There was a point when we thought László Nemes was going to be the next great European auteur. He showed a lot of promise with Son of Saul, a film that has some flaws but is still an ambitious achievement. That proved to be somewhat of a divisive work, and one that did contain several shortcomings, many of which were underlined continuously in his next film, the dull and dreary Sunset, which simply did not do anything worth our time. Years later, he’s veered yet again into the same territory with his third directorial outing, Orphan (Hungarian: Árva), a film that is as bland as it is deeply overwrought. Positioned as a passion project for the director as part of his continued interest in exploring historical trauma and the moral disorientation of postwar Europe, the film follows Andor, a young boy who finds himself navigating many challenges in the aftermath of the 1956 Hungarian uprising, which unearths certain secrets about his own familial dynamic that cause him to question his own identity. Set during a moment in the country’s history in which all ideals were shattered and society was on the brink of enormous change, Orphan does have potential in how it chooses to explore this particular moment through the eyes of a young boy, particularly in how it presents itself as an intimate psychological portrait that link personal and national histories, but it squanders all of it through Nemes’ inability to capture tone and context correctly, and despite its noble themes (and some very striking direction, which is perhaps the only merit we can afford it), the film is an emotionally barren exercise, one that is driven more by style than it is any sense of honesty. Nemes once again peers into the endless abyss of Europe in the 20th century, but his gaze seems studied rather than searching, creating a film that is visually striking and has great technical prowess, but one in which an immaculate surface conceals a film that is simply a misfire whenever it comes to searching for any depth or complexity beneath.

Usually, we’d reserve discussing the technical aspects of a film for later in the conversation – these are undeniably important components, but it seems more appropriate to begin discussing the themes and general ideas that drive the film. Yet, for a film like Orphan, it appears to be more fitting to start here, since this is seemingly also where Nemes began when putting this film together. The term “style over substance” is so trite and often inaccurately used – but in this case, no one embodies it more sincerely than Nemes, who has proven himself to have an impeccable eye for detail in terms of how his films look, but lacks anything below the surface. Orphan is a solidly crafted film, with the director collaborating closely with cinematographer Mátyás Erdély to create the look of the film, portraying a version of Budapest (and other parts of Hungary that we visit during the brief sojourns to other regions) that is drenched in the cold light of winter, where smoke and shadows intermingle to create a vivid portrait of the postwar era. The camerawork is fascinating – mostly filmed using a handheld camera, the film exercises extraordinary restraint in how it views the world through the eyes of this young protagonist, creating an immersive experience that is both liberating and restricting. This is coupled with the period detail, with every frame being filled with accurate recreations of this moment in the past, evoking Hungarian history in very creative ways. Yet, despite its authenticity and ability to take on an aesthetic that is more painterly, this becomes almost stifling in itself – Nemes is far too concerned with deliberate compositions that every ounce of spontaneity and genuine humanity disappears. Orphan is a very beautiful film, but in an overly mannered way – this kind of reduction of the past into a single striking image is perfect for a painting rather than a film, since applying this logic only distances the viewer from the complexities of the story, an experience that we can sit and admire but never truly connect with at any point, the first major flaw present in this film.

The fact that Orphan is aesthetically very pleasing but does very little to actually say anything valuable is only the start when discussing just how much of a misfire this film actually is when we look at it from a distance. We find that the film contains an emotional arc that is entirely forced and calculated, and immediately we find that it is intent on extracting tears rather than provoking thought, which has often been the director’s modus operandi when crafting these supposedly deep, complex historical dramas. This can immediately be seen in the introduction of Andor as the protagonist – rather than structuring itself as a coming-of-age story in which this monumental moment in history is woven through the eyes of a child as we observe his developing consciousness, the film positions him as a symbolic vessel, a means for it to discuss the corruption of purity and the loss of innocence in a way that is not even vaguely inventive or interesting beyond the most obvious qualities. It’s a dreadfully clichéd film, which somehow also seems to think it appropriate to conceal its shallowness behind a thin veneer of solemnity, thinking the audience is too foolish to peer behind this veil of supposed complexity. The film actively borders on being quite manipulative – how many times can we watch a scene filled with over-eager dialogue that seems to be deluded into thinking itself poetic, followed by a moment in which the music swells and tears well up in the eyes of whatever character finds themselves closest to this apparently tragic protagonist? It is a profoundly frustrating work, especially in the moments where it genuinely believes itself to be a revelatory exploration of a young man handling the stark contrast between light in the form of his mother’s unconditional love, and darkness, defined by his father and step-father’s chequered pasts, none of which is unique or even vaguely as interesting as the film seems to believe itself to be. It’s a work that exaggerates absolutely everything, filling itself wiht tactics that aim to manufacture empathy throught he most obvious techniques, rather than actually engaging in proper character development, especially in how the screenplay doesn’t even bother to insert any real psychological insights into the relationship between Andor and other characters, everything just presented on the surface rather than inviting us to become actively engaged.

Beyond the aesthetic choices or the tonal and emotional imbalances, there is one fundamental flaw that persists throughout Orphan, and it is the one that is most unforgivable – this is a profoundly shallow film in terms of its themes, failing to leave even the slightest impression, despite not only having an abundance of historical context to work with, but also the potential to make some kind of statement in the process. Nemes considers himself not only a curator of the past, but something of a philosopher, someone who creates films that gesture towards (or rather forcibly shove) the most profound questions about identity, memory and the unbearable burden of guilt that we carry with us from childhood, treating them as abstract motifs that his characters are the first to experience, rather than portraying them as universal experiences, drawn from his actively involvement in exploring certain dramatic realities. The idea of this young boy resisting the urge to succumb to the encroaching darkness is painfully trite and deeply contrived, and points towards the fact that Nemes seems to view the filmmaking process as simply blending every intellectual concept he can fathom in the hopes that some assemblage of these disorganised fragments will bear some kind of relevance to the story he is trying to tell. Every theme that the film introduces is painfully obvious – a callous, barbaric father figure enters the film and is initially portrayed as an abusive villain, but turns out to be nothing more than a quietly steadfast embodiment of idealistic masculinity, one that encompasses brawn over brains, a mother doing her best to protect her children from the outside world, other thinly-written characters that seem to contain multitudes, but are instead such poorly-constructed caricatures, we cannot even begin to form a relationship with them. The performances are lacklustre for the most part, with the only truly good actor coming in the form of Grégory Gadebois, who plays the protagonist’s brutal stepfather, proving that a strong actor can elevate this dull material, but only to a certain extent before it becomes deeply frustrating.

The best way to describe Orphan would be as a triumph of visuals but a failure of emotion – and it is the result of someone who is firmly a formalist (more suited to static images than moving pictures) thinking that they can apply the same logic to the filmmaking process, not realising that gorgeous imagery means absolutely nothing when the story is beyond impoverished and the emotions are consistently very shallow, and we can even begin to question whether his aesthetic talents are worth praising when everything else is hopelessly dull. This is a cold, self-aware film that is detached from any real emotions, and we feel starved for some sense of authenticity throughout, never becoming entirely immersive or compelling in the way that he clearly intended it to be, which is one of the many areas in which the film fails. We are given a glimpse into the past, and while it may be historically accurate, how can we feel the pain, uncertainty and despair of Andor if we are consistently forced into feeling certain emotions, rather than allowing them to grow within us organically? This is why I doubt Nemes will ever truly make a masterpiece, since his focus is on the act of looking rather than feeling, crafting works that are polished in presentation but lacking in every other area, to the point where even the visual splendour becomes quite cold. Every shot in this film practically begs for our admiration, and every emotion is thrown at us with such intense ferocity, we are left very little (if any) space to experience it for ourselves. Ultimately, Nemes makes a film in which he wants us to feel Andor’s pain and confusion, but he himself seems to be far more interested in our reaction to it, and that frankly just makes for dreadfully bland, unconvincing filmmaking that believes itself to be smarter, more complex and interesting than it could ever be in reality.