It can produce quite a comical effect when, at the beginning of the dubbed TV version of a popular film, following an introductory bon mot, fighting scene, murder or city view, a voice filled with pathos announces the vulgar title of the "work" and we are then informed that it was "directed" by So-and-so. Unknown names ring out for two second's of creative weight, and then the entertainment, hard to synchronise with the ambitions of the maker, continues: the tension relaxing you, love drawing tears and death raising your spirits.

Our artists of course rarely get involved in such laughable situations. At least not at home. No dubbing could camp up their role in a clumsy way, but even in the case of such an unimaginable event they need not be ashamed. Hungarian film-makers are in the lucky position whereby the making of a commercial product is declared as a truly creative feat. After long years of inward experimenting with language and artistic talent, the real experiment of the present is to form a new, genuine (and profitable) relationship with the viewers. So admitting to it means less and less of a problem. There's no need to be too worried about reviews either. Most of us concede that in fact it wasn't director's films that won our affection for the cinema; in approaching old age, in the glimmering light of our modest career, if only out of envy we expect no salvation from anyone or anything, at most some comfort and joy.

Despite this, when looking at the previous year's (or years') more and more self-confidently resounding commercial domestic attempts the question frequently arises: Do the potential successors of Keleti and co really want what they're taking upon themselves in interviews and promotional materials? And have they actually thought over what they are taking upon themselves? Are they able to seriously fit into the frameworks of popular genres, or do they merely consider them as freely blendable toys? Do they really want to serve the audience or rather just wait upon it from a distance. True, the standard of the films perhaps doesn't give occasion for expressing so much doubt. Let's then accept that the intentions in all cases are serious and viewer-friendly. But however understanding we may be, the error indicator of entertaining cinema ruthlessly senses any cautious ambivalence, any uncertainty of genre or intellect. However much we enjoyed Glass Tiger, we are unable to savour its flavours undisturbed by the fact that one never really knows - even running the risk of error - how it wishes to present itself. On the whole MayDay Mayhem wasn't a disappointment either. Except that if one does want to say goodbye with understanding ease to the past, it is unnecessary to crudely camp up the message that this doesn't mean forgiveness, and vice versa, because this only provokes reflex-like muttering. (Why is life so cheerful in this absurd world? Or: What's wrong with May First?) And however pleasantly thought-provoking Smouldering Cigarette's appropriate period description might have been, the consorting of an entertaining story built around the Karády myth with the myth-destroying criticism of a retrograde right-wing scale of values cannot however be viewed with absolute ease.

A Kind of America was the only one that had a real chance. Despite this, the assurance with which Gábor Herendi and his crew made the most of their chance is practically unbelievable. It is difficult to grasp that at last someone has dared to make straight forward decisions. The most important: Herendi didn't simply recognise something and cross over out of common sense - instead he was capable of devoting himself heart and soul to the making of an entertaining film. He didn't over-estimate his own personality and was able to submit himself to the directives of a genre and style.

Of course these had to be chosen first. It couldn't have been easy because Herendi too faced the intimation of the trap that weakens the effect of popular films, the "put together what you have" principle. The story itself is composed of a satire and a romantic comedy. The director-producer however brilliantly senses that the screenplay, co-written with Gyula Márton, cannot be shifted in either direction. Courting the favour of Alex Brubeck, the American pseudo-producer visiting Hungary, cannot mature to become a satire if this fraud only moves in a particular circle. The romantic comedy can't receive real impetus either because dramaturgically it is dependent on the story's Brubeck thread, merely capable of producing transitional situations without any remarkable turns. Eszter can only be wavered by the manly force of attraction American richness presents - she has no space or time to get entangled in the relationship during the get-togethers taken upon herself to raise money for Tamás' film project. Swift sobering is all that remains.

What does the raw material offer then? Many comical situations and a thread to bind them together with, but by no means a real satire or a comedy. The arrival and offer of the producer stirs and sweeps away the life of the five ambitious young people - three brothers and their girlfriends - without actually altering the character of their lives. It makes the figures describable, but doesn't mould them into anything different. Tamás stays the placid hard-working director of commercials waiting for his chance to make headway, Ákos the joy-orientated construction entrepreneur frequently flashing his cynicism and his genitals, András the out of depth intellectual seeking genuine values, Eszter the pretty bunny living for her love and succumbing to other pleasures with complete innocence and Timi the careerist singer drifting along with the waves of fashion. Put together this amounts to no more than a cheerful genre picture. But being nothing less than that it is definitely worth making, especially using plenty of pleasant music. It is worth making because it possesses a meaningful generational background that bears on many of us. It is not about regime changers but regime products, and within this about a striving layer of society who can consider the perspective of a middle class well-being realistic. Tamás and his companions, with Ákos at the head, dance nouvelle Hungarian rhythms. It causes amusement when they get the steps wrong, but it seems we need not worry about them too much.

It was probably easier to hit upon the portrayal of the encouragingly pulsating weekdays of our young heroes. And once again Herendi made the right decision in choosing the language of soap operas as the basic tone. Lacking direct critical intentions and striking lyrical interpretation, hardly anything can beat this. Being flexible it allows the events to stand out, providing the actors with a wide space for their characters, it can hold together even the weakest structure and besides its indefatigable gift for story-telling it is also capable of self-irony. Another important practical aspect is that it can ensure a huge crowd of audience. For example someone who lives secluded from the world, but follows the family businesses and residential tiffs in the soap opera Among Friends, will immediately be able to feel at home in the world of A Kind of America.

The rest is a question of professional grounding. With Herendi and co this fortunately doesn't mean the cold deliberateness of professionalism. The relaxed atmosphere of the scenes and the joyful enthusiasm of acting all the more calls attention to one of the director's excellent abilities. He edits with ruthless consistency. As soon as a potential winner enters, he dives off again. Neither does he respect the musical tracks. This spinning ensures the narrative's stylistic unity that dances on borderlines and stifles much of the vulgar seepage. Transgressions of course do occur. I don't think there is the lesson or bon mot that justifies chucking your brother off Elizabeth Bridge and our normative lust can also be illustrated with more restrained emphasis. Not to worry, the richness of content places these minor incidents of discordance between brackets. Maybe it's surprising, but A Kind of America has become "slightly" more than a pleasantly entertaining box office hit. Its loud superficiality of form presents us with an unexpectedly plastic, open and freely interpretable picture of new lifestyles necessary for our everyday existence. On leaving the cinema we have something to think about: do we really want this?