On Body and Soul (2017)

On Body and Soul is the kind of romance that feels discovered rather than manufactured: quiet, eccentric, and so tender it sneaks up on you, pairing the stark, unsentimental world of a slaughterhouse with a dreamscape of startling gentleness. Ildikó Enyedi films loneliness with deadpan humor and a painterly calm, letting small gestures and awkward silences do the work that big speeches usually handle, while Alexandra Borbély and Morcsányi Géza give performances so precise you can almost hear their thoughts. The result is both magical and grounded, a love story about learning the language of another person when your own words don’t come easily. It’s not for viewers who need plot fireworks or a conventional swoon, and it doesn’t shy away from some harsh imagery, but if you’re open to something original and quietly profound, it’s unforgettable.

On Body and Soul is aiming for a delicate, offbeat romance where two emotionally guarded people try to translate an uncanny shared dream into real connection, and it does have a quietly striking, almost fairytale tenderness when it leans into that idea. But it’s also slow, clinical, and intentionally restrained, so if you want big romantic payoffs or a plot that “moves,” you may find it emotionally distant and a bit thin for its runtime. The slaughterhouse setting and the film’s matter-of-fact approach to intimacy and pain can feel stark rather than comforting, with a couple of scenes that are genuinely upsetting. If you’re patient with minimalist storytelling and awkward, internal characters, it can be haunting and unique; if you need warmth, momentum, or catharsis, this probably isn’t your night.