Bubble Bath

Welcome to Back of the Napkin, musings from Serviette for the cultured world.

Much like the perfect drydown, there are some works of art that stay in the senses long after the mind stops trying to organize them. Such is the case for Habfürdő—or Bubble Bath, in English—a 1980 experimental animated film and lysergic feast for the eyes that garnered little attention during its time. (And one that has perhaps unsurprisingly found its way onto our moodboard for the boozy, plum-forward Priscus).

Bubble Bath is best approached less as a film to interpret than one to absorb. Directed by Hungarian artist György Kovásznai, it was his first and only feature: a strange hybrid of animated musical, romantic comedy, and surreal feature with social commentary. In between stints at Budapest College of the Fine Arts, he wrote as a critic for an arts and literary journal and organized semi-illegal gatherings for his Marxist artistic community. Eventually, he found work at the Pannonia Film Studio, where, among other films, he would create the (now) cult classic Bubble Bath.

By all accounts, the film was a commercial failure during its time. On its surface, the story is simple—Zsolt Mohai, a window dresser and would-be artist, gets cold feet on his wedding day and flees to leading lady Anikó’s house. But watching Bubble Bath for plot alone feels a bit like attending a banquet and only discussing the cutlery. Though little of substance is said (or, rather, sung; did we forget to mention the film is a musical?), the visuals do the more interesting work, turning narrative into a hook for color, rhythm, gesture, and very extravagant coats.

Part of the film’s odd electricity comes from its proximity to real life. Its main characters were based on real models and performers, and Kovásznai folded genuine interview footage into the film, including “animated socio-reports” from a mother-and-baby clinic waiting room.

Bubble Bath is a commentary on the frivolity and vapidity of the middle class, a reflection of Kovásznai’s dissatisfaction with the era’s so-called “Goulash Communism.” The characters float around in their individual bubbles, disaffected and in a perpetual state of existentialist ennui. Yet, at the same time, the film is full of whimsy, a “total rebellion against sensibility,” as critic Annie Geng writes.

Watching Bubble Bath engenders a similar sensation to that of finishing the evening’s last glass of wine, not unlike the feeling emulated by Priscus. Both the film and the fragrance are deceptively sweet, with darker nuances for those willing to search. Might we suggest a scented viewing party? (It’s free to stream on Tubi.)

We thank you for reading this week’s newsletter. As always, we hope your curiosity continues to take you to new and exciting places.