Liza, a rókatündér (Liza, the Fox-Fairy), by Károly Ujj Mészáros

Zoárd Honéczy

Liza, a rókatündér (“Liza, the Fox-Fairy”) is an underrated gem of contemporary Hungarian cinema. It is a fantasy film that also manages to remain a pure love story, incorporating certain traditional elements of Japanese culture. These components culminate in a quirky film in which anything can happen, as it does not shy away from incorporating surrealism or dark humour - Liza is therefore a unique viewing experience in contemporary Hungarian cinema.

Liza is a young nurse living in “Csudapest” (“Miracle-Pest”, a play on Budapest), working for an old lady named Mária. She is a silent, smiley, and naive person, who often daydreams. Mária introduces Liza to Japanese culture. She is certain that she will find love soon, just like in the books. She has an imaginary friend, a Japanese pop singer named Tomy Tani, who seems to be nothing but a source of entertainment. However, the narrator assures us that Tomy is actually an evil demon inhabiting the world and only visible to Liza. When Liza is on a break (hoping to find love at Mekk Burger - an imaginary version of McDonald’s), Tomy uses his demonic powers to kill Márta by blowing dust into her mouth. Márta’s family accuses Liza of killing her for the will, so the police start their investigation led by Sergeant Zoltán. Tomy curses Liza to become a fox-fairy, meaning that all men who catch feelings for her must die. This starts a chain of events, in which Liza tries to gain the love of incredibly weird men, all of whom meet strange deaths with the help of Tomy. These men include Károly (with a peculiar taste in food) and Mr. Ludvig (who hides in cupboards to keep his blood pressure intact). 

While investigating Liza for the murders, Sergeant Zoltán rents a room in Liza’s apartment. He fixes the toilet and the heater and seems to believe in Liza’s innocence. The two discover that the curse cannot be broken unless someone feels pure love towards the fox-fairy. Liza believes that this person might be Henrik (Márta’s son), the only one who was nice to her after Márta’s death, whom she also assumes had been fixing things in her apartment. 

However, he is not exactly monogamous and after their night together, he leaves to be with another woman. Tomy kills Henrik with the help of a hitman and a jealous husband. Due to this, Liza attempts suicide by overdosing on sleeping pills. She has a vision of Tomy telling her that this was his plan all along, so that Liza will stay with him in the afterlife for eternity. However, Liza realizes at this point that the pure love she feels is not for Henrik, but for Zoltán. Zoltán saves her from overdosing, the curse is broken and the two live happily ever after…

As one can see from the plot synopsis, Liza, a rókatündér is structurally and thematically a fairy tale: a pure-hearted protagonist (Liza) must face challenges from an evil spirit/witch (Tomy Tani) in order to find love in a traditional happy ending. It is also common in fairy tales that the antagonist obstructs the protagonist with the help of some fantastical elements or magical powers. In the case of Liza, a rókatündér, Liza suffers the “fox-fairy curse” while the challenges rise from “unworthy” potential lovers and the accusation of murder. Tomy infects Liza with an idealistic image of love and forces her to try this idea out on a set of problematic (or perhaps even crazy) admirers. Then, just  as  Liza starts to overlook their problems, they are all killed suddenly. With this, Tomy attempts to demolish the idea of pure love he planted in Liza, and to destroy  her innocence and naïveté, so that she would fall into his demonic arms. However, he makes one small mistake (again, a classic fairy tale-feature): he forgets to consider all aspects of being a fox-fairy.

In Japanese folklore, foxes play a vital and recurring role. Kitsune (“fox”) characters usually appear as intellectual spirits, who use their shapeshifting powers to influence, guide, or guard humans. This notion is called kitsunetsuki (“the state of being possessed by a fox”) and the victims are traditionally younger women. If we interpret Liza’s fox-fairy curse as a form of kitsunetsuki, we can see why Tomy’s plan failed. The kitsune inside Liza transformed from a lethal influence into a silent, faithful guardian - a guardian of purity and innocence. And with that, the final and most important ingredient of a fairy tale appears: the moral of the story. Liza, a rókatündér highlights the importance of kindness and empathy, while confirming the validity of the textbook definition of “true love”. However, what makes the film distinct from a classic fairy tale is its bizarre, surprising and sometimes even cruel humour.

The humour of Liza…  is  sudden and (due to its otherworldly atmosphere) unexpected. This is  because  Liza (a girl possessed by the spirit of a fox) is the most ‘normal’ character of the film. The other two most important characters, arguably, are Tomy and Zoltán - a duo functioning on different ends of the spectrum of peculiarity. Tomy is a wild, eccentric “person” (spirit) who wears a bright green suit, dances around and sings into a microphone while claiming several victims. The catchiness of his songs and his joyous dance juxtaposed with his victims’ desperate attempts to survive evoke the funniest, but also the cruelest moments of the film. On the other hand, Sergeant Zoltán makes us laugh with his staticness and lack of emotion. He listens to Finnish country music (!) while completing his tasks and ignores his injuries and accidents (for example, his hair catching on fire). 

Liza.. also contains many humorous one-liners and funny wordplays. Perhaps the most iconic recurring joke is the police chief attempting to add a fitting proverb or saying, but forgetting the ending, ends up simply cursing. It has already been mentioned that the Liza’s admirers  are quite peculiar, which is also emphasised in short jokes. The first one, Károly, loves to eat, but his taste is quite unusual: carp with maple syrup, melon soup with dill and even mushroom-stew with marmalade. It is also implied that Károly lost a vast amount of weight due to his wife’s passing and having no one to cook this type of food for him. The other one, Mr. Ludvig often hides in cupboards, blaming his blood pressure for this habit (“They’ve found him in the electric meter once. Reputedly, he’s the phantom of the payroll office”). 

Of course, the writer/director could not resist asserting Tomy’s evil spiritual existence with a couple of jokes. Throughout the film, we see Tomy all around the world, messing with polar bears and astronauts. As this type of quirky humour combined with surreal imagery is not common in Hungarian cinema, many critics have pointed  to the influence (or possible “over-influence”) of American filmmaker, Wes Anderson.

The quirky humour and peculiar characters which serve as the backbone of Liza… appear frequently in Anderson’s works, while some shots bear resemblance to his symmetric, painting-like mise-en-scéne (for example, the title-revealing shot). Anderson also has an affinity for Japanese culture (for example, Isle of Dogs). However, while Ujj Mészáros was definitely influenced by Anderson (especially in his humour), it would be incorrect to claim that Liza…  is nothing but a copy. The film’s surrealism and the fairy tale-like structure makes it distinct from anything Anderson has done. One should also not forget that Anderson’s humour never gets as dark as in Liza…. Perhaps the best way to describe Liza, a rókatündér is as a prominent Hungarian critic did, positioning it somewhere between Wes Anderson and Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s Amélie, while not forgetting to praise its originality.

Thus, Liza, a rókatündér  is an easy and entertaining watch that must be applauded for its achievements in structure, humour and visual aesthetics. It is a unique spot in contemporary Hungarian cinema, waiting for a cult base to center around it, and for the international recognition it would deserve. 

Previous
Previous

Engrenages: A Microcosm of Modern France

Next
Next

March to Monolingualism? The Politics of Language in Ukraine