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Wild Horses

“God carries me on his back.”


The body enters the house, instead of getting on the plane, which would bring it to Mexico City first, and then to Oaxaca. It could still catch the evening bus there, crossing the mountains over the night to Puerto Escondido. It would travel on a truck in the piercing light of the early morning, all the way down on Highway 175. At Puerto Angel it would squeeze into a cab with eight other passengers. They would reach for the horn of the Huatulco bay that resembles a sweet water lake. Waiting in the shades a fisherman would come and offer a ride, crossing, for a few dollars, to the other side of the lagoon.

Not every man with a boat is a fisherman, and not every fisherman is to be trusted. But that crumbling skiff is safe. It holds a native couple, old and withered, in dresses adorned with flowers, marking a celebration, ready to set off to the sea.

The lagoon is a natural reserve, and the boatman turns the engine on sparingly. The venomous green below is split with rare thrusts.

Amidst the matt white respiratory roots that crisscross the thick mangrove marsh, tiny, unknown species of heron appear. The silence of the engine gives way to their chatter.

The road is not long enough for the mind to grasp what has been penetrated. As soon as the boat hits the shore, little black children run across the hot sand to greet the passengers in a mix of native languages. One of them nods at a question and repeats the name of the place, then turns silent, points at one direction, and runs away.

Those who follow him, arrive at mud huts under palm roofs. Progress is slow in the soft sand, stumbling through big black hens of strange shapes.

But upon passing the village, all the strangeness, along with everything else, disappears at the instant when the space opens up. The endless ocean fills the horizon. They say that sometimes in the distance, around where the loud turquoise of the salt water changes into blue with a tint of black, whales show themselves.

But the body is not going. It only dreams, once in a while, with wild horses.

/translated by: András Kovács E./


director: Réka Szűcs 

inspiration, ink drawings: Barnabás Bardon

choreography, cast: Manuel Badás, Giovanni Adrián Pérez Ortega, Reynaldo Martínez Santiago

photography:Gábor Szabó HSC

assistant: Péter Várnai

editor: András Kovács E.

sound design: Rudolf Várhegyi HAES

musical instruments: Veronika Czupi, Attila Péter

colour grader: Márk Győri

Super 8 processing and scanning: Szilárd Szilas, Csaba Vándor

colour grader: Márk Győri

stills: Réka Szűcs

teaser: Péter Várnai

producer: Kristóf Helyei, Réka Szűcs  ​

supporters: 4CUT, 42/B Stúdió, Apodosz Alapítvány, Mediaware

thanks to: Igor Buharov, Gábor Kasza, Csaba Vándor

produced by: ©Értékmegőrző|SAFE Art Studio


festivals, awards:


•'Best Dance Film' of Mediawave 2016

•'A dolgok állása' | 'State of Things' - group exhibition, Várgalléria Veszprém (as 3 channel video installation part of 'Common Decency' project) 2014

•Bakó - Harsányi - Ortéga Pérez - Szűcs: 'Broken Z'  - installation, performance, political poetics, Artus Studio, Budapest 2015

26th Mediawave International Film and Music Gathering Fort Monostor, Komárom Hungary

•dança em foco 2016, Rio de Janeiro

•RED International Film Festival, Norway

MIVSC International Videodance Festival, São Carlos, Brazil

BuSho Festival in Örökmozgó

Body's Slim exhibition as part of L1 Festival 2016

•l'art difficile de filmer la danse - 5. international dancefilmfestival brussels

•International Film Festival of Fine Arts

•Moving Images Inernational Videodance Festival
2016, Nicosia

•Dance Waves Festival, Paphos

CDIFF, Toronto 2017
International Dance Day Pécs 2017

•Noisefloor Festival 2017 Staffordshire

•Another Experiment by Women Film Festival, New York 2017

•Festival International de Vidéo Danse de Bourgogn 2017
•Festival Internacional de Videodanza de la CDMK, Mexico City 2017

Refleks, Zagreb 2017

International Dance Day Pécs 2017


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