Beware of Jews bearing perfume. August 9, 1945 is the day America bombed Nagasaki; in another part of the world, the magistrate of a small Hungarian village (Péter Rudolf) is about to have his son’s nuptials torpedoed by a pair of unexpected guests. His missus is a druggy, his wimpy son is cuckolded on his wedding day, and to make matters worse, a surprise pair of money-lenders are parading their goods through town. Can I get an “Oy, gevalt!” Normally, a complex, multi-character melodrama that finds its diffuse cast converging on one location for a climactic reveal is this critic’s Shangri-La. But the second the strangers refused to hop a ride on the cart was the very moment their destination (and the contents of the mysterious boxes) became obvious. Worth seeing for cinematographer Elemér Ragályi’s fine-grained black-and-white frames and László Rajk’s meticulous production design. Too bad they weren’t in service of a better picture. Ferenc Török directs (2017) — Scott Marks
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