Tóth Újlaki (Captain Kardos), Gyula Gazdag (Lieutenant Erlich), Tamás Puskás (Lieutenant Sohinsky), György Bősze (Lieutenant Gálos), Zoltán Pálfi (Lieutenant Mészáros), Athina Papadimitriu (singer), János Ács, Lajos Dobák, István Paál (attendees at the Galician Ball), Ágnes Katona (Redl’s sister), György Bánffy, Teri Tordai, Anna Takács, András Ambrus, András Fekete, János Dömölky, Ádám Horváth, Sándor Simó, Pál Zolnay, Tamás Andor, László 'ÏMJY #FSUBMBO1BQQ &EXBSE;FOUBSBo György Dörner, Péter Rudolf 1985 – Hungarian Film Week Jury Prize; Cannes: Jury Prize; Sopot: Best male performance for Klaus Maria Brandauer; Vallodolid; Rome: Visconti Prize for Szabó 1986 – Hungarians Film Critics Prize for Károly Eperjes; London: BAFTA Award 1988 Hanussen 117 mins. Colour Screenplay: István Szabó, Péter Dobai (with Paul Hengge) Cinematography: Lajos Koltai Camera operators: Gyula Kovács, István Decsi, István Varszik Editor: Zsuzsa Csákány Music: György Vukán Dramaturg: Gabriella Prekop, Heinz Freitag v i si on s of e u rope
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Music: Zdenkó Tamássy Sound: György Fék Art director: József Romvári Costume designer: Nelly Vágó Choreography: Péter László Production manager: Lajos Óvári Head of studio: Arthur Brauner, László Babarczy Production company: Objektiv Filmstudio Vallalat, CCC Filmkunst – Berlin, ZDF – Mainz, Hungarofilm, MOKÉP Date of release: 6 October 1988. Cast: Klaus Maria Brandauer – Sándor Szakácsi (Corporal Klaus Schneider, later Erik Jan Hanussen), Erland Josephson – Dezső Garas (Bettelheim), Ildikó Bansági (nurse Betty), Károly Eperjes (Nowotny), Grażyna Szapolowska – Erika Szegedi (Valery de la Meer), Collette Pilz Warren – Mari Szemes (Dagma), Adriana Biedrzyńska – Edit Frajt (Wally), Gyorgy Cserhalmi (Count Trantow-Walbach), Róbert Rátonyi, Jiři Adamira, Péter Andorai, Lajos Kovács, Enikő Eszenyi, Anikó Sáfár, Éva Kerekes, Erzsébet Gaál, János Ács, Tamás Fodor, *TUWÈO-ÏOÈSU 1ÈM.ÈDTBJ 1ÏUFS.àMMFS Sándor Simó, János Xantus 1991 Meeting Venus 120 mins. Colour Screenplay: István Szabó, Michael Hirst Cinematography: Lajos Koltai Camera operators: Balázs Bélafalvy, Balázs Sara Editor: Jim Clark Music: Richard Wagner Music director: Marek Janowski Tannhausser performed by the Philharmonia Orchestra. Chorus: The Ambrosian Singers Music producer: Martin Fouque 160
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Music editor: Dick Lewzy Producer: David Putnam Associate producers: Uberto Pasolini, Gabriella Prekop Production supervisor: Marc-André Burnet Production co-ordinator: Julia Overton Production managers: Lajos Ovari, Stella Quef Unit managers: Tamás Kolpaszky, Laszlow Szucs, Gábor Ujhazy, Imre Pumer Casting: Patsy Pollack Production company: Warner Brothers, Fujisankei Communications, BBC, County Natwest Ventures Date of release (in Hungary): 8 Nov. 1991 Cast: Glenn Close (Karin Anderson, singing by Kiri Te Kanawa), Niels Arestrup (Zoltán Szantó), Moscu Alcalay (Jean Gabor), Macha Meril (Miss Malikoff), Johanna Ter Steege (Monique Angelo), Maite Nahyr (Maria Krawiecki), Victor Poletti (Stefano Del Sarto), Marian Labuda (von Schneider), Jay O. Saunders (Taylor), Dieter Laser (von Binder), Maria de Madeiros (Yvonne), Ildikó Bansági (Jana), Dorottya Udvaros (Edith), Roberto Pollack (Isaac Partnoi), André Chaumeau (Etienne Tailleur), Francois Delaive (Thomas), Etienne Chicot (Toushkau), Michael Kroecher (Cashier), Rita Scholl (Delfin van Delf ), Johara Racz (dancer), Erland Josephson (Jorge Picabia) 1992 Sweet Emma, Dear Böbe (Édes Emma, Drága Böbe) 81 mins. colour Writer: István Szabó, Andrea Vészits Screenplay: István Szabó
Dramaturg: Gabriella Prekop Cinematographer: Lajos Koltai Editor: Eszter Kovács Music: Mihály Móricz, Tibor Bornai, Feró Nagy, Robert Schumann Sound: György Kovács Art director: Attila Kovács Costume: Zsuzsa Stenger Lyrics: János Bródy, Feró Nagy Singing: Zszuzsa Koncz Production manager: Lajos Óvari Head of studio: Gabriella Grósz Production company: Objektív 'JMNTUÞEJØ7ÈMMBMBU 7JEFPGPY4UÞEJØ Mafilm Audio Kft., Manfred Durniok productions Date of release: 20 March 1992 Cast: Johanna Ter Steege – Ildikó Bánsági (Emma), Enikő Börcsök (Böbe), Péter Andorai (Stefanics), Éva Kerekes (Szundi), Hédi Temessy (Maria), Erzsi Pásztor (Rózsa), Irma Patkos (Hermina), Irén Bodis (mother of Emma), Erzsébet Gaál (woman in storehouse), Zoltán Mucsi (Szilard, art teacher), Tamás Jordán (Captain Szaglár), Gábor Maté (officer on duty), Ágnes Csere, József Horváth, Jolán Jászai, Katalin Sólyom, Olivér Csendes, Andrea Kiss, Judit Czigány, István Komlós, Attila Kaszás, Magda Darvas, József Csőr, Márta Kertész, Zsuzsa Czégé, Szilveszter Siklósi, Zsófia Varga, Jolanta Mielech, Gerd Blahuschek, Jurgen May 1992 – Berlin: Silver Bear Award for Johanna Ter Steege; Rome: Italian Film Critics Prize 1993 – Hungarian Film Critics Prize for Johanna Ter Steege Offenbach’s Secret 96 mins. b/w Screenplay: István Szabó Cinematographer: Lajos Koltai
Dramaturg: Holm Keller Editor: Zsuzsa Csákány Music: Jacques Offenbach Sound: György Kovács Art designer: Attila Kovács Costume: Gyorgyi Szakács, Zsuzsa Stenger Production company: ISL Film, Film GmbH, Euro Arts, Entertainment OHG Studio head: Lajos Óvári Producer: Hans-Peter Birke Malzer Cast: Graham Clark (Giraffier), Laurence Dale (Patachon), Támás Jordán (Jacques Offenbach), János Kulka (Baron Morny), Pál Makrai (Croquefer), István Bubik (Boutefeu), Sándor Sasvári (Ramasse-ta-Tete), Marcella Kertész (Fleur-de-Souffre), Géza Simon (Mousse-a-Mort), Melinda Major (Sophia Morny), István Szilágyi (Theatre prompter), Zoltán Benkóczy (Turkish ambassador), 1996 Steadying the Boat (A csónak biztonsága) 56 mins. colour Screenplay: István Szábó Cinematographer: Lajos Koltai Editor: Zsuzsa Csákány, Eszter Majoros Music: Johann Strauss Sound: György Kovács, Attila Madaras Production designer: Attila F. Kovács Costume: Zsuzsa Stenger Cast: Ildikó Bansági, Péter Andorai, Hédi Temessy, Tibor Szervét, Irén (ZàSFZ "MCFSU$TBCB,JTT Studio: BBC Scotland, ISL production Producer: John Archer, Lajos Óvári 1999 Sunshine (A napfény íze) 180 mins. colour Screenplay: István Szabó, Israel Horovitz Cinematographer: Lajos Koltai v i si on s of e u rope
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Steadicam: Tamás Nyerges, Jörg Widmer Editor: Michel Arcand, Dominique Fortin Music: Maurice Jarre (Orchestra: Rundfunk Sinfonieorchestra Berlin) Music editor: Dina Eaton Sound: Keith Elliot, Glen Gauthier, Peter Kelly, Daniel Pellerin, Fred Brennan, Brad Thornton, Elius Caruso, Darcey Kite, Andrew Tay Production designer: Attila F. Kovács Art director: Zsuzsanna Borvendég Costume: Györgyi Szakács Make-up: Erzsébet Forgács, Judit Endrényi Special effects: Ference Ormos Producer: Robert Lantos, András Hámori Production managers: Lajos Óvari, György Sánta &YFDVUJWFQSPEVDFST3BJOFS,ÚMNFM Jonathan Debin Associate producers: Julia Rosenberg, Gabriella Prekop Assistant directors: Gabor Gajdos, Mariann Ungi, Kerric MacDonald Production companies: Alliance Atlantis and Serendipity Points Films, Kinowelt, Robert Lantos Productions, Film Four, Bavarian Film and TV Fund, Telefilm Canada, ORF Date of release: 27 January, 1999 Cast: Ralph Fiennes (Ignác Sors, Ádám Sors, Iván Sors), Rosemary Harris (older Vali Sors), Jennifer Ehle (young Vali Sors), Rachel Weiss (Greta), Deborah Kara Unger (Karola Kovács), Molly Parker (Hannah), William Hurt (Andor Knorr), James Frain (young Gustáv Sors), John Neville (Older Gustáv Sors), Miriam Margolyes (Rózsa Sonnenschein), David de Keyser (Emmanuel Sonnenschein), Balázs Hantos (Áron Sonnenschein), Mari 162
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Törőcsik (older Kató), Katja Studt (young Kato), Kathleen Gati (Jozefa Sonnenschein), Vilmos Kun (Rabbi Bettelheim), Péter Andorai (Anselmi), Péter Halász (filmmaker), Gábor Maté (Rosner), Mark Strong (István Sors), 3àEJHFS7PHMFS (FOFSBM+ÈLØGBMWZ
László Zsolt (Lugosy), Hanns Zischler (Baron Margittay), László Gálffi (Rossa), Zoltán Seress (Tersikovsky), István Bubik (Sáray) 1999 – Berlin: Best Actor for Ralph Fiennes, Best Cinematography for Lajos Koltai, Best Screenplay for István Szabó and Israel Horvitz, Producer’s prize for Robert Lantos and András Hámori 2000 – Canada: Best Producer, Robert Lantos and András Hámori, Best Sound Keith Elliot 2001 Taking Sides Screenplay: Ronald Harwood (based on his play) Cinematographer: Lajos Koltai Steadicam: Jörg Widmer, Mikesch Groth Editor: Sylvie Landra Music: Ulrich Thurman, Andrej Hermlin-Leder, Daniel Barenboim conducting the Staatskapelle Berlin, Marie Belin, Denis Grare Sound: Brian Simmons, Cyril Holtz, 1IJMJQQF"NPVSPVY +FBO(PVEJFS Production designer: Ken Adam 4VQFSWJTJOHBSUEJSFDUPS"OKB.àMMFS Costume: Györgyi Szakács, Sparka Lee Hall, Olaf Zintel, Constanze Hagedorn, Make up: Wolfgang Boge, Ann-Katrin Gubella Special effects: SFX Department Berlin, Adolf Wojtinek, Bernd Wildau, Thorsten Hintze, Lars Hintze "SDIJWFTQFDJBMFêFDUT"MBJO$BSTPVY Edouard Valton, Séverine de Wever,
Patricia Mejahed, Vincent Frei, Olivier (BEBM :BOO(POTBSE "VSÏMJF-BKPVY Producer: Yves Pasquier &YFDVUJWFQSPEVDFST3BJOFS.PDLFSU Jacques Rousseau, Rainer Schaper, Jeremy Isaacs, Maureen McCabe, Michael von Wolkenstein $PFYFDVUJWFQSPEVDFST'SJU[ Buttenstedt, Michael Lionello Cowan, Jason Piette, David Rogers Supervising producer: Michel Nicolini Assistant directors: Ralph Remstedt, Thorne Mutert, Oliver Schnug Production companies; MBP, Maecenas Film, Paladin Production and Studio Babelsberg, Little Bear, Jeremy Isaacs 1SPEVDUJPOT 5XBO1JY 4BUFM'JMN Bayerischer Rundfunk, MDR, ORF, France 2 Cinema, Canal+, FFA, Filmboard, MDM, Spice Factory, Enterprise Films Date of release: 9 Sept. 2001; (in Hungary) 4 April 2002 Cast: Harvey Keitel (Major Steve Arnold), Stellan Skarsgård (Wilhelm Furtwängler), Moritz Bleibtrau (David Wills), Birgit Minichmayr (Emmi Straube), Oleg Tabakov (Colonel Dymshitz), Ulrich Tukur (Helmut Rode), Hans Zischler (Rudolf Werner Oboe player), Armin Rhode (Shlec), August Zirner (Captain Ed Martin), Thomas Thieme (Reichs Minister), Robin Renucci (Captain Vernay), Frank Leboeuf (Lieutenant Simon), R. Lee Emery (General Wallace), Daniel White (Sergeant Adams), Jed Curtis (Colonel Green), Garrick Hagon (Major Richards), Rinat Shaham (singer), Marcus Heinicke (attendant), Aleksander Testa (projectionist), Jarreth Merz, Holger Schober, Thomas Morris, Philip Bowen, Peter Doering, Werner Armeln, Matthias Wilke, Jahn Holger, Werner Zwosta, Chris Martin
2002 – Berlin: Stellan Skarsgård, Best Actor. Mar der Plata: Best Director, Best Operator, Best Male Actor, Stellan Skarsgård 2002 Ten Minutes After (Ten Minutes Older – The Cello) 10 mins. Colour Screenplay: István Szabó Cinematographer: Lajos Koltai 4UFBEJDBN5JMNBO#àUUOFS Editor: Zsuzsa Csákány Sound: István Sípos Music: Paul Englishby (Claudio Bohorquez on cello) Sound: Jane Tattersall, Roderick Deogrades, David McCallum, Simon Kaye, Ron Searles Costume: Zsuzsa Stenger Make-up: Erzsébet Forgács Producers: Nicholas McClintock, Ulrich Felsberg Production companies: ISL Films, Road Movies Production manager: Lajos Óvári Cast: Ildikó Bansági, Gábor Máté Date of release: 3 Sept. 2002 2004 Being Julia 104 mins. colour Screenplay: Ronald Harwood (based on the novel Theatre by W. Somerset Maugham) Cinematographer: Lajos Koltai Steadicam: Tamás Nyerges, Stuart Howell Camera operators: Balázs Bélafalvi, István Szaladják Editor: Susan Shipton Music: Mychael Danna, Liz Gallacher, Paul Intson
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Sound effects: Jane Tattersall, Roderick Deogrades, David McCallum Art director: Lóránd Jávor Costume: John Bloomfield, Zsuzsa Stenger, David Murphy Set decorators: Ian Whittaker, Attlia Köves Make-up: Judit Endrényi, Lesley Lamont-Fisher, Sarah-Jane Sheehy Hairdressers: Bogyó Kajtár, Chris Redman, Eric scruby Production designer: Luciana Arrighi &YFDVUJWFQSPEVDFST.BSL.JMMO Marion Pilowsky, Donald A. Starr, Daniel J. B. Taylor Co-producers: Julia Rosenberg, Mark Musselman, Sandra Cunningham, Lajos Óvári Production manager: Kate Dain Assistant directors: Guy Travers, David Spah, William Dutton, Adam Barrington Historical consultant: Gabriella Prekop Production companies: Serendipity Point Films, First Choice Films, Astral Media, Téléfilm Canada, Corus Entertainment, Myriad Pictures, ISL Film, Hogarth Productions, Sony Picture Classics Date of release: 3 September 2004 (11 November 2004 in Hungary) Cast: Annette Benning (Julia Lambert), Michael Gosselyn (Jeremy Irons), Bruce Greenwood (Lord Charles), Miriam Margolyes (Dolly de Vries), Juliet Stevenson (Evie), Shaun Evans (Tom Fennel), Lucy Punch (Avice Chrichton), Tom Sturridge (Tom Gosselyn), Maury Chaykin (Walter Gibbs), Sheila .D$BSUIZ (SBDF%FYUFS
3PTFNBSZ Harris (Julia’s mother), Rita Tushingham (Aunt Carrie), Leigh Lawson (Archie %FYUFS
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Michael Gambon (Jimmie Langton), Mari Kiss (Michael Gosselyn’s secretary), 164
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Ronald Markham (Butler), Terry Sachs (Chauffeur), Catherine Charlton (Miss 1IJMJQT
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George Lang (Antonie), Michael Culkin (Rupert), Marsha Fitzalan (Florence), Denzal Sinclaire (Singer/pianist), Teresa Churcher, István Komlós, Bruce Anderson, Bryan Burdon, Alison Jiear 2005 – Berlin: Silver Bear Prize, Annette Benning 2006 Relatives (Rokonok) 110 mins. colour Screenplay: István Szabó and Andrea Vészits, based on the novel by Zsigmond Móricz Cinematography: Lajos Koltai Editor: Zsuzsa Csakány Sound: Gábor Balázs Music: Hot Jazz Band Costume: Györgyi Szakács Assistant director: Zsolt Khell Producer: János Rózsa Production manager: Lajos Óvári Studio: Objektiv Filmstúdió, ISL Film, TV2 Date of release: 9 Feb. 2006 Cast: Sándor Csányi (István Kopjáss), Ildikó Tóth (Lina Kopjáss), Oleg Tabakov (Mayor), Károly Eperjes (Banker), Erika Marozsan (Banker’s wife), Csaba Pindroch (Mayor’s secretary), Ferenc Kallai, Piroska Molnár, Jiři Menzel, József Szarvas 2006 – Tiburon Film Festival, Best Director 2011 The Door (Az Ajtó) 97 mins. Colour Screenplay: István Szabó and Andrea Vészits, based on the novel by Magda Szabó
Cinematography: Elemér Ragályi Camera operator: Buda Gulyás Editor: Réka Lemhényi Sound: Simon Kaye Music: Béla Barabas, Sándor Józsa, Dávid Kósa Costume: György Szakács Special effects: Ferenc Ormos Casting: Leo Davis Producer: Jenő Haberman, Sándor Söth &YFDVUJWFQSPEVDFST.BSDP.FIJMU[ Compton Ross, Phil Hunt Production companies: FilmArt Kft., Intuit Pictures, Bankside Films, ARD, Degeto Films, Head Gear Films Date of release: 8 March 2012 Cast: Helen Mirren (Emerence), Martina Gedeck (Magda), Károly Eperjes (Tibor), Gábor Koncz (Lt. Colonel), Enikő Börcsök (Sutu), Mari Nagy (Adél), Agi Szirtes (Polet), Péter Andorai (Mr. Bodorics), Ildikó Tóth, Jiři Menzel
Actor: 1989: Stand Off (Túsztörténet) Dir. Gyula Gazdag. Szabó plays the Chief Medical Officer
Non-directorial film work: 1963: Dialogue (Parbeszéd) assistant director. Dir. János Herskó
2002: Director. Three Sisters. Hungarian State Opera House, Budapest, Hungarian premiere, 2 April (by Péter Eötvös, based on the play by Anton Chekov). Also in Kassell, Germany, 2002
1965: Children’s Sickness (Gyerekbetegség) script editor. Dir. Ferenc Kardos, János Rózsa
1994: Utrius, Dir. Ferenc Grunwalsky. Szabó plays a doctor 1997: Every Sunday (Franciska Vasárnapjai) Dir. Sándor Simó. Szabó plays a doctor 2007: I Served the King of England (Jiři Menzel, Czech Republic) Szabó plays one of the millionaires. Opera: 1984: Director. Tannhausser (Wagner) Paris Opera 1993: Director. Boris Gudonov (Mussogorsky) Leipzig Opera House 1993: Director. Il Travatore (Verdi) Vienna State Opera
1967: Red Letter Days (Unnepnapok) script editor. Dir. Ferenc Kardos 1987: Laura consultant. Dir. Géza Böszrörményi 1995: The Wonderful Voyage of Esti Kornél (Esti Kornél csodalátos utazás) consultant. Dir. József Packovszky
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BIBLIOGRAPHY
The reader wishing to consult the available Hungarian-language sources on István Szabó’s films (up to and including Taking Sides TIPVMETFFUIFFYDFMMFOUCJCMJPHSBQIZ in the Hungarian journal Metropolis 2003/3.
Adorno, Theodor (2002 [1945]) ‘What National Socialism has done to the Arts’, in Essays on Music , ed. Richard Leppert. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 373–90. Albert, Mária (2000) ‘That Changing Light in an Actor’s Eyes…’ [Interview], Hungarian Quarterly, 41, 157, 153–7. Aspery, Robert (1969) The Panther’s Feast. London: Bantam Books. Bahr, Ehrhard (2007) Weimar on the Pacific: German Exile Culture in Los Angeles and the Crisis of Modernism. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Balázs, Béla (2010) Béla Balázs: Early Film Theory0YGPSE#FSHIBIO#PPLT Ballester, César (2011) ‘Subjectivism, uncertainty and individuality: Munk’s Człowiek na torze/Man on the Tracks (1956) and its influence on the Czechoslovak New Wave’, Studies in Eastern European Cinema, 2, 1, 61–73. #BMPHI (ZÚOHJ *MEJLØ #FSLFT *WÈO 'PSHÈDT BOE 7FSB (ZàSFZ A#PY 0ïDF ‘Admissions’, Filmspiral, 21. Budapest: Magyar Nemzeti Filmarchívum, 35–6. ____ (2003) Máriássy Félix 1919–1975. Special Issue of Filmspiral, 31. Budapest: Magyar Nemezeti Filmarchívum. Barenboim, Daniel and Edward Said (2003) Parallels and Paradoxes: Explorations in Music and Society. London: Bloomsbury. Bartov, Omer (2005) The ‘Jew’ in Cinema: From The Golem to Don’t Touch My Holocaust. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. ‘Being Szabó’ http://www.tiscali.co.uk/entertainment/film/intereviews/istvan_szabo. html (accessed 10 November 2005).
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Benjamin, Walter (1973 [1936]) ‘The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction’, in Illuminations , ed. Hannah Arendt. London: Fontana/Collins, 219–53. Berman, Marshall (1983) All That is Solid Melts into Air: The Experience of Modernity. London: Verso. Bernstein, Richard (1989) ‘Hanussen’ [Review], New York Times, 12 March, 32. Bibó, István (1991 [1948]) ‘The Jewish Question in Hungary After 1944’, in Democracy, Revolution, Self Determination; Selected Writings. Boulder, CO: Social Science Monographs, 155–324. Bíró, Yvette (1967) ‘A Nouvelle Vague of Hungarian Films?’, New Hungarian Quarterly, 8, 27, 193–96. Bolvári-Takács, Gábor (1998) Filmmuvészet és kulturpolitika a muvészeti díjak tükrében 1948–1989. Budapest: Planétás Kiadó. Bourget, Jean-Loup (2002) ‘Taking Sides’ [Review], Positif, 495, 72–3. Brennan, Joseph (1962) Thomas Mann’s World. New York: Rusell and Brand. Brown, Geoff (1983 )‘Confidence’ [Review], Times, 13 May, 17. ____ (1989) ‘Hanussen’ [Review], Times, 20 April, 20. Brown, Georgina (1989) ‘Hanussen’ [Review], Village Voice, 21 March, 60. Canby, Vincent (1986) ‘The Fogs of Time’ [Review of Colonel Redl, New York Times, 2 October, 1985], in The New York Times Film Reviews, 1985–86. New York and London: Routledge, 138. ____ ‘Hanussen’ [Review] New York Times. 10 March 1989, 29. Cartledge, Bryan (2009) Mihály Károlyi and István Bethlen: Hungary. Haus Histories. Christiansen, Rupert (1991) ‘Meeting Venus’ [Review], Observer, 15 September, 57. Clare, George (1989) Berlin Days, 1946–48. New York: Dutton. Combs, Richard (1989) ‘Hanussen’ [Review], Monthly Film Bulletin, 56, 664, 181–2. Cowan, Rob (2005) ‘Furtwängler: Man and Myth’, Gramophone, 82, 989, 24–9. Crankshaw, Edward (1970) The Fall of the House of Hapsburg. London: Sphere Books. Christensen, Peter G. (2006) ‘Szabó’s Colonel Redl and the Habsburg Myth’. CLCWeb: Comparative Literature and Culture, 8, 1; http://docs.lib.purdue.edu/clcweb/vol8/ iss1/8 (accessed 7 August 2009). Csala, Károly and Eszter Fazekas (2001) A fény festoje: Koltai Lajos operatőr. Budapest: Osiris. Cunningham, John (2004) Hungarian Cinema: From Coffee House to Multiplex. London: Wallflower Press. Davenport, Hugo (1993) ‘Dear Emma, Sweet Böbe’ [Review], Daily Telegraph, 21 January, 5. Davies, Brenda (1966) ‘Cork Film Festival Review’ (BFI microfiche) Film and Filming December, n.p. Deak, István (2006) ‘Scandal in Budapest’, New York Review of Books, 53, 16; http:// www.hacusa.org/NoticedinThePress/2006/NYRB_101906_Deak_Scandal.doc (accessed 26 August 2008). v i si on s of e u rope
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Demény, János (ed.) (1971) Béla Bartók Letters. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Dragon, Zoltán (2007) ‘Relatives’, Filmkultura; www.filmkultura.iif.hu (accessed 10 August 2007). ____ (2006) The Spectral Body: Aspects of the Cinematic Oeuvre of István Szabó. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Press. Durniok Foundation Website, www.durniok.com/durniok_en.html (accessed 26 February 2010). Eby, Cecil D. (1998) Hungary at War: Civilians and Soldiers in World War II. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press. Elley, Derek (1972) Monthly Film Bulletin, 39, 464. Falk, Barbara J. (2003) The Dilemmas of Dissidence in East-Central Europe. Budapest: Central European University Press. Ferenci, Hariett (n.d.) ‘Eastern Europe draws veil of Silence over Communist Past’. http:www.dw-world.de/dw/article/0,2144,1921378.00.html (accessed 25 September, 2006). Filmévkönyv (1982) ‘A filmforgalmazás számokban’. Budapest: Magyar filmtudományi intézet és filmarchívium, 208–216. ____ (1993) ‘Az 1992-ben bemutattot Magyar filmek forgalmazási adatai’, Budapest: Magyar filmtudományi intézet es filmarchivium, 197–8. Fischer, Paul (2001) ‘Behind the Scenes, Toronto Film Festival 2001’; www. GJMNNPOUIMZDPNCFIJOE@UIF@TDFOFT@FYDMVTJWFUPSPOUP@GJMN@GFTUJWBM@ (accessed 5 January 2009). Gay Interest Films. gayinterestfilms.blogspot.com/208_12_01_archive.html (accessed 26 February 10). Gelden, Laurence van (1982) ‘Mephisto’ [Review] New York Times, 21 March. Gervai, András (1982) Mephisto: egy film dokumentumai. Budapest: Népmuvelési propaganda iroda. ____ (2010) Fedőneve: ‘szocializmus’. Budapest: Jelenkor. Glaessner, Verina (1991) ‘Meeting Venus’ [Review]. Sight and Sound, 1, 6, 53. Goethe, Wolfgang Johann von (2005 [1774–1833]) Faust (Parts 1 and 2). Trans. David Constantine. London: Penguin. Goodridge, Mike (2001) ‘Taking Sides’ [Review], Screen International, 1330, 26 October, 23. Gough, Roger. (2006) A Good Comrade, János Kádár, Communism and Hungary. London: IB Tauris. Goulding, Daniel, J. (ed.) (1994) Five Filmmakers. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Graffy, Julian (2000) ‘Sunshine’ [Review], Sight and Sound, 10, 5, 62–3. Grode, Eric (2002) ‘Taking Sides from Stage to Screen’, http://www.jewish-theatre. DPNWJTJUPSBSUJDMF@EJTQMBZBTQY BSUJDMF BDDFTTFE"VHVTU Gutmann, Peter (2002) ‘Wilhelm Furtwangler, Genius Forged in the Cauldron of War’; http://www.classicalnotes.net/features/furtwangler.html (accessed 23 August 2007).
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Gyulai, Ilona Edelsheim (2005) Honour and Duty: The Memoirs of Countess Ilona Edelsheim Gyulai, Widow of Vice-Regent Stephen Horthy of Hungary. Lewes: Purple Pagoda Press. Hames, Peter (2008) ‘Interview with Jan Švankmajer’, in Peter Hames (ed.) The Cinema of Jan Švankmajer: Dark Alchemy. London: Wallflower Press. Hanebrink, Paul A. (2006) In Defense of Christian Hungary. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Haraszti, Miklós (1989) The Velvet Prison: Artists Under Socialism. London: Penguin. Harwood, Ronald (1995) The Collected Plays of Ronald Harwood. London: Faber and Faber. Head, Anne (1981) ‘It’s Szabó the genius’ [Review], Screen International, 25 May. Healy, Maureen (2006) ‘Civilising the Soldier in Postwar Austria’, in Nancy M. Wingfield and Maria Bueur (eds) Gender and War in Twentieth Century Europe. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 24–47. Hibbin, Nina (1968) ‘Father’ [Review]. Morning Star. 12 October. Hirsch, Joshua (1999) ‘István Szabó: Problems in the Narration of Holocaust Memory’, Journal of Film and Video, 51, 1, 3–21. ____ (2004) Afterimage: Film, Trauma and the Holocaust. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Hoeij, Boyd van (2012) ‘The Door’ [Review], Variety, 8 July; www.variety.com/review/ VE111794869/ (accessed 14 May 2013). Holloway Ron (2006) http://www.interfilm-akademie.de/04festivalreports/ festivalreports-(accesed 6 July 2007) Horthy, Miklós (1957) Memoirs. New York: Robert Speller. Hughes, John W (1982) ‘Mephisto: István Szabó and “the Gestapo of Suspicion”’, Film Quarterly, 35, 4, 13–18. Hungarianfilm, http://www.szemle.film.hu/object.973928CA-9A (accessed10 August 2007). Hungarofilm Bulletin (1978) ‘Introducing Lajos Koltai’, Budapest: Magyar filmintezet, 5. ____ (1979) ‘In production: The past still plays a part’, Budapest: Magyar filmintézet, 2. ____ (1984) ‘I’d like to tell a story’, Budapest: Magyar filmintézet, 2. Hungarian Film Institute (1981) Rövidfilmek. Budapest: Magyarfilm intézet. Ilot, Terry (1996) Budgets and Markets: A Study of the Budgeting of European Film. London: Routledge. Imre, Anikó (1999) ‘White Man, White Mask: Mephisto Meets Venus’, Screen, 40, 4, 405–22. Indiewire (2003) http://www.indiewire.com/people/int_Szabo_Istvan_000612.html (accessed 14 November 2003). Jancsó, Miklós (n.d.) http://www.signandsight.com/features/582.html. Jaehne, Karen (1978) ‘István Szabó: Dreams of Memories’, Film Quarterly, 32, 1, 30–41. Jeffries, Stuart (2002) ‘Watch with big brother’, Guardian, 2 February. v i si on s of e u rope
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INDEX
Academy of Drama and Film 16, 50 Academy Awards 65, 74 Aczél, György 137 Adorno, Theodor 113 Ady, Endre 95 Age of Daydreaming, The 25–8, 138, 141, 145 Agitators 139 American Cinematographer 51 Andorai, Péter 50, 55, 60, 72, 91, 98 Angel With the Trumpet, The 97 Angi Vera 21, 50, 139 Anschluss 6 Antonioni, Michelangelo 31 A Patriot for Me 68 Arestrup, Niels 85 Arnold, Steve 110, 114 Arrow Cross Party 8, 35, 102 assimilation 9, 10 ÁVH 20 Bacsó, Péter 138 Balázs, Béla 16, 140 Bálint, András 26–7, 144 Ballad of a Soldier 22
Bánsági, Ildikó 46, 55, 72, 78, 86, 90, 117, 145 Barbican, London 135 Barenboim, Daniel 107, 114 Bartók, Béla 6, 141 Bartov, Omer 101 Beethoven, Ludwig Van 113–14 Being Julia 55, 57, 65, 117–22, 125–6, 143, 147 Béla Balázs Studio (BBS) 22 Benjamin, Walter 63 Benning, Annette 118, 121, 145 Bergman, Ingmar 31, 78 Berlin Olympics 98–9 Berlin Philharmonic 108 Bertolucci, Bernardo 96 Bettelheim, Bruno 76, 79 Bibó, István 106 Bicycle Thieves, The 24 Bíro, Yvette 33 Birth of a Nation 97 Bleibtreu, Moritz 111 Boat’s Stability, The 94 Bódy, Gábor 23, 50, 139 Bolshe Vita 90 Börcsök, Enikő 90–1, 127 v i si on s of e u rope
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Bourget, Jean-Loup 115 Boyd, Karin 60 Brandauer, Klaus Maria 61, 64–6, 69, 72, 74, 132 Braunner, Arthur 74 Brecht, Bertolt 108 Brown, Geoff 53, 80 Bruckner, Anton 113 Budapest 9, 14, 41–2, 48–9 Budapest Tales 46–8, 142, 145 Budapest Why I Love It42 Cahiers du cinéma 30 Callow, Simon 63 Canby, Vincent 74, 80 Cannes 37, 139 censorship 135–9 Chamberlain, Neville 7 Chekhov, Anton 72, 124 Chesterton, G. K. 84 Clare, George 111 Close, Glenn 84–6, 145 Colonel Redl 61, 66–75, 82, 86, 134, 143 community 142 Concert 23–4 Confidence 49–52, 130, 134 Cork Film Festival 28 Cowan, Rob 108 Cranes are Flying, The 22 Crankshaw, Edward 67 Csákány, Zsuzsa 51 Csányi, Sándor 123 Cserhalmi, György 55, 62, 79 Daladier, Edouard 7 Danube: Birds and Fishes 42 Dawn 42 Deák, István 67, 131, 143 de-Nazification 107, 110–11, 114 deportation of Jews 13 Dobai, Péter 46, 55, 66, 72, 76 Doctor Faustus 58–9 Dohnanyi, Christoph von 85 176
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Door, The 126–9, 147 Dragan, Zoltán 2, 126 Dream About a House 42 Dream Car 8 Durniok, Manfred 53, 55, 66, 69 Dymshitz, Colonel 110 Ehle, Jennifer 98 Eichmann, Adolf 13 Eisenstein, Sergei 108 Elek, Judit 17, 132 Elegy 23 Electra 43 Embers 70 Enemy of the People, An 123 Enigma productions 84 Eperjes, Károly 72–3, 78, 125, 127 Erdély, Miklós 23 European Union (EU) 86 Evans, Shaun 118 FYJMF o Fábri, Zoltán 16, 27, 31 Fateless 50, 102 Father 5, 14, 32–7, 138, 141 Faust I & II 56, 58, 62 Fellini, Federico 22 Felvidék 7 fencing 98 Ferdinand, Franz 67, 72, 74 Film Culture 29 Fiennes, Ralph 97 Film World 29 First Anti-Jewish Law 6 Four Hundred Blows, The 24 Free Kossuth Radio 19 French New Wave 21 Full Steam Ahead! 17 Furtwängler, Wilhelm 6, 57, 89, 107–11, 142 Gaál, Béla 8 Gábor, Pál 17, 19–20, 131–3 Gambon, Michael 118, 121
Gazdag, Gyula 18 Gedeck, Martina 127 Gervai, András 130 Girl Portrait 42 Glaessner, Verina 88 Glass of Beer, A 17 Goebbels, Joseph 57, 114–15 Göring, Hermann 57 Gordon, Mel 76 Graffy, Julian 105 Green Bird, The 53, 55 (SàOEHFOT (VTUBWo Gyöngyössy, Imre 17 )BCFSNBT +àSHFO Hamza, D. Ákos 52 Hanussen 54, 57, 61, 75–81, 144 Harris, Rosemary 98 Harwood, Ronald 92, 107–8, 117 Heine, Heinrich 10 Herskó, János 25 Herzog, Werner 75 Hintsch, György 46 Hirst, Michael 85 Hitchcock, Alfred 22, 28 Hitler, Adolf 64, 68, 76 Hiroshima mon amour 22 Historikerstreit 103 Höfgen, Hendrik 55, 61–4, 81, 121, 144 Holocaust 15, 31, 99, 102–3, 107 Hoppe, Rolf 59 Horovits, Israel 97 Horthy, Miklós 6, 13–14 Hungarian Film Institute 29 Hungarian Film News 7 Hungarian Film Week 17, 27, 32, 122 Hungarian Revolution 19, 99, 131, 137 Hungaro Film Bulletin 49 Huszárik, Zoltán 17, 23, 47, 55 Hurt, William 98–9 Illés, György 16
Imposters 17 Imre, Anikó 83, 89 Imrédy, Béla 6 Irons, Jeremy 118 Irving, David 103 Jancsó, Miklós 2, 27, 29, 31, 79, 102, 126, 131, 137, 145 Janda, Krystyna 53 Jewish assimilation 10 Jews 10, 36, 45 Josephson, Erland 78, 86 Joszef, Franz 68 Journey By Moonlight 126 Kádár, János 19, 25, 28, 138 Kagarlitsky, Boris 137 Kardos, Ferenc 17, 20, 37 Karmentő, Éva 17, 132 Kasztner, Rezső 14 Karady, Katalin 8 Keleti, Márton 28 Kertész, Imre 50 Kézdi-Kovács, Zsolt 17, 19–20 Khrushchev, Nikita 19 Kis, János 103 Kisch, Egon Ervin 67 Knorr, András 81, 99 Koltai, Lajos 50, 61, 80, 86, 110, 115, 125–6 Korin, Ferenc 10, 96 Kristallnacht 6, 107 K und K 71 Labour Batallions 13, 45, 98 Labuda, Marian 86 Lantos, Robert 97, 117 Leaud, Jean Pierre 26 Letter From an Unknown Woman 70 Levinas, Emanuel 44 Life and Literature 130, 131 Locarno Film Festival 28 Love Film 37 – 40, 141 Lutz, Carl 14 v i si on s of e u rope
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Makk, Károly 12, 15, 139 Malcolm, Derek 65, 88 Mann, Erika 56 Mann, Heinrich 56 Mann, Klaus 55–6, 59 Mann, Thomas 56, 108 Marai, Sándor 11, 70 Margarethe, Operation 13 .BSJÈTTZ 'ÏMJY .BSY +Ø[TFG Maugham, Somerset 117, 120 Mario and the Magician 61 Meeting Venus 84–90 Mein Kampf 64 Mephisto 1, 11, 54–66, 109, 134 Merry-Go-Round 16 Mészaros, Márta 2, 131 Minichmayr, Birgit 110 Mirren, Helen 120, 127, 144 Mirror 42 Móricz, Zsigmond 9, 117, 122 Morning Star 37 Moscow Square 90 Mueller-Stahl, Armin 72 Munich Agreement 7 Munk, Andrzej 22, 29 Music Box, The 103 Musil, Robert 71 My Way Home 29 Nagy, Imre 19 Németh, László 11 Népszabadság 100, 131 New York Times 105 Nolte, Ernst 103 Norris, Chris 88 Nóti, Károly 52 Numerus Clausus 10 Offenbach’s Secret 93 Officers’ Plot 110 0QIVM .BY Osborne, John 68
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Pál, Jávor 8 Paris Opera 84–5 Parker, Molly 98 Pasquier, Yves 109 Paul, David 88 Petőfi Theatre 132 Piety 37 Pindroch, Csaba 125 Polanski, Roman 24 Prokofiev, Sergei 108 Punch, Lucy 121 1VTILJO "MFYBOEFS Putnam, David 84 Pym, John 74 Radetzky March (Roth) 68 Radetzky March (Strauss) 71 Radnóti, Miklós 37 Radványi, Géza 47 Ragályi, Elemér 127 Rajk, László 19, 81 Rákosi, Mátyás 19, 34, 81 Red Psalm 43 Reichstag fire 75–7 3FJOIBSEU .BY Reitz, Edgar 97 Relatives 122–6, 130, 142, 147 Women, representation of 144–5 Riefenstahl, Leni 59, 64 Riverside Studios, London 135 Rosenstone, Robert A. 143 Royal Court Theatre 69 Roth, Joseph 68 Rózsa, János 17, 25, 132 Ruthenia 73 Sára, Sándor 37 Saunders, Ivan 111 4BZMF "MFYFJ Schoenberg, Arnold 107 Schulte-Sass, Linda 63–4 Scott, A. O. 105 Screen International 66
Second Vienna Award 11 Shostakovich, Dimitri 108, 136 Sissi films 74 Six Characters in Search of an Author 20 Skarsgård, Stellan 112 Skolimowski, Jerzy 61 Sonneman, Emmy 57 Sonnenschein 73, 141, 144 South Bank Show, The 15, 33 Springtime in Budapest 17 Square, The 42 Stahl, Henni 76 Stalin, Joseph 19, 68, 81, 136 Stalingrad 12 Steege, Johanna Ter 86, 91, 93 Strick, Philip 74 Sunshine 5, 14, 70, 73, 81–2, 95–106, 134 Sunset 42 Svankmajer, Jan 58 Sweet Emma, Dear Böbe 30, 90–3, 127, 142, 145, 147 Šzallasi, Ferenc 8 Szerb, Antal 11, 126 Tabakov, Oleg 110, 125 Taking Sides 6, 57, 66, 81, 89, 107 Tannhäuser 84, 86, 89 Tarr, Béla 2, 129 Tatabánya 9 Teleki, Pál 11 Ten Minutes After 117 Theatre 117 This Day Was Ours 19 This Happened in Budapest 52
Thomas, Dylan 43 ‘Three T’s’ 138 Tippets, Michael 5 Törőcsik, Mari 98 Tóth, Ildikó 124, 127 Trianon 10 Triumph of the Will 64 Trotsky, Leon 5, 68 Truffaut, Francois 21–2, 27–8, 30, 32 25 Fireman’s Street 14, 43–6, 141–2, 145 Udváros, Dorottya 72, 86 Unger, Deborah Kara 98, 106 Unicum 99 Vészits, Andrea 127 Wajda, Andrzej 22, 27, 65, 79, 97 Wallenberg, Raoul 14 Warchol, Tomasz75 Weisz, Rachel 98 Winnicka, Lucyna 43–4 Williams, Zoe 108 Witness 138 Workers’ Council Revolution 7 Word Premiere 42 Yellow Star of David 13, 35 Zaheriev, Eduard 17 Zionism 104 Zsarátnok 123 Zweig, Stefan 68
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