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Streaming Shuffle

Preparations to Be Together for an Unknown Period of Time

Hold, please.

After last week’s testing of the waters, we head into our official Noirvember coverage with a dreamy, melancholy Hungarian film that lives on the permeable borderline between genres.

The Onion once ran the headline “Romantic-Comedy Behavior Gets Real-Life Man Arrested,” because high-concept romantic comedies, in particular, rely on our willingness to believe that these characters are, despite the sometime-criminal absurdity of their actions, speeding towards a happy ending that will retroactively justify everything; not only are we expected to have faith in them, we’re expected to accept that, on some level, they have faith in each other, that they’re able to read past the myriad miscommunications and misunderstandings and feel what’s important. Hildy Johnson doesn’t really want to marry her dull fiancé and leave the newspaper business, and Walter knows that despite her protestations, and we’re supposed to go along with that, because we know they’re meant to be together.

Lili Horvát’s Preparations to Be Together for an Unknown Period of Time destabilizes that kind of knowledge, and it gives that Onion headline a queasy horror to go along with the joke. It’s a bit like Crazy Ex-Girlfriend without the songs.

Márta (Natasha Stork) is a successful neurosurgeon; though Hungarian by birth, she lives and works in New Jersey, at the very hub of her field. Then one day, she gives up her life and flies back to Budapest, where she’s due for a romantic rendezvous with Janós (Viktor Bodó). The two of them met at a conference, and the connection between them was instant, palpable, and powerful. They didn’t even trade numbers, Márta explains: they only made plans to reunite on a Budapest bridge at a specific date and time.

It does sound like a classic love story, sort of like a better-fated Brief Encounter crossed with Linklater’s Before trilogy and a WWII romance like The Clock. Stork plays Márta’s retelling of it like she’s run through their story many times before, in practice for telling it to friends, to eventual children. The actual memory, perhaps, has been replaced by the memory of the reminisce, which always has different colors and shading.

And Janós doesn’t come to the bridge. And when Márta tracks him down, he says they’ve never met.

On the verge of retreating back to America in lovelorn humiliation, Márta suddenly pivots and chooses to stay, taking a lower-paying, lower-prestige position at a local hospital and renting a shitty apartment with only one plus: a view of the bridge. Back and forth she goes from job to home, nursing her obsession.

Stork gives her both a fragility and a preternatural stillness, and both qualities combine to make you feel like she could break open to anything at any moment. Violence? (When she scrolls back through conference photos—a break from watching YouTube footage of child Janós’s recital—and finds a shot that captures her turned in her seat, staring at him fixedly, my wife exclaimed, “She looks like an It Follows!”) Renewal? (She has an off-kilter flirtation with a med student after performing life- and self-saving surgery on his father; the student, too, believes in love at first sight, love past communication. Do we believe his version of “just knowing”? Do we believe hers?) Further heartbreak? (There are many beautiful sequences here, but my favorite may be when Márta calls Janós and waits through “Für Elise” hold music, which poignantly shifts from diegetic to scoring as the film transitions to showing her simply going about her business, her whole life on hold.)

Horvát’s best move here is resolving one of the key questions but not tension that goes with it. Márta’s therapist, asked for an honest reaction to her story as well as an honest diagnosis, is blunt in a way she doesn’t expect. Maybe her worst fear isn’t that she’s ill enough for a catastrophic, life-altering fantasy; maybe it’s that the truth is far more mundane, that all this comes down to an mismatch in flirting styles, to a misreading of significance, to adultery, to disappointment. Maybe it would be better to be maddened than to exist, sanely, in a world that cannot reward her dreams. But even knowing the truth of the past, the film suggests, doesn’t help us handle the future. All those preparations, and we can’t even know the amount of time. The film’s final image is a perfect symbol of love in its early uncertainties, its unlikely, dizzying beauty matched only by how perilous it all is. How long can someone choose to believe?

Preparations to Be Together for an Unknown Period of Time is streaming on Kanopy and Tubi.