Hungarians 1978

Winter (1942/1943) unfolds at the Csárda, where a small circle of farmworkers gather to weigh their options for the harsh years ahead. They debate a risky path to Germany, hoping wages there will outstrip conscription and offer a safer future. Their presence on the estate is tolerated by a Hungarian manager whose family barely escaped to the USA, while an elderly, ailing estate owner oversees land and life, his only son serving as a soldier far from home. Nearby, a prisoner-of-war camp holds French detainees, whom the workers are strictly forbidden to approach. Among them is Bacskó Bandi, István Szilágyi, a focal voice in the conversations about survival and duty.

Spring brings intensified labor as the estate hums with activity, yet isolation shields the workers from the broader war’s reach. Their naiveté is gradually chipped away by a series of troubling signs: the sudden disappearance of the estate’s coachman, the brutal execution of exhausted Soviet prisoners, and the forced accommodation of Polish families on the estate.

Summer tests their resilience further. A Polish child falls gravely ill, and the Hungarians respond with spontaneous aid, showing a shared humanity amid hardship. András Fábián [Gábor Koncz] watches these moments closely, sensing that there are deeper, less visible connections at work. With prudent saving, he and his wife manage to send their son, Dani Kis András Ambrus, a bicycle, allowing them a small, hopeful glimpse of the sea beyond their immediate world.

Autumn brings both plenty and pain. The harvest yields temporary cheer, yet the youngest Hungarian, Kondor Ábris [István O. Szabó], dies of tuberculosis, a cruel reminder of the fragility of life in these lands. In a bid to keep their presence on the land, the estate owner offers leasehold rights, but the people’ hearts are set on returning home rather than signing a longer stay.

Winter returns with a tentative sense of return and rhythm, but the looming shadow of conscription looms once more as notices arrive. The women cling to a single photograph as their only reminder of what they’ve endured and the lives they’ve shared, a quiet testament to endurance in a world where the war never truly stays away.