On Body and Soul (Testről és lélekről) is the eighth film from Hungarian director Ildikó Enyedi, the recipient of last year’s Golden Bear at the Berlin International Film Festival, and an eccentric and highly unique take on contemporary romance. A subdued, ethereal meditation on love and intimacy in our increasingly distant and apathetic world, On Body and Soul is part workplace comedy, part romance, part brooding philosophical drama. Dancing between dream and reality, the film tells the story of the slow establishment of an intense relationship between two emotionally dysfunctional co-workers as they find themselves oneiric lovers.
Enyedi immediately establishes an idiosyncratic stylistic language and deftly sustains it throughout the film, allowing the audience to engage with its emotional themes on a sensory level. A cool colour palette, a sparsely used pulsating and minimal soundtrack, and long, still camera work establish intimacy between the viewer and the subject, which, in the film’s opening, is a gently nuzzling pair of deer. This pristine, if clinical, scene is immediately contrasted with a vision of cows crammed in cages primed for slaughter, and Budapest urbanites briefly taking in a moment of sunlight as respite from their work at an abattoir.
This balance between idyllic fantasy and an often awkward, lonely reality is the major concept that drives the plot of On Body and Soul. Mária and Endre’s relationship is fully rooted thanks to a bizarre workplace psychometric test, but it immediately changes their outlook in life and towards each other, as Enyedi invites us to contemplate on the intimacies that are hidden within our prosaic realities. It’s for this reason that their relationship feels markedly more earnest than those seen in other “whimsical” romance films that have been released as of late – the film’s love of the awkward is reminiscent of Miranda July’s Me, You, and Everyone We Know – primarily due to the fantastic performances of lead actors Alexandra Borbély and Géza Morcsányi. Borbély’s wide-eyed, dispassionate coolness perfectly captures her character’s social anxiety and difficulties in understanding others. Meanwhile, Morcsányi makes his rugged, straight-talking foil all the more complex by giving us glimpses of inner turmoil, his sense of inadequacy and limited capacity for true emotional intimacy. Enyedi likewise sustains a comedic flair throughout in celebrating the absurdity of sex, romance and everyday interactions, rather than shunning them (see: Curb Your Enthusiasm).
Moments of tenderness between the film’s eclectic array of characters – one of the best being the elderly cleaner’s My Fair Lady-esque training of Mária in how to “hook herself a man” – are contrasted with visceral scenes of animal slaughter, attempted suicide, and genuine human despair. This varied emotional palette is not always successful, with some stark tonal shifts feeling like easy attempts to shock the viewer to attention. But this diverse approach remains important as part of the great stew of senses and experiences that Enyedi is creating. When I visited Budapest, I was fascinated by the seemingly constant jump between the beautiful and the ugly in the city’s life. A rich tapestry of stunning architecture and a surprising joie de vivre is contrasted to the city’s brittle cold, crumbling Soviet-style blocks, and an increasingly dispassionate leadership that would leave any person feeling quite jaded. Enyedi’s work, however, has a history of celebrating the tension between these contrasts, her debut feature My Twentieth Century involves the reuniting of twins, a feminist anarchist and a decadent courtesan, yet this film is perhaps her best experiment in celebrating the ecstasy in the human experience, focussing her camera on the joys of the mundane.
While Enyedi’s meandering, interwoven series of plotlines sometimes feel contrived in their consistent forcing of coincidence, On Body and Soul deftly maintains a grounding in its core message through performances that mature and grow more and more complex as the film reaches its coda, presented through the stunning camerawork of Máté Herbai. For all the film’s viscera and whimsy, it presents a unique take on cinema’s familiar existential theme of romance, and a true celebration of life for all its flaws and challenges. An incredibly stylised film that concerns itself with quiet, straightforward individuals, there is an interesting dynamic between Enyedi’s detailed approach and the detail-oriented nature of her characters.
While it seems that Mariá and Endre’s real-life intimacy can never match that of their dreams, Enyedi clearly seeks to remind us of all the strange, uncomfortable beauty that is present in each moment.
Please note: This film is rated R18+
Written by Dylan Stevens (18) edited by Lauren Carroll Harris (as part of the Film in Revolt writing mentorship program).