At the 2002 Hungarian Film Festival Réka Lemhényi was awarded the most significant prize for editors, the Golden Scissors. This young energetic editor is not only a good professional but also a colourful personality. She is often sought after for work also due probably to her good adaptability. (Her last assignment was Szabolcs Hajdu's latest film, Tamara). At first Réka protested against the interview, saying that "in this field everyone's a liar and a dreamer", but in the end got carried away by story-telling. It is through her individual outlook that we have a chance to glance into the (vital) work of editors.

You grew up and spent your youth in Kolozsvár, Romania, moving to Hungary only later. Did you have any decisive experiences that might explain your attraction to films? What were you interested in as child?

The most important impressions were made by the Kolozsvár theatre which I started visiting with my parents and brother from the age of four. Incidentally my father wanted to become an actor but having got onto the list of kulaks he had to modify his profession, which is how he became a Calvinist vicar. My mother adored the theatre and I always wanted to become an actress. The only thing remaining from this desire of mine is a mirror that I got when I was a child as the "most important accessory of an actress" - it still stands beside my bed.

What was your relationship with films and photography - did you read comics? (For some reason this is what I imagine people who go on to choose a similar profession do). What kind of cultural environment did you grow up in?

I didn't read many comics; the few French children's magazines I laid my hands on were a big deal mainly because they came from "the west". But I did watch masses of films, first and foremost on television. I have lots of memories of them. I stayed at home an incredible amount (at first I really was ill but later I just pretended) so I was able to watch loads of films. One of these memorable experiences was Miklós Jancsó's The Round-up. I must have seen it around the age of nine in the seventies. I had no idea what it was and only identified it later in the Hungarian program of Romanian Television, broken down into a thirty-minute "series". Although the air-time of these programs was constantly "shrinking", Romanian TV broadcast many interesting films. Naturally these tended to be Soviet movies which we didn't remember either the title or the director of - it was the story and pictures that counted. There was a very good selection of classics as well: they showed Chaplin films, Neorealists and I also had the chance to "struggle" as a child through the works of Bergman. (What's more all in the original language; the Romanians didn't dub films, so they also served as language practice.) There were of course important films for adolescents - often of very high quality. I still remember the music of a Romanian film entitled Veronica - I saw it countless times. This was when I started going to the cinema and watched the major Russian films by Tarkovsky and Mihalkov. Often we'd see the same thing several times because we tended to choose the cinema rather than the actual film. I remember that towards the end of his life Tarkovsky was banned, which meant that although his name was taken off the posters, the title remained and the film continued to be shown. I wasn't particularly attracted to photography at the time, but I had a go at it nonetheless. I had a Smena camera with which I took nice "blurred" pictures, and I attended a photo club in the pioneer centre. When I was fourteen I worked for a summer in a photo lab. I also spent a lot of time loitering around one of my uncles who, although not a professional, was very good at photography.

Your years at grammar school coincided with the end of the Ceausescu era. How did you live through the collapse of the regime as a teenager?

This was a very unsettled period for me as well. There were only two (twelve grade) grammar schools at the time in Kolozsvár so there was quite serious competition to get in and stay in. However, before entering the eleventh grade permission was granted for the launching of only one Hungarian class out of the five and we had to take entrance exams. The aim was to "Romanianize" the institute. The following year teaching was conducted in Romanian in both classes. Though it was tricky, they managed to achieve this by transferring children from another school and mixing the classes. I reacted badly to the changes and, although partly connected to family issues, I often skived off school. Many of my friends sold books from stands in the main square of Kolozsvár and instead of going to lessons, I would help them - in the daytime in school uniform. In the end I completed my studies at an evening course which at the time consisted of ideal, "easy-going" lessons, and also managed to pass my matriculation exams. This coincided with the very troubled times directly before the revolution when there were no longer any stakes and everyone was just trying to survive. I made friends with people much older than me, the "alternative" intellectuals of Kolozsvár. My best friend Tibor Gáll who works as a graphic artist in Berlin used to call me "filter". I think he was right because although I often didn't understand what people were talking about, all these experiences formed a "deposit" in me.

What were your plans for further education?

I still wanted to be an actress but I had no chance. (I would have applied to Marosvásárhely where they took one contestant per year, exclusively on the basis of corruption of course). I was also interested in art history so I ended up doing a college course where I trained as a fashion designer.

When did you move to Hungary?

I first came on my own to the funeral of a relative a month after the outbreak of the revolution in January 1990. Many of my friends (from the previously mentioned circle) had by then managed to move to Hungary (the first Formula 1 races held in 1986 gave an opportunity for a huge tide of emigration). This day remains very vivid in my memory. I arrived at the Western railway station, and as I got out into the boulevard I stood stock-still from the "culture shock" triggered by Skála Metro department store. First I just watched the bustle and the people and then out of the 100Ft in my pocket I bought a pear for 70Ft (I thought that eating a pear in winter really was freedom itself). Then, getting more and more nervous, I phoned a friend (I also had to ask for assistance in using the push-button telephone) and asked him to accompany me to a certain address. (As I later found out, all I'd have had to do was cross over to the other side of the road to Jókai Street.)

And you eventually "got stuck" here in Hungary?

Yes, I spent an increasing amount of time here, enjoying it more and more. I sort of relived my adolescence and had tons of friends most of whom went to the College of Fine Arts. The following years consisted of a series of adventures: I devoured the various opportunities - I wanted to try out everything. At times I felt like becoming a photographer, a journalist, at others an art historian, but I also attended movement theatre groups. Most of the time though I was just happy to be here. I worked in all kinds of places because my degree in fashion design wasn't much use to me. I was a secretary at several companies, then ended up at the newspaper Kurír, and when that closed down I got into the literary group Kossuth Printing House. In the meantime I became keener and keener on photography and had two goes at getting in to the College of Applied Arts but always failed in the drawing tests. Finally my degree was accepted at the ELTE aesthetics department and I studied there for two terms in 1993. My teachers (such as Péter Balassa, Sándor Radnóti, György Poszler) were "gods" in my eyes. Incidentally it was during the lessons of András Rényi that I received the biggest impulses that turned me towards film. Thanks to the knowledge that I acquired there I was accepted at the College of Cinematic Art when I applied in 1995.

Why did you happen to choose the editing course?

This was a completely accidental choice; a friend of mine who knew my "past record" and interests recommended it to me. The fact that I was accepted is also curious since I had no experience whatsoever as opposed to the other contenders who had been working as editors. It was probably due to my theoretical grounding.

What sort of medium did you enter in the college?

My first impressions were pretty mixed because we learnt lots of theory and participated in very little practice which slightly alarmed me. Our teacher was Hajnal Sellö who greatly surpassed her role: she was everything in one, at times even our "mother". Based on my temperament I didn't really belong among the editors. Hajnal remarked that in the first years she didn't think I'd become a good professional because editors are usually quiet, calm and adaptable people, whereas I am more the passionate type. I was also very lucky with my class. Our year was launched with "experimental" intentions. According to the concept of our class teacher Sándor Simó we learnt everything jointly - masses of theory in the first two years. At the end of each term we got tasks of directing, shooting etudes on video and taking photos. We always worked together, doing only the assignments of our own courses separately. Although we were pretty laid-back, Simó managed to forge a community out of us. (In the recent past he was possibly the only class teacher who took his group right through, otherwise teachers tended to change from year to year). It was also his idea that all graduating directors should pass their finals with a full-length feature film, and while he was alive he made this possible. This is how five first-time directors came up with full-length feature films such as Hukkle (by György Pálfi), Sticky Matters (Macerás ügyek by Szabolcs Hajdu), Streetwalkers (Ébrenjárók by Bence Miklauzic), Forward (Előre! by Dániel Erdélyi) and Moscow Square (Moszkva tér by Ferenc Török) - all in Hunnia Film Studios run by Simó. He was also the producer for Sticky Matters which led to the transformation of the teacher-pupil relation into colleagues. Simó wasn't very lenient, in fact he was particularly strict with deadlines and money matters, but in artistic concepts gave a free hand and only offered his opinion. There were a few other personalities among the teachers who meant an incredible lot to me (and for decades to other students as well): Mrs Fövény, Mrs Szölössy and Emil Petrovics.

Were you satisfied with the professional opportunities the college provided? Did you feel that you had been prepared for independent work?

Only after a few years did I understand why editing is so difficult to teach. Hajnal Sellö, as I have mentioned, was an excellent teacher. Editing doesn't have much literature and you can't really prescribe how you have to do things. That is, a "canon" exists which is slightly dated by now and its foundations established on the so-called "common law" are also outmoded - what's more important however is your outlook, sense of rhythm and taste, which also change with time. There are no two materials that can be handled in the same way. Each material has its own rhythm and language. That's why it is difficult to answer the question of what is your editing style. You have to edit in the style required by the material. Each cut has an internal impulse but you always must take into consideration the unity of the film as well. Each viewpoint is the subject of discussion because the director and the editor have different opinions, sense of rhythm etc. There is never one single right solution, instead you have to choose from the many good ones the very best and this of course is time-consuming. If there was no pressure coming from the producers you could spend years editing a film. Generally time and money are saved on the editing: you are continuously struggling with lack of time (especially because of the annual Hungarian Film Festival).
And the speeding up of the process usually happens at the expense of the end product, for a film in the stages of editing is like an embryo. It has its own course of development, maturing period and if it's forced it will be born premature.

The editing room slightly resembles a torture chamber: it's a small and dark place where the director is confronted by all the mistakes committed during the creative process of the film.

The confrontation is both stressful and painful, since it is here that the director sees the completed shot material he has worked on for years which in most cases is not quite what he had in mind. It is here that rhythmic errors, dramaturgical disproportions, weaker acting performances and mishaps of photography have to be corrected. The director's emotional ups and downs also have to be tolerated because you "move in" together for months almost. Once the initial sock is over exciting and creative team work can begin which is like a never-ending chess match where you are always allowed to retract your last step. The viewer of course sees nothing of this in the end result.

How much do you feel that editing is an artistic achievement for you (naturally you have/had such ambitions) or do you "only" consider yourself as a good "craftsman" who works closely with the director?

I don't know whether I've had enough experience to judge this. I think it varies from work to work. The "big adventure" was Sticky Matters because the raw version didn't in the least correspond to the envisioned material. This is where it became evident how creative and ready for compromise Szabolcs Hajdu was: he was always willing to abandon the previous version. He's a director who makes films on the editing table; this is a type. He enjoys editing and regards it a joint creative work where you can try out everything. It would have been a classically edited film but Szabolcs wasn't content with that variant. He has a playful mind; we experimented a lot while working, and he was tiring to work with because editing a Szabolcs Hajdu film is the equivalent of editing five traditional films. In general we edit at least five completely finished but very different films from the same raw material. He's the type of director who demands the maximum or even more from an editor and this is trying partly because of the lack of time and party because it is a huge task.

So your freedom is determined less by the genre than the disposition of the director?

It is probably dependent on both. Editing documentaries always seemed freer to me, maybe because I worked with directors who gave me complete freedom and because with feature films screenplays determine many things. If however the shot material is very different, there's still room for plenty of changes. The disposition of the director is certainly a key issue as two contradicting experiences of mine can illustrate. As a second-year college student I was offered the amazing opportunity in 1998 of editing Árpád Sopsits' film entitled Fly-trap (Légyfogó). It was deep water for me - what's more several people cautioned me against Sopsits, because apparently from time to time he "beats" editors. I was very scared of him, although initially he was kind and patient. It became clear that he was very good at editing and I learnt a lot from him. Sopsits continuously asked for my opinion but (as I gradually realized) only to contradict me. Then he would rebuke me in an unbelievable manner. For a time I tolerated it, but then I became so afraid of him that I started yelling. From then on we kept quarrelling. The other "extreme" was an assignment in Berlin in 2001 of editing a documentary. I was given complete freedom; the director told me in advance all that he wanted and then showered twenty hours of material on me in one bulk. Each day we spent hours talking, but he never sat behind my back. He only watched the film after a phase had been finished, and then we took it to pieces. Fortunately he liked my work a lot.

Were you satisfied with the technical facilities that the college provided or did you learn through your later work to use more modern methods?

Hajnal Sellö taught us the traditional "Steinbeck" (35mm editing table) technique but in 1996, coinciding with my studies, the college received its first computerised editing equipment, AVID. So much care was taken of it at first that you couldn't even look at it, let alone work on it. Fortunately I made friends with Béla Barsi who at the time was a college technician (he was this year's Golden-scissors editor) and entrusted with learning how to operate the machine. I was always attracted to computerised editing and I actually prefer it. True, it requires a totally different pace and working method and is much more tiring. Because on the editing table each cut leaves its mark on the work print you have to consider each step more thoroughly, in fact you must be able to see the conclusion of the game in advance. It's a real drag. On the other hand "Steinbeck" is more leisurely: by the time you've completed a cut on the celluloid and the sound track you will have had a rest.
On a computer this all happens at the push of a button; a bad move can be retracted immediately. In a shorter space of time I can try out and see many more variations, without having to play it all in my head. This way I am constantly making decisions because I need to carry out many more operations. And in each situation the doubt arises as to whether it really is the best solution for the given task. So it means not only physical but also mental exertion. (Apparently six hours at the computer is the equivalent of ten hours of "Steinbeck".) Returning to the topic of the college however, I got to know this technique through Béla Barsi and later I often called him even during work when I got technically stuck because he was always two steps ahead of me. I have much to thank him for. I had the chance to get acquainted with the most modern methods during István Szabó's film Sunshine (A napfény íze) in 1998. I was asked to work as an assistant beside a professional Canadian editing couple (they had been editing a James Bond movie) and the equipment had been brought from Munich. It was at their invitation that I went to Canada, mainly to see my brother but as I was offered work I had a go at that as well. I worked in Montreal in a post-production studio where there where eight editing rooms equipped with the latest machines. It wasn't only the technology that was overwhelming it was the "treatment" too. For example, the computer drives are located in a separate room and are operated by a special technician. In Hungary the editor has to do everything; he's his own assistant and technician and has to solve all the practical issues - despite the fact that almost every studio has a different set-up. Not to mention the finances - at home it is quite a job to "collect" your salary.

What other problems do you have to struggle with if you want to keep your professional "development" in mind?

The greatest problem originates in the timing of the distribution of state funds. Because of this different offers of work come all at once. Hungarian films are shot at the same time (in summer) and editing begins in autumn so as to be ready for the Film Week. Then after the Film Week (February) you can wait again till the autumn to edit another feature film. For example for the sake of Csaba Fazekas' film (Happy Birthday!) I cancelled three others (by Kornél Mundruczó, György Pálfi and György Dobray), but Csaba was only able to start shooting a year later. Until then I was out of work and ended up editing Szabolcs Hajdu's Tamara that I had previously accepted. These are all great losses though I think I regret Hukkle (György Pálfi) the most.

Does the Madzag Association* also have a role in getting you work or is it more that your friendship determines your work relations?

Yes, this has become very important to us in our work. With Simó's death we signed a kind of "blood treaty". In reality this isn't a pressure group, it's more a workshop society. It consists of eight directors and two editors (Béla Barsi is the other one). It is a source of recognition for us that we can see into the early stages of film-making. Everyone gets a copy of the screenplay and we go through it together.

What did the Golden Scissors Award mean to you?

I was very glad to get it. Acknowledgement however goes with responsibility - since then I've been weighing each cut even more carefully.

(* The Madzag Association: Madzag Filmegylet in Hungarian - an association of young Hungarian filmmakers who studied at the Academy of Drama and Film in the same class, led by Sándor Simó. Members are: Dániel Erdélyi, Csaba Fazekas, Gábor Fischer, Diana Groó, Szabolcs Hajdu, Bence Miklauzic, Gyögy Pálfi, Ferenc Török (directors) and two editors: Béla Barsi, Réka Lemhényi - the editor)