Benedek Balázs Vasák Life in danger

Kornél Mundruczó: Desire I Have None

Ervin Nagy
Ervin Nagy
18 KByte

Not even Kornél Mundruczó and his co-producers would have imagined how dangerous a business they had undertaken. They had to invent, write, film and play a story, with a bisexual love quadrangle in the centre, the heroes of which are male prostitutes commuting to the capital. Their quadrangle ends in multiple murder, so to authentically create a film like that, and in the meantime convince both the critic with subtle taste, as well as the even more picky viewer is really a dangerous undertaking. Even Fassbinder failed once in a while. (And critics may be convinced somehow, but not the viewers!) Let us just consider the story itself! The mere existence of a story as such, which today, following the great campaign of the modernity of film, in the era of worn, shattered and vanishing stories, when every story "should" be told between at least three quotation marks to be able to form valid statements or make its statements invalid, which is actually the same. The period of the consistently told and classically composed story is over, the restoration of the regime of the story is treason, a concession to the detriment of validity and artistic expression. Cause and reason, psychological authenticity, motivation, character description - of course, anyone can make films like using these elements, but then we are heading for Hollywood or at least the large scale Euro-conform half-commercial movie. I have almost agreed: yes, this is the future, the lack of story, complex structures, the quotation mark, fragmentation and distance. And then comes Kornél Mundruczó and says: back to good old plot, to making an impact, directness, and back to the classic values of film. Let us talk about passion and suffering. And why not talk about all these that in the meantime we are also talking about the film itself? This is a dangerous undertaking indeed, but Mundruczó succeeded. Kornél Mundruczó could not deny that he approaches the film from the direction of the theatre. Desire I Have None flashes the most classic virtues of the theatre: first class direction of the performers, use of scenery, precise planning of the dramaturgy of the plot, dialogues, and the emphasized usage of the closed interiors are all elements, in which the influence of the theatre is obvious. All these, however, do not mean that the film should be cursed for being theatre-like. This is not the case. On the contrary, the way Mundruczó chooses a solution hardly used in theatre is especially enchanting: the constant mixture of grotesque, sentimental, surreal-hallucinative and expressive elements. The introduction of the heroes' everyday life, the series of often astonishing sexual "games", for instance, consistently pushes the film towards the grotesque, which is also a dangerous game, Mundruczó, however, strongly resists the temptation: through the fine mixture of revealing and concealing, approaching and distancing, he manages to achieve that we never feel these scenes hurting or disturbing. This risky undertaking reaches its final point, when the film in its most wonderful episode (at least for me), in the love duet of the hero and the attorney, depicted in shattered, flash-like pictures, Mundruczó reverses the so far grotesque description and produces its exact counterpoint, also presenting the peak of the motif of sexual games which passes through the film. Nevertheless, a characteristic feature of Mundruczó's vision as a film-maker is that the film (similarly to theatrical productions) lacks linking: this is the way classical drama structure is created, in which the heroes immediately jump from one scene, dialogue or conflict to another, pushing and closing the outer world to the background so that the drama can lighten up as the mere collision of immaculate characters.

This sparkle, however, does not involve any haggardness or abstractness. The living dialogues, the natural acting of the performers, as well as the story-telling serve only one aim. As regards Desire I Have None, I have only one question which evolved in me with elemental power (of course, several questions have evolved, but not with elemental power): that of impact and making an impact. Mundruczó does not fear to make an impact, to be effective, he is not afraid to shocking on the viewer, he is not afraid of the flashing blade of the knife, of beating, blood, nor of emotions or sentimentalism. Another classic theatrical element, anti-Brechtian, anti-modernist tool: to make an impact on, to involve the viewer and to make them express their emotions. It is a grand, noble and dangerous undertaking, but Mundruczó's outstanding sense of form and elegance prevents him from entering the world of wild and flashy effects. The film leaves this grand balance maybe only once in the police scene. As I have already mentioned above, Mundruczó continuously tempts the impossible by mixing grotesque and vision-like elements. In the police scene, however, in which the dance of Ervin Nagy is the lead motif, I felt the collision of two worlds especially disturbing. It may be caused by the rhythm of sequence, the unprecisely calculated tempo, the slightly undeveloped introduction or the fact that the figure of the Hungarian policeman (let alone the Hungarian policegirl!) is not free from extreme film historical allusions, but his presence hinders the momentum of the film. The highly designed and elaborately composed colours of the film also aim to openly make an impact. What we see is strong, clear and bright colours and outlined value flashing on the screen. Pronounced dark contrasts (such as those in the vision-like hang-gliding scene), the vivid pink, orange and lemon colours of the clothes rule the screen. The vision reminds me of Wenders' Paris, Texas, but as Mundruczó once corrected me during an interview: we should rather think of Takesi Kitano and the powerful colours of Hanna-by. The photographer, Szilárd Makkos uses a filter also favoured by Kitano: it highlights and emphasizes basic colours, while slightly blur mixed colours. Consequently, the figures have sharp contours, "protruding" to the front of the background, torn away from the environment, forcing us to focus on the human tragedy. All this does not mean that the background is insignificant. Emese Tóth's chilly, steel-blue-colour scenery, the interior showing a precise geometrical order, the clear shapes of the tiles, the bath tub and the white walls uniquely emphasise the human figures moving around inside. The last telephone conversation of the hero and the attorney is particularly fascinating: we almost fall out of space and time, the space of the film falls apart, while in his utter loneliness the hero flops down in front of a huge and shiny steel door radiating cold. The collision of the human face and the rigid metal has an elemental power in the film. The strong impact is further enhanced by impressive performance. The statement may sound exaggerated, but I cannot recall a contemporary Hungarian film where acting is so natural and has such an importance. We see a classic role-building performance, but - particularly in the scene of the two heroes, played by Ervin Nagy and Roland Rába - we cannot at all find the trace of routine, pre-made gestures or painstakingly developed movements. On the contrary, the film has a character and is alive: we see an authentic production, as well as buoyant, fast and sometimes improvised acting. And it is not merely for the brilliance of the characters, like in Espresso. There is no mannerism, no alienation, like in the long-lasting silence or sudden outbursts of Passion. No self-ironic tone to the film, like in Jancsó's latest films. No suppressed drama expressed by the look of a face, no unspoken love of Grunwalsky's women. Nothing like that: the acting in Desire I Have None is the performance of absolute artlessness. The task of the performers was definitely made easier by the carefully developed characters, the scenario, and the dialogues which can be presented by smooth and sensible diction. The three male heroes act in the dramaturgic space rendered to them with remarkable and unique confidence. And yet, Mundruczó's actors are not necessarily better than in any other films, we should not by any means conclude that. The excellent and authentic performance of the actors is the result of the good relationship and co-operation between director (who is also an actor), photographer and the actors, which is based on unconditional trust in one other. For instance, Ervin Nagy is bold enough to use all his body with complete honesty in most scenes, being present in the development of a movement or the vision with all his heart and soul, which is a rare example of artistic authenticity. The gawky introduction of the already mentioned police scene is pardonable (What a word! Why would Mundruczó need my compliance?), because the dance of the hero (which immediately grabs the eye) who is humiliated and frivolous, feminine and articulately masculine at the same time immediately makes us forget about this minor jolt in narration. It is only Martina Kovács who is somewhat pushed to the background, which is definitely not her fault, since the scenario, the dramaturgy itself confines her to much smaller living space. In fact, this is the function of her role: appearing in recurring scenes, in the moments of waiting, almost in a subordinate role. Nevertheless, the low-key and yet emphasised presence of the other "supporting actor", Imre Csuja expressed only by a few gestures reveals a grand figure.

I have to mention one more thing, which I do reluctantly: the theme of the film. Here, I do not have a problem with Mundruczó's film, since I do not favor the thematic approach to movies, in general. Earlier, I have emphasised the brave return of classic virtues in film art in Desire …, so I cannot avoid dealing with the theme, particularly since the authenticity of acting becomes really valuable in this light. The film, in fact, deals with "marginality", with male prostitutes, the world of homo- and bisexual relationships, which, if you like, is a rather touchy topic. Mundruczó's film, however, completely lacks the all too well-known militant tone of gay and lesbian festivals, as well as provoking and shocking elements. Mundruczó does not intend to provoke the viewers, shake them up or draw their attention to something. He wanted to make a noble, wonderful and understanding movie, one of the few rare examples in past decades, of which we feel that it has something to do with today's reality and the world we live in. It does not have a combatant social meaning, no rude and easily forgettable current phenomena, it only shows a true drama with its tense structure and fast drift.

Every year as winter (and the film week) is about to come to an end, critics tend to suffer from recurring depression and keep on complaining about the problems with Hungarian film: no money, debuting film-makers suffer, no continuity, etc. Should we go on tolling the alarm bell? The Hungarian film is in trouble? I do not think the situation is really so tragic, since as long as talented people can make their debuting feature film (even though only on video) in due time, at the age of 25, and this film reveals his suspiciously complex way of thinking, has its artistic and moral values and may even expect success with the audience, there is no reason to worry. As long as touching and authentic films are produced, and film-makers are ready to face the challenge of honestly depicting the story of a bisexual love quadrangle, ending in murder, there is no need to worry. Of course, we should worry, not about the film though, but rather about the world as such, and that is what Mundruczó tells us about.

Imre Csuja and Ervin Nagy
Imre Csuja
and Ervin Nagy
20 KByte
Roland Rába
Roland Rába
18 KByte
Martina Kovács
Martina Kovács
22 KByte

39 KByte
Roland Rába
Roland Rába
18 KByte

 

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