FRESH AIR

If films could exude odours, then this one would fill the cinema with a breathtaking stench. FRISS LEVEGŐ pulls off the impossible feat of audiovisually conveying sensory impressions ostensibly unable to be captured with the means of film. Thick violet curtains symbolize the smell in the public toilet where Viola works. Although she has concocted a cunning mixture of different air fresheners, the smell lingers on the attendant’s invariably red garments. The minute Viola walks through the door in the evenings, her teenage daughter Angéla throws open all the windows, and the mother jumps into the bath and scrubs her skin until it matches the angry red of the overalls she wears to work. The 17-year-old girl despises her mother, and dreams of becoming a fashion designer – a career goal suddenly less remote when she learns she has a chance of participating in an international competition. Behind the closed door of her room she designs tops resplendent in optimistic green, while Viola busily telephones her way through contact ads, inevitably pulling back at the last moment. She counters her daughter’s humiliating behaviour and the boredom of her work with bizarre cleaning rituals and a passion for ornamental kitsch. It takes a violent incident to break the silence between the two women. With affectionate observation and subtle humour, FRISS LEVEGŐ calmly portrays the two main figures from a distance, alternating between the parallel plot strands. The jigsaw-like pieces fit together like the fragments of a cryptic conversation overheard by chance. Ágnes Kocsis’ feature debut is characterized by its meticulously composed images and consequential use of colour and sound. German premiere.