Sanyi is an eight-year-old boy wandering the streets of Budapest with his brother. The film’s director, Dávid Mikulán who was only twenty-one at the time, meets him by chance while filming passersby with his camera — people he encounters in his life and might never have met if not for the camera in his hands as a way of connecting with them, despite seeing them daily. All it takes is a piece of pizza, and his friendship with the boys is secured. He’s now part of their group, joining in their adventures in the city and in their home, a 28-square-meter apartment where the two brothers live with their ever-present but exhausted mother, their almost entirely absent father, and their silent yet strict grandmother. They all share one bed in the only space available. Whenever they want to do anything other than sleep, their only option is a tiny kitchen table at the entrance.
Years go by. Sanyi’s relationship with the director becomes stronger. He and his family grow to trust him more, though protection and boundaries don’t seem to have been part of Sanyi’s upbringing. Sanyi is free to do as he wishes. The city belongs to him. It may be dirty and dangerous, but it’s his own dirty and dangerous kingdom. We watch him go from childhood to early adolescence and then into deep adolescence and adulthood, changing outwardly, but remaining fundamentally the same. Life for Sanyi could never be easy, despite his carefree personality. Carefreeness can truly be an ally only for a child, and growing up, he will be forced to realise this in the harshest way.
KIX uniquely reflects a relationship familiar to anyone who has fleetingly interacted with any skateboarder community, friendships with a significant age gap and founded on a shared love for skateboarding - at least initially. It is this extraordinary friendship that allows us to sense not only Sanyi’s life transitions, but also to witness Mikulán’s evolving visual style. Eventually, he started collaborating with director/producer, Bálint Révész, gradually moving from DIY handheld filming on his skateboard to more stylized shots with wider lenses. However, the most magical aspect of it is not the cinematography itself, but also the simultaneous and complete surrender of its subjects to the camera. At no point — unless it is intentional — does the viewer feel that the camera’s presence affects the truth of the events happening on the screen. Everyone is exactly themselves. Perhaps because no one has ever told them to behave otherwise.
Coming-of-age films can take many forms, and this is one of the most realistic and moving portrayals I’ve encountered. The directors grow up alongside Sanyi, presenting his portrait with an empathy that is often tough and entertaining, filled with voices, jokes, and loud music. We are asked to judge the protagonists, nor are we given space to romanticize his situation. Life for Sanyi will always be filled with problems, even though he acts as if this won’t be the case. He is just another radiant child in the black hole of an environment that is swallowing him up, but he fights to keep glowing like a small star moments before it explodes.
Glykeria Pappa
