Country: Hungary

There is a Central European park with a planet at its center, perhaps it’s the statue of Saturn. If it ever had rings, they are no longer there; instead, people, pigeons, and dogs circle around it like ice crystals. They enter its orbit for a brief moment, then move on, wandering through the park and into their lives. Much like this movement, the film spans four seasons, highlighting moments, dialogues, inexplicable decisions, and random parallels unfolding within the park. In these seemingly awkward movements, which will later fade into oblivion, the characters connect for a second in some kind of collective consciousness. Then, of course, someone scolds them, they fall flat on the ice, a car alarm goes off, and they return, leaving the park, which stands unmoved, covering itself in snow, swallowing up lost objects, and letting the trees fall whenever they please.

Director’s statement
There are few social spaces that don’t expect anything from us beyond simply being there. We usually pass through, consume, and produce. In contrast, the park is precisely the kind of place that was created simply for us to be there to spend a little time outdoors. It is special because “nothing” can happen there, and thus there is a possibility that something might happen after all.
In the film, I invite the viewer as an outside observer who becomes a witness to the daily lives of the park and all the different people within it, without being able to name a main character.
This film is an experiment in how I can make the viewer pause to notice a small detail that is otherwise not so obvious in the hustle and bustle of everyday life. The viewer can become part of the park, perceiving the details and connections that surface, or observing from a distance, without any thought. In any case, they have the opportunity to choose any path, to stumble upon others or even upon themselves.

Abigél brings a very handsome Piece of Land to life and seduces her way into becoming his landlord. Their relationship starts promising, but soon becomes one-sided: he doesn’t speak or act, while Abigél spends all her time watering and mowing him, hoping to hear “I love you.” To make use of her efforts, she starts renting him out to tenants. The business takes off, but as she focuses on money, she forgets to take care of him. Renters park, golf, and party on him, leaving him in poor condition. In a vision, the Piece of Land realizes he can take control of his own destiny using his muscular arms. Now alive, he takes revenge on Abigél, destroying everything she has built and getting her arrested by the police. He returns to his original place, cares for himself, grows legs, and dances freely. As Abigél passes by the meadow in a police car, looking at the free Piece of Land, she realizes she must find her own identity within herself.

Director’s statement
The early motivation behind How to Become a Landlord? comes from my anxiety about housing and stability. Owning a property feels increasingly unreachable yet remains a strong desire. The film grows from the idea of solving this by becoming a landlord within the film itself.
Through Abigél, I explore this wish in an exaggerated form. She turns care into ownership. What begins as intimacy becomes transactional, where emotion is replaced by profit and control, reflecting how relationships, property, and systems of power often mirror each other.
As the Piece of Land is exploited, he gains awareness and agency, rejects ownership, and reclaims himself. By the end, he becomes autonomous, while Abigél questions her identity outside control and possession.
By casting myself as Abigél, I use self-reflexive comedy to explore personal and social questions, asking whether happiness lies in control and ownership, or in letting them go.