jcalladm I cannot recommend this documentary, but I'm afraid that, like me, you'll find yourself drawn into it. Watching "Vakvagany" is sort of like rubber-necking when you drive by the scene of an accident; it's human nature to gawk at others' misfortunes. The scenario is truly intriguing: the directors comes across a family's often disconcerting home movies and attempt to track down the children in them. What they find are two badly damaged human beings who belong in a mental institution. The film features three "analysts," who spend far too much time trying to figure out the home movies and the children. They state the obvious, ramble, and over-intellectualize. Worst of all is the utter contempt the directors show for the now-adult children, going so far as to break into one's home. Even the music, some kind of crappy neo-Hungarian cabaret, trivializes the daily struggles of Erno, the male child. Had the directors kept their vile attitudes out of the film, it would have been a solid documentary.

am2star This is a fantastic piece of filmmaking. Benjamin Meade has taken something as mundane as the home movie and created a stunning work. What is fascinating is that there is so much in this quasi- documentary that is shown. We follow a family, but like all families they have their history and live in a world that has history. They are their own world, and part of the world around them.The narration- comments that occur durring the film remind us of that. The family has their life, but part of that life is in the world in which they live.Then, we seek the family today. We wonder what happened to that family that we watched and became interested. This is where we literally jump into the screen. The director meets the son depicted in the home movies. We see what has happened to the son, raising questions about the rest of the family. We seek the daughter. This is where the director Meade shows what kind of film this is. Instead of being a dispassioned reporter, he has involved himself in this family. When there are questions about the wellbeing of the sister, the director involves himself, and the audience via the camera, in finding the answer.Does he take things too far? That is what each of us have to answer of ourselves. I guess it all depends on whether you can be compassionate with a camera in your hands. But, the audience should be greatful that they were taken on the journey.It also raises another interesting question. While much of the film takes place in Hungary, there is nothing that says that it could not happen in New York, or California, or Kansas. What do our home movies tell about us. What have we done since we were children? Are there hints in anyone's childhood that says where they are going?See the film, make your own judgements.

John Seal The found films that serves as the basis for Vakvagany are fascinating, and the commentary by special guests James Ellroy, Stan Brakhage, and Roy Menninger at times is thought-provoking, but filmmaker Benjamin Meade crosses a dangerous line with this film in the final reel, as he literally breaks into someone's home in order to film them. Perhaps that would have been justified if the subject were a secluded war criminal. Unfortunately, Meade's victim is a slightly disturbed though quite coherent middle aged woman who is thoroughly aware of the pornographic intentions of the director's camera. In an afterthought segment aired after the film on the Sundance Channel, Meade admits that he went too far. Self awareness is important, but it came too late to save an otherwise fascinating piece of work, making Nick Broomfield look like Miss Manners in comparison.

mcdonaldent The dark heart of Benjamin Meade's "Vakvagany" consists of creepy home movies, filmed sometime between 1948 and 1964, purportedly stolen from a filthy house in Hungary that was said to be crawling with cats."Vakvagany" zig-zags through time, sampling the stolen family films, juxtaposing them with newly-filmed footage of the old movies' still-living participants, and interviews with three spirit guides who offer their take on lurid life with the family depicted in the old and new footage: crime novelist James Ellroy (of "L.A. Confidential" fame) , psychiatrist Dr. Roy Menninger and filmmaker Stan Brakhage.The vintage films focus on life with the Locsei family, a Hungarian couple fond of filming one another and their eventual, ill-fated offspring.The setting for the `found' film is demolished, post-World War II Europe (much of the footage depicts damage done to cities during the war).The usual family moments are captured in the old family films, such as giving the new baby in the house a bath.But the camera lingers lasciviously long on naked son Erno, a cause for concern for `expert witness,' Dr. Roy Menninger, who seems increasingly to be wincing as the film (and the old family footage) unfolds. There are moments in Vakvagany - old and new - that are apt to make virtually any viewer, even the most jaded, wince, as well.Benjamin Meade's "Vakvagany" (or, variously, "Dead End") is eighty-plus minutes of very strange cinema. Love it or hate it, it is something new, and it feels dangerous and important.Meade has said he became enthralled with the vintage home movies and their potentially sinister subject matter: in particular, father Locsei's never clearly defined role in allegedly `helping' the European Jews fleeing Nazi Germany. The form this `help' takes is sufficiently vague to leave room for some very dark deductions regarding what exactly Papa Locsei does for a living that could be construed as `help' for potential Nazi victims.Director Benjamin Meade lets the viewer, and his three `experts,' attempt to decide (You know you're along for a strange, strange ride when noir novelist James Ellroy, notorious for his wild stage presence and book readings, tends toward the most mundane explanations for some very, very strange behavior.)The Alloy Orchestra, famed for its wonderful scores for vintage silent films, provides a haunting, beautiful soundtrack for "Vakvagany."While a sometimes disturbing view, Meade's film is a rewarding ride that can't be forgotten.