FIPRESCI 100: A Conversation with Ildikó Enyedi

On November 20, Hungarian director Ildikó Enyedi received the FIPRESCI 100th Lifetime Achievement Award—a special distinction created to mark the federation’s centennial and honour artists whose work has consistently captured critical attention, earning them multiple FIPRESCI prizes over the course of their careers. On this occasion, the federation’s vice president Elena Rubashevska sat down with Enyedi to discuss her artistic journey—from her recent achievements to the unexpected memories that shaped her early years as a filmmaker.

Elena Rubashevska (ER): Ildikó, you showed truly amazing consistency as a director, demonstrating impressive results with your work through decades—which is also reflected in two FIPRESCI prizes for your recent films. As a person who works in industry for decades now and observes changes, and also had a first-hand experience of being in “development purgatory” for a number of years, what are key pillars for you to stay true to yourself – and at the same time, appreciated by audience?

Ildikó Enyedi (IE): I had this integrity for a very long time, and I didn’t know I had it. I was always very quick to say “no” to even tempting possibilities if it wasn’t my piece of cake, and I didn’t know how rare this inner consistency was until I lost it. I became desperate; and when this inner shield weakens, the world feels it somehow, and you become a prey. The more I was pushing, the more I was trying to bring my ships to the harbour, the more my centre moved to the external world – to my kids, and my students. I was very passionate to teach, and it helped me to get through. As soon as I became chill again, I gained back my integrity. Nowadays, I see many young filmmakers who don’t have the important thing I had from my family: the assurance that I will be okay no matter what. This is what I try to reinforce when I work with students, to make them have trust in themselves, because in the end, it is our only safety net.

ER: Technological boom influences the way we make films, but also the way we perceive films. Attention span shortens, influencers push out film critics, directors are employed by social media platforms to make TikTok series. Your cinema, however, stays meditative and rather classic. Are you worried by the trends prevailing in media world?

IE: Actually, my perception is double-folded. A young generation, people in their 20s in many European countries, they are very much rediscovering cinema. I know it from my children as well. Small cinemas are reopening, and repertoire plays a key role. Many gems are being rediscovered. 35mm screenings are also special events these days, and the halls are full. I have a tour of my recent film now (Silent Friend), and the most responsive audience is young people.

So I think the two extremes exist: the very quick content digesting, and also very, very long classical films. For example, the films of Lav Diaz are very much appreciated by young Asian audience. And technically, I’m very happy to live through the change from celluloid to digital, and to observe how celluloid became just one of the tools that you can choose from, and it is not some sort of artistic, snobbish thing anymore. Whatever your project needs, you can go for it.

ER: Over the past decade, we are observing how suddenly the world became more divided, how governments are aggressively focusing on nationalism, disregarding dialogue. You always approached the communication topic very boldly, challenging uncomfortable situations with ease and poetics. Could you expand on the role of language in your films—and life?

IE: My latest film, Silent Friend, is very much about language. It is about how, when we don’t have a common verbality, the other channels of communication can open. There is this very limited nature to verbality actually, so we should learn to rely on so many other channels as well.

Whenever I use different languages in a film, it has a purpose, a reason.

ER: One of my favourite works of yours is Tamás and Yuli. I am originally from Donetsk, the Eastern part of Ukraine, which was an industrial region. When I was re-watching your film, it brought a lot of nostalgic memories, because currently almost everything is being destroyed…

IE: I was in Donetsk when I was 15 years old. It left a very strong memory.

ER: I often try to deliver to people the poetics and the beauty of industrial landscape, and that’s something that I very much saw in your film. I was wondering if you could expand on what was attractive for you in this setting, and how you managed to find beauty in something that most of the people actually consider ugly.

IE: It was an ARTE production, and there were several directors, I think perhaps seven around the world, with the assignment to make a film about the year 2000.

I especially wanted to show such a place, such a corner of the world, where people—doesn’t matter if it was 2000 or not—lived as they did 100 years ago. And somehow the mine is a place… It’s a very dramatic place, and it is also a place of solidarity. Also, I wanted to make a very tender film about people who are not visible when you think about the concept of the year 2000, the future; people who are left behind and not appreciated. That was my point of departure: to make them visible and to show what was happening in their souls, in the year 2000 but 2000 years ago as well.

When I was preparing the film, I got to know these people, and in their labour, I found some very weird resemblance with filmmaking. The filmmaking is not dangerous, yet as much as mining, it is a work that you can’t do if you don’t love it. And they were all passionate about their work. I think that both mining and filmmaking are such difficult jobs that if your soul is not involved, then after a week you will escape.

ER: Coming to your past films, you got to work with superstars of Soviet Cinema Oleg Yankovsky and Alexander Kaidanovsky. Could you share some memories of them?

IE: Ah! With me, it was the first time for Oleg Yankovsky to work with a female director. It was a test for him. I traveled to Moscow in winter to attend the premiere of one of the films where he was the protagonist (Tracker by Roman Balayan). After the screening, we went to the director’s apartment to speak about the film. I liked it very much, but there were some things I didn’t find to be so good, and when director asked my opinion, I honestly said that. I saw that Oleg was furious, thinking “What an idiot woman this is”, and “This is a masterpiece!”. But the director said that actually it bugs him very much. He couldn’t resolve this, he couldn’t do what he planned there, and it was a real problem for him as well. At this moment, I saw that Oleg became silent, and then he accepted the role.

We started to work and he was amazing with the camera. He helped the cinematographer a lot. We were working in that film with direct lighting, like in the 30s when actors had very small freedom of movement; we were sculpting with light. And he was an incredible partner in this.

One more funny little story. There was this one scene, one of the easiest, where I had to work with 200 extras. It is really nothing special, but somehow for him to see a woman speaking with 200 people and making them work, was something very unique. Then, in the evening, I invited him and some colleagues in my tiny apartment and I cooked for them. So I managed to rule over 200 people, and at the same time cooked something edible! It was a turning point for him.

And with Kaidanovsky, we clicked immediately. He became a real friend, and the films he made as a director are incredible. Absolutely incredible. There wasn’t so much of actor-director relationship, but a real alliance and friendship of colleagues. Originally, I wrote the role of Simon the Magician for him. I was in Paris, writing the scene of the death, and I got a phone call and learned that he got a heart attack. Actually, he died the same age as his father—also of a heart attack. I lost a true friend, and I miss him until today.

ER: Thank you for sharing those incredible stories.

There are so many productions these days and such a big choice of what to see in cinemas, streaming platforms or festivals. How do you select what to watch? How do you curate your watch list?

IE: I use Letterboxd. And of course, there are filmmakers whom I follow. Anything they do, I watch.

ER: A couple of names?

IE: Apichatpong Weerasethakul, Paul Thomas Anderson.

ER: Do you trust opinion of film critics while selecting a film to watch?

IE: That’s a good question. Actually, yes. And it’s quite rare that I disagree.

Elena Rubashevska
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