Watching a film made by a pioneer of a specific kind of movement or national cinema is always a compelling experience, since it allows us to see a different side of the filmmaking process, as well as gives insights into the challenges these directors tend to face. Márta Mészáros is one of Hungary’s most celebrated auteurs, not only as a result of her longevity which has made her one of the most beloved European filmmakers of both narrative features and documentaries, but also because she has remained one of her native country’s foremost auteurs, which is likely due to the fact that she was the first recognized female director to work in Hungarian cinema, a fascinating but shocking revelation that only strengthens the argument that she is a very special artist, especially in a historical sense. To uncover the reasons behind her status as one of the most celebrated directors of her generation, we must logically voyage back to the start of her career, when she stepped behind a camera for the first time, constructing The Day Has Gone (Hungarian: Eltávozott nap), alternatively known as The Girl in some instances, and in the process leaving an indelible impression that has often resulted in her being cited as amongst the most important female filmmakers in the history of 20th century culture, someone whose total commitment to her craft is incredibly admirable, manifesting in a poignant, funny and insightful film that proves that even early on in her esteemed career, Mészáros showed an abundance of promise and a strong directorial vision that would last until the present day.

The Day Has Gone has an incredibly straightforward premise – upon reaching early adulthood, a young woman who had spent her childhood as an orphan travels to the town of her origin in the hopes of meeting her mother, both as a means to find out why she was given away, as well as to form the relationship she had been yearning to have for many years, only to discover the many peculiarities of the residents who populate the town. From the first few moments, we can tell that this film is propelled by a very simple kind of poetic realism, taking place in unremarkable locations that are framed with stunning commitment by a director whose intention is to explore the world in which she and her peers grew up is comparable to compassionate view of the people represented in the film. The oscillation between stoicism and slight touches of humour help anchor the film, giving it the sensation of being a deeply complex work, but not one that is convoluted. Instead, we find ourselves gradually being drawn into this world, guided there by a director whose fondness for this material is reflected in every frame – and whether we want to view it as a portrait of one young woman’s journey from adulthood to adolescence, or something slightly more deeper, we find merit in absolutely every frame of the film, each one carefully constructed by a director with a deep personal connection to the material. The vast majority of the subject matter that composes much of The Day Has Gone being considered somewhat autobiographical in several ways, with Mészáros deftly navigating various discussions on the nature of growing up in Eastern Europe at the time and bringing her own experiences to the story.

The storyline of The Day Has Gone is fascinating, but the director only uses it as a starting point, since her intentions here were slightly deeper than just a story of a young woman seeking out her birth mother. There’s a deep sense of national pride that exudes from every frame of this film, and we can easily discern that this story is as much about the specific kinds of characters represented as it is an achingly beautiful tale of Hungary and its people as a whole. Mészáros’ productions are defined by her fact-based storytelling, with both her narrative films and documentaries negotiating the boundary between reality and fiction, as well as diving beneath the surface of some deeply intimidating conversations around identity and its relation to social structure. Naturally, like any good realist, Mészáros makes use of subtext to convey these ideas, and instead of boldly asserting her vision, allows it to manifest in this very simple document about the lives of ordinary, working-class people. There is no shortage of unforgettable imagery to be found throughout this film – where most of us may think that it is overly simplistic in its execution, the story aims to reflect life as it is, showing it as a series of moments that flow together in a stream-of-consciousness narrative that is built on some vague but compelling ideas. This is a descriptive work more than it is a discursive one, since there isn’t really much of a message to be found anywhere in it, outside of the more brief conversations on the role of identity in guiding someone in their formative years, and a lot of what makes The Day Has Gone is how the director effortlessly captures a vibrant snapshot of her country and the people who inhabit it, which leads to a wonderfully moving work that is rarely weighed down by its ambiguity.

The Day Has Gone is a film that may not be particularly notable at a cursory glance – after all, its the kind of well-composed social realist text that doesn’t demand our attention from the start, but gradually grows in estimation the more we allow ourselves to sit with it and its abundance of challenging themes. It’s a film that carries itself with a resilience and a dignity, the kind we rarely find nowadays outside of a few selected works which aim to distinguish between the past and the present, as well as fact and fiction, which is heavily steeped in the culture of this film and how it represents Hungary at a very particular moment in time. It doesn’t purport to be the definitive text on any of its themes, characters or the setting they inhabit, but rather a vibrant snapshot of the world as seen through the eyes of a truly remarkable artist, whose vision was clearly well-formed from the outset. The Day Has Gone is such a well-constructed film, is utterly bizarre to consider that this was the director’s debut – but like many of the great entries into the arthouse, it is propelled by its insightful analysis of the human condition, which may be deliberately slow in pace, but amounts to a wonderfully complex exploration of some deeper issues, which primarily serve to stir thought, but also to describe the conditions of a small portion of the world, showing their various existential quandaries, all framed through this achingly beautiful account of the challenges that come with growing up in an unsteady world.