Director: Károly Makk
Screenplay: Péter Bacsó
Based on a Novel by: Tibor Déry
Starring: Lili Darvas, Mari Töröcsik, Iván Darvas, Erzsi Orsolya, László Mensáros
Country: Czechoslovakia
Running Time: 96 min
Year: 1969
BBFC Certificate: 15
In the mid-late 1950s, the Hungarian writer and poet Tibor Déry wrote a short story about an imprisoned political prisoner being released and meeting his son for the first time and his wife for the first time in a number of years. It explores the strangeness of their reunion. Not long after, the writer of the story himself was imprisoned for his political leanings and, whilst incarcerated, wrote another story about a prisoner writing fake letters to comfort his ailing mother.
The director Károly Makk was drawn by both these stories and approached the writer in the early 60s with an idea to merge them into a screenplay. The author was initially reluctant but Makk was persistent over the ensuing years and eventually Déry agreed and worked with Péter Bacsó to develop the script to Love (a.k.a. Szerelem).
A number of years went by before it could go into production but, eventually, it was made and released to great praise at the Cannes Film Festival, where it won the Jury Prize, the OCIC Award and received a special mention for the two lead actresses. It remains a respected classic of Hungarian cinema, though it’s not well known outside its home country anymore.
That’s not to stop Second Run from giving Love a region-free Blu-ray release in the UK though. I have a strong faith in the label’s choice of European classics to release, so got hold of a copy of the film, knowing very little about it other than some strong reviews I noted when looking it up online.
Love is set in an undisclosed period in Hungarian history, but all signs point to the late-50s, the beginning of the post-revolution Kádár era, when political dissidents and former revolutionaries were imprisoned or occasionally killed to strengthen the rule of the Communist authorities.
In the film, Mari Töröcsik plays Luca, the wife of János (Iván Darvas), a man who has been imprisoned for political reasons. She is caring for János’ elderly mother (Lili Darvas) who is in ill health and of fading mind. Luca can’t bring herself to tell the woman the truth about the son who she greatly adores, so she forges letters, supposedly from János, describing a greatly exaggerated story of how the man is finding fame and fortune as a film director in America.
The mother appears to accept this falsehood as the truth but Luca struggles to keep the dream afloat as her life becomes more difficult. Being married to a dissident, she loses her job and is forced to live in her maid’s quarters, whilst someone else lives in the main part of her home.
Love effortlessly blends the intimate and the delicate with the political. Though it paints a damning picture of the totalitarian government of the late 50s, the film never loses focus on the low-key drama at its core. Throughout most of the film, Makk plays on the interesting dynamic between the wife and mother. They’re both waiting for the return of the man they love, the same man, and have certain conflicts but also connect through that shared love. They needle each other from time to time and have their issues but there is love and solidarity between them nonetheless.
The mother lives in a world seemingly outside everyone else in Hungary. Her mind drifts back to a more decadent past whilst her daughter-in-law, in reality, suffers from the constraints of Communist rule. The production design emphasises this, with the mother’s room being crammed with ornate antique nick-nacks, whilst everyone else lives in the drab conformist world of Communist Hungary.
The story is told through the film’s distinct visual style too. It’s shot with beautiful but largely fixed compositions and given energy from editing that leans towards the avant-garde. Quick, jarring cuts into brief flashbacks and occasionally symbolic imagery take us into the minds of our protagonists throughout the film.
There’s a wonderful ambiguity to these flashes that keeps the audience on their toes to draw their own conclusions as to their meaning. Most notably, within the fantastical images we see of the husband/son’s fictional life as a film director in America, we also see brief flashes of prison. Is that because we’re actually seeing the thoughts of the wife or because the mother knows deep down it’s a sham but can’t bring herself to fully accept that?
This radical editing style never detracts from the story and characters at the centre though. It disorientates us at times, particularly during the opening credits, but Love never feels like an experimental film that might distance itself from its audience. Similarly, the cinematography has a poetic beauty but it never feels forced or overly stylised.
The success of the drama also stems from the performances. Lili Darvas and Töröcsik rightfully got recognised at Cannes for their subtly effective leading roles. Iván Darvas is also impressive, given the unenviable task of not properly appearing in the film until the last quarter. He had actually been a political prisoner in the same prison in which they shot, giving his performance an added layer of authenticity.
The sequences in which he appears are also a prime example of how the film excels in quiet, seemingly simple scenes. (* SPOILER *) We watch János travel home after being surprisingly and unceremoniously released from prison. He’s alone and Luca isn’t home when he arrives, so we are told the story through his reactions and demeanour as he makes the journey and looks around the house he’s been away from for so long. (* END OF SPOILER *)
Love then, is a quietly powerful but tender and moving tale of the strain of living under an oppressive regime. Through avoiding any typical grand drama you might get in angrier political attacks, the film feels all too believable, whilst the offbeat editing provides stylistic thrills of sorts, whilst letting us into the minds of our protagonists, adding great depth to proceedings. As such, the film is a rich and striking masterpiece, that deserves wider celebration.
Love is out on 19th September on Blu-ray, released by Second Run. The picture is clean and detailed, with a wide contrast range. I did notice some very subtle fluctuations in tone in places but this may have been an issue with my projector. The audio is clean and clear too.
BLU-RAY SPECIAL EDITION CONTENTS
– Love (Szerelem, 1971) presented from a new 4K restoration created by the National Film Institute – Film Archive, Hungary.
– Károly Makk on Love (2005): the renowned filmmaker discusses the film.
– Audio commentary with Károly Makk and professor Gábor Gelencsér.
– ‘Love’ returns to Cannes (2016): a film on the history and restoration of Love.
– Archival newsreel footage of Hungarian film week in Sorrento, 1971.
– Trailers.
– 20-page booklet with writing on the film by Graeme Hobbs and Agnes Sajti.
– New and improved English subtitle translation.
– World premiere on Blu-ray.
– Region free Blu-ray (A/B/C).
Guided by the host, Makk provides a deeply analytical commentary, that describes in great detail the intentions of the film language used. I must admit, I don’t often sit through full subtitled commentary tracks, because I tend to take them off the disc and listen to them on headphones whilst I’m commuting or doing menial tasks at home, rather than watch them, but this time I was hooked and sat through the whole thing. It helped that it gave me a chance to watch the wonderful film itself one more time, albeit with the distraction of the commentary.
The 21-minute interview with Makk provides a valuable account of how the film came to be, how the cast and crew came together and how the unique editing style developed.
The archival Sorrento piece provides a little slice of history. It’s hardly vital or enriching to the set but it’s nice to see the city and stars back in the day.
The Cannes piece sees Makk once again give his thoughts on how the film came to be and how it was received. It treads familiar ground to the other pieces, but you also get to see a little of him enjoying being back in Cannes with the film.
As with all Second Run releases, you also get a substantial booklet, with further analysis of the film. Graeme Hobbs’ essay is bolstered by a couple of poems, focusing on the visual poetry of the film, whereas Agnes Sajti provides a more conventional but no less informative analysis.
So, Second Run have once again introduced me to a striking work of art I was previously unaware I needed in my life and adorned it with a healthy amount of extras to better appreciate its many qualities. Very highly recommended.
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