Guli. A "well-nit" guy in his twenties, with self-confidence and a sense of reality. A bar-tender at the Flash Disco in Karcag. It's his minor "dramatic offence" that sets off the plot of Eastern Sugar: it's his fault that the Boss's mate cuts his mouth while drinking beer. Guli is not only fired immediately but also forbidden to set foot in the disco even as a guest. He and two of his friends soon make a decision to quit the town. Given that it's summer Budapest is out of the question, so off to Lake Balaton! Naturally not on bicycles and or on holiday, like the three youngsters of Péter Bacsó's Cyclists in Love (Szerelmes biciklisták) of nearly forty years ago, but by car and as "seasonal workers" to the holiday resort of Aliga.

Gyula Virág. A small-town heartthrob in his twenties. He too works in the Flash. He sticks up for Guli twice in front of the Boss, but in vain. Then at Club Aliga he in turn gets into a similar situation. Having "banged" the wife of an MP and given his piece of mind to the financial manager ("you feed assholes from Budapest on my money"), he is sacked. There's nothing left but to put his good looks up for sale as his only asset. His old dream of "being an ever-shining pornographic star in the sky" is now to be realised in Budapest.

Peti Nyéki. In his twenties. His path is similar to that of his friends' since they all attended the School of Commerce in Debrecen, then worked at the Flash in Karcag, followed by Aliga and Budapest. In old plays his role was termed "naturbursch" (according to the definition of the dictionary of foreign words: "an honest, good-tempered, young man of unaffected manners). His friends ridicule his aims in life. He would like a family, wife, kids, a house and dog.

Timi. A friendly girl in her twenties - with a slight wryness about her - on work experience at the Club Aliga. Likes going back home to Enying. From the first moment of their acquaintance she and Guli get on well until their colleague Milan messes things up. He makes Guli believe that Timi offered herself to him, slept with him and even introduced him to her family.

Milán. In his twenties. His advantage over the three "new boys" is that he worked at the resort in Aliga the previous year too. He boasts of "knocking off" twenty-three girls in one season. A real intriguer, who not only botches up Timi and Guli's budding romance but also reports Gyula to Imi, the young head waiter, thus putting an end to the career of his rival both as "stud of the resort" and as a waiter.

Guli, Gyula, Nyéki, Timi, Milán and co. On recalling Ferenc Török's second full-length feature film, in all probability it is portraits that will come to mind, the portraits of young people (and the older ones around them). And situations, series of situations which mould, operate and enliven the portraits - as the result of the marvellous teamwork of the writer, director, DOP and the actors. Written down, Gyula's flirtatious talk on the beach ("You sunbathing? Scorching, hm? Glaring.), the dialogue between Guli and his dentist mother ("Got any dosh? What for? For life…") or Gyula's outbursts ("Accommodation like this at the fucking Balaton?" "Forty grand for such slave labour!") don't produce in themselves such an elementary effect as they do within the context of the film. Though the brief, disjointed, simplified (and often vulgar) dialogues, scripted by the director and Szilárd Podmaniczky, convey the situation and temperament of the characters perfectly, it is nevertheless the actors (and the previously mentioned creative alliance) that make them truly alive and illustrative of both the times and the human soul. Zsolt Nagy (Guli), Ervin Nagy (Virág), Péter Kokics (Nyéki), Judit Rezes (Timi) and Zoltán Géci (Milán) offer the best of their - not insignificant - talent in shaping heroes seeking their way in life.

Surrounding them in Karcag or the resort on Lake Balaton and the "porn test" in Budapest, is a whole gallery of figures, personified in body and soul in smaller walk-on parts by excellent actors as well. Gál the MP, for instance, (Géza D. Hegedüs), privileged guest of Club Aliga and friend of the manager of finance, stands before us with a portrayal perfected from the very first moment by actor and writer alike. Wearing a light summer hat and sunglasses, he orders lunch from Gyula (who later seduces his wife) in a haughty tone: "I'd like roast beef… But not with yesterday's potatoes. Make them crunchy like quartz sand."

Of course there's no lack of irritating guests either. Dislike between mother and son-in-law is part of a cliché. In theory this scene wouldn't surpass stereotypes either. However Kati Egri and László Keszeg's rendering of their mutual aversion with rasping and coarse irony - once again while ordering a meal - is "juicy", splendid and "quietly frenetic". Erzsébet Kútvölgyi's virtuosity too has to be mentioned. As Auntie Ibi, the kitchen hand, she has four scenes in total, none of which are longer than half a minute and some only feature her for seconds. Nevertheless she presents us a complete course of life: that of a working woman, hardened by life, but having lost none of her humanity. Drying-up cloth on her shoulder, cigarette in her mouth, smiling and squinting she offers the young people a plate of doughnuts. Her short, laughing romance with Imre Csuja, drinking schnapps from a hip-flask is unforgettable.

Describing all the excellent acting would require an incredible amount of space. Thus I can only make brief mention of Péter Takátsy's kapo-like head waiter, Éva Kerekes, the unhappy MP's wife, László Sinkó's weary bar-keeper, Borbála Péterfy's sensual bride and Zsolt Anger's primitive bridegroom; I must return to our protagonists.

Milán. Wins his deserved punishment. He continues bothering Guli until the latter knocks him down. Timi. Although due to Milán's "good offices" it takes a while before harmony settles between Guli and Timi, they even go on a boat trip, the first in her life. However this doesn't keep Guli at Lake Balaton.

Nyéki. He comes no closer to reaching his goal. (As far as the writer and director are concerned his part is the weakest among the main characters.)

Gyula Virág. The horizon closes in: he quits the porn test. His embarrassment resulting from the situation is only heightened by the humiliating treatment he receives. Cursing, he flees.

Guli. It is his characteristic "love story" that frames the film. At the beginning of Eastern Sugar he's seen waiting at the railway station for Andi. They've split up and he - supposedly - wants to make up with her, but she behaves distantly. At the end Guli takes a train back home, looks her up in the Flash and possibly succeeds in his advances.

Supposedly and possibly. Alluding to secrets, omission and concealing is one of the film's virtues, due to which many things - for example, the story of Andi and Guli - have to be pieced together from gestures, tones and half sentences. Neither is the end certainly happy; it holds the chance of happiness. (This method nonetheless has its disadvantages: even the wonderful Gabriella Hámori doesn't know what to do with Andi's unwritten role.)

Not committing the mistake that ruined the outcome of numerous Hungarian films in the past fifteen years is also to Ferenc Török's credit. He passes up revamping his work with an unnecessary ending that would be solely justified by creative despotism. Neither does he overemphasize aggression springing from transports of temper - inevitably present in the world, despite the milieu providing an opportunity for wallowing in violence.

Violence, generated by frustration which in turn is the result of the lack of perspectives. And what kind of perspectives do our heroes have? They merely subsist. Gyula, having seen one of the TV stars, is now also hoping to make it big in the porn world: "They've pulled it off so why shouldn't I?" Well, he doesn't. Nyéki's dreams could more or less come true but there's no sign of it so far. And what does Guli spot through the binoculars he buys on the train? The Flash Disco.

The Flash, situated in the vicinity of the Karcag sugar plant, owing to which Guli can't stand sugar to such an extent that he even blows it off the top of the doughnut. Then at the very end of the film he looks towards us with his binoculars. On the screen-plate, pointillist, slow-motion pictures we see penguins jumping into water. This is the final shot of Eastern Sugar. The son of Gál the MP is playing at the table with a clockwork plastic penguin. Then the penguins shown on TV in Feri's pub during a voyage to the Antarctic appear before us. Timi finds the toy left behind by the little boy and gives it to Guli. Gyula looks with scorn on Guli's future course in life: "Lick the ass of Lestyán and rot away at the workers' hostel. Just remain a penguin." And that's probably what Guli will be. A penguin. A waiter. A little man in tails. And not a "bigwig", the word the manager used to describe the guests of Club Aliga. But of course the existence of bigwigs isn't dependant on a political regime. There always were, are and will be bigwigs. If not from one party then from several.

A town on the plain (Karcag), a former party resort, a country disco and markets and housing estates in Budapest - though not run-down to the extreme, the film is set in environments that in no way can be called attractive. Despite this the camera positions and the lighting are artistic in a natural rather than artificial way. Ferenc Török's Eastern Sugar is a beautifully photographed work. This is not unusual in the case of Hungarian films. The new frontline of DOPs, where Dániel Garas also belongs, is no less talented than the famous old one. Garas envelopes most of the film's shots in a languid glow, justified not only by the season the plot is set in but also by the outlook of the characters and creators.

The story is without any illusions but not without hope. We grow fond of these boys and girls along with all their pettiness, occasional roughness, minor betrayals - namely, with all their mistakes. It is they who provide the inner glow of the pictures.

All in all Eastern Sugar is a credible film throughout, as was Ferenc Török's first full-length feature film, the lightweight and enjoyable Moscow Square (Moszkva tér). (It's best to overlook the piece in-between, the episode directed by Ferenc Török in Then Came a Bus... - a valueless and pointless etude, a simple blunder.) The reason why even so I don't consider Eastern Sugar a truly profound and significant film (just as the successful first opus) is more difficult to account for than my approval. The experience is diminished by the pleasant musical accompaniment that, though fulfilling a function (that of indicating the atmosphere of the period) is neither varied nor particularly inventive. Due to the chosen short story-like structure dramatic climaxes are rare, just as genuinely powerful cinematic moments. The fates of our heroes all along evoke interest and sympathy but are not moving. In spite of this Ferenc Török's film is an extremely good and likeable work, the point I've been illustrating all along.

The photographs have been accessed from the film's homepage (ed.)