18/11/2024 - Zsófia Szilágyi’s minimalistic and subtle yet intense relationship drama depicts a single day as a threshold between vital stages in life

Hungarian helmer Zsófia Szilágyi once again reveals herself to be a true devotee of the principle of the unity of time in narrative structure. In her debut feature, One Day [+see also:
film review
trailer
interview: Zsófia Szilágyi
film profile], the camera captures 36 hours in the life of a mother of three as she navigates both tedious mundanity and her husband’s infidelity. Szilágyi’s second feature, January 2 [+see also:
trailer
film profile], showing in the International Competition of the 45th Cairo International Film Festival after its world premiere in Venice's Biennale College Cinema section, narrows this time frame to less than one day. Both works masterfully depict everyday life, capturing practical and existential details with refined intuition. While grounded in gritty realism, the auteur’s lens reveals subtle psychological nuances in the characters, turning the seemingly banal into a philosophical study. Just as in Greek drama, where the unity of time aligns with mythological parables, Szilágyi’s narrative is propelled by the whims of chance. Fate, however, is not an explicit leitmotif; the characters simply surrender to the flow of life, which sooner or later sweeps away everything in its path.

On the frosty morning of 2 January, just after the New Year's hangover has eased off and harsh reality has come knocking with its inevitability, Ági (Jóvári Csenge, looking both perplexed and determined) drives over to help Klára (Zsuzsanna Konrád, striking a delicate balance between carefree and melancholic) move out of her husband's home, following their separation. Klára's mother takes the two children before the very first trip, allowing the parents to act childishly in turn – he throws her luggage out in front of the house, clearly offended, while she yells back, unable to believe the immaturity of the man she had attempted to form a family with. The entire day, and thus the film, is spent loading bags and boxes into the boot, then transporting them to a cramped, top-floor flat in a more central area of Budapest with a mouldy ceiling and no lift, so everything – bags, boxes, and even the ficus tree – must be carried up and unpacked. And on and on it goes, seven times over.

During this cyclical road movie, Klára's new boyfriend appears, seeming more like a comforting harbour than a new romance, while Ági steals moments to talk on the phone with her minimally available partner, who keeps her wrapped around his little finger. Amid the two women’s shared solitude, interrupted from time to time by occasional helpers, confessions and insights emerge, making them if not more certain of their paths, then at least a little more mature. There’s a subtle implication that no matter how much effort they put into relationships and personal development, the current will carry them away in an arbitrary direction.

It is difficult to explain why some films with a repetitive structure bore us to death, while others keep us riveted from the first frame to the last. January 2 falls into the latter category, perhaps owing to its almost musical composition, where each variation on the theme builds upon the last; moreover, the repeated, methodical tossing of luggage back and forth seems to quite literally put us in the heroines' shoes. Rather than relying on suspense, the film delves into the intricacies of its characters and the nuances of their situation. The quest for identification is equally disarming – who hasn’t found themselves “in the middle of our life's journey”, to quote Dante, with burnt bridges behind them and an invisible road leading into the fog ahead? The choice to use grey days with overcast skies as a backdrop puts the finishing touch to this portrait of being lost and adrift in adulthood.

January 2 was produced by Hungary’s Poste Restante.