István Szabó: The Life Story Behind Hungary's Oscar-Winning Director

István Szabó is a Hungarian film director who won an Academy Award for Mephisto, and who made films about history, about power, and about the choices that artists and ordinary people make when the world around them changes. His films are elegant, thoughtful and full of history, and they often tell the story of a man who is talented, ambitious, and caught between his art and the political system that wants to use him.

He was born in Budapest in 1938, and he grew up in a Hungary that was torn by war, by revolution, and by communist rule. He studied film in Budapest, and he became one of the leading directors of his generation, making films about young people, about love, about the past, and about the moral choices that shape a life. His trilogy about Central Europe, Mephisto, Colonel Redl and Hanussen, is one of the great achievements of European cinema.

This is the story of a director who loved history, who loved actors, and who kept asking the same question in film after film: what does it cost to succeed, and what do you lose when you make a deal with power? It is a story about talent, about ambition, and about a man who never stopped thinking about the past, even when the past was painful.

Born in Budapest in a Time of War

István Szabó was born on 18 February 1938 in Budapest, the capital of Hungary, just before the Second World War changed Europe for ever. His childhood was shaped by war, by the Nazi occupation of Hungary, and by the Soviet liberation that was followed by communist rule. He grew up in a city that was beautiful and damaged at the same time, a city of grand buildings, of theatres, of music, and of fear, and that city would stay in his films for the rest of his life.

As a boy, Szabó was interested in stories, in theatre, and in film, and he learned to watch people closely. He saw how adults behaved in hard times, how they made compromises, how they tried to protect their families, and how they sometimes betrayed their own beliefs to survive. Those early observations gave him a deep understanding of human nature, and they later became the heart of his films, which are full of characters who must choose between what is right and what is safe.

After the war, Hungary became a communist state, and life for a young person who wanted to make films was controlled by the state. Szabó studied at the Academy of Drama and Film in Budapest, where he learned the craft of directing, and where he met other young filmmakers who shared his love of cinema. He was a serious student, a thoughtful young man, and he wanted to make films that were about real people, with real feelings, not only about politics.

His early life in Budapest gave him a love of history that never left him. He was fascinated by the Austro-Hungarian Empire, by the world of the early twentieth century, by the cafés, the theatres, the officers and the artists of that lost world, and he would later make films that brought that world back to life, with beautiful costumes, with elegant sets, and with a sadness for what had been lost.

Film School and First Films

At the Academy of Drama and Film in Budapest, Szabó made short films as a student, and he showed a gift for telling stories about young people, about love, and about the search for identity. His diploma film, Concert, made in 1962, was a short, fresh look at young life in Budapest, and it won prizes at festivals. It showed that he was a director to watch, a young man with a clear eye and a warm, human style.

His first feature film, Father, released in 1966, told the story of a boy who grows up without a father, who was killed in the war, and who invents stories about him to make his life feel more important. The film was personal, tender and funny, and it was loved by audiences in Hungary. It showed Szabó’s gift for telling a story about memory, about loss, and about the way children create heroes out of the people they have lost.

In the years that followed, Szabó made other films about young people and about love, including Lovefilm in 1970 and 25, Fireman’s Street in 1973. These films were about the generation that grew up after the war, about their hopes, their loves, and their disappointments, and they were made with a fresh, modern style that felt different from the older, more formal Hungarian films of the time.

Szabó also made Confidence in 1980, a film about a man and a woman who pretend to be married to hide from the Nazis during the war, and who slowly fall in love. The film was a success, and it was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film. It showed Szabó’s growing interest in history, in war, and in the moral choices that people make when they are in danger, themes that would become central to his greatest films.

Mephisto: The Oscar and the Moral Question

Szabó’s greatest success came with Mephisto, released in 1981, based on a novel by Klaus Mann. The film tells the story of Hendrik Höfgen, a talented German actor in the 1930s who makes a deal with the Nazis to advance his career. He becomes a star, he gets fame and money, but he loses his soul, and he becomes a tool of a regime he once opposed. The role was played by the Austrian actor Klaus Maria Brandauer, in a performance that is still remembered as one of the great performances in European cinema.

Mephisto won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film in 1982, and it made Szabó famous around the world. The film is not only about the Nazis. It is about any artist, any talented person, who is tempted to make a deal with power in order to succeed. It asks a hard question: how far will you go for fame, and what will you give up to get it? That question is universal, and it is why the film still matters today, long after the historical period it shows has passed.

The film is beautiful to look at, with theatres, costumes, and the world of German theatre in the 1930s, but its beauty is also its danger, because it shows how attractive power can be, how it can offer an artist everything he wants, and how it can then take everything away. Szabó directs with a cool, elegant eye, and he does not judge his hero in a simple way. He shows him as a human being, talented, weak, ambitious, and afraid, and he lets the audience judge him for themselves.

Mephisto remains Szabó’s most famous film, and it is often named as one of the best films about art and power ever made. It is a film that every student of cinema should watch, because it shows how a director can tell a historical story and make it feel modern, and how a film can ask a moral question without preaching, by simply showing a man’s life, step by step, as he makes his choices.

Colonel Redl and Hanussen: The Central Europe Trilogy

After Mephisto, Szabó made two more films with Klaus Maria Brandauer, Colonel Redl in 1985 and Hanussen in 1988, and together the three films form a trilogy about Central Europe in the early twentieth century. Colonel Redl tells the story of Alfred Redl, an officer in the Austro-Hungarian army who rises to a high position, but who is also a spy and a man with a secret life, and who is destroyed by the system he serves. The film is about loyalty, about identity, and about the end of an empire.

Hanussen tells the story of Erik Jan Hanussen, a clairvoyant and showman in Germany in the 1930s, who becomes close to the Nazis and who is eventually killed by them. The film is about a man who claims to see the future, but who cannot see his own danger, and it is about the world of show business, of politics, and of the strange, dark years before the Second World War. Like Mephisto, it is a film about a talented man who makes a deal with power and pays a high price.

Together, the three films paint a picture of Central Europe, of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, of Germany, and of Hungary, in a time when empires were falling, when new regimes were rising, and when talented people had to choose how to live. Szabó’s trilogy is elegant, rich, and full of history, and it shows his love for the world of the early twentieth century, with its uniforms, its theatres, its cafés, and its tragedies.

The trilogy made Szabó one of the most respected directors in Europe, and it confirmed his place as a master of historical cinema. He was not only a Hungarian director. He was a European director, telling European stories, about European history, and his films were shown and loved in many countries, because they spoke to a shared European past.

Sunshine, Taking Sides, and Later Work

In 1999, Szabó made Sunshine, a large, ambitious film that tells the story of a Hungarian Jewish family over three generations, from the late nineteenth century to the 1950s. The film follows the Sonnenschein family as they change their name, as they try to fit into Hungarian society, as they face anti-Semitism, war, and communism, and as they try to keep their identity. The film stars Ralph Fiennes in three roles, as father, son and grandson, and it is a rich, emotional epic about Hungary itself.

Sunshine was a major film, with a large budget, with international stars, and with a story that covered a hundred years of Hungarian history. It was well received by critics, and it showed that Szabó could handle a big, international production, with the same care and the same human focus that he had used in his smaller films. The film is long, but it is full of life, of family, of love, and of the pain of history, and it is one of Szabó’s most personal films.

In 2001, Szabó made Taking Sides, a film about the German conductor Wilhelm Furtwängler and his relationship with the Nazis after the war. The film, based on a play, asks whether an artist who worked under the Nazis can be forgiven, and whether art can be separated from politics. It is a small, intense film, with strong performances, and it returns to the moral questions that have always interested Szabó: what does an artist owe to his art, and what does he owe to his conscience?

He also made Being Julia in 2004, a film about a famous actress in London in the 1930s, played by Annette Bening, and he continued to work in theatre and in film in Hungary and abroad. His later work was varied, but it always returned to the same themes: history, art, power, and the choices that people make when the world around them is changing.

A Difficult Chapter and Honest Reckoning

In 2006, Szabó’s life and career were shaken by reports in the Hungarian press that he had, as a young man in the 1950s, worked as an informer for the communist secret police. The reports said that he had written reports about his fellow students at film school, and that he had done so under pressure, as a young man in a difficult time. Szabó did not deny the reports in full, and he spoke about the period as a painful part of his youth, a time when many young people in Hungary were forced to make difficult choices.

The news was a shock to many people who admired him, because Szabó had made films about moral choices, about artists who make deals with power, and now it seemed that he himself had faced a similar choice in his own life. Some people criticised him harshly, and some defended him, saying that he was young, that he was under pressure, and that he had later lived an honest life as an artist. The debate was painful, and it showed how hard it is to judge a person’s youth from a later time.

Szabó’s films, especially Mephisto, took on a new meaning after the reports, because they were now seen not only as stories about other people, but also as stories that reflected his own experience. Whether that makes the films better or more complicated is a question that film lovers still discuss. What is clear is that Szabó’s work has always been about the moral cost of compromise, and that his own life, like his films, contains that question in a very personal way.

He continued to work after 2006, and he remained a respected figure in Hungarian cinema, although the reports left a mark on his reputation. He did not hide from the discussion, and he continued to make films and to teach, and his work is still studied and loved, even by people who find his past difficult to understand. His story is a reminder that artists are human, and that human lives are often more complicated than their art.

Legacy: History, Morality, and Elegant Cinema

István Szabó’s legacy is the legacy of a director who made elegant, thoughtful films about history and morality. His trilogy, Mephisto, Colonel Redl and Hanussen, is one of the great achievements of European cinema, and Sunshine is a major film about Hungarian Jewish history. His films are still shown, still studied, and still loved by audiences who care about history, about art, and about the choices that people make.

His influence on Hungarian cinema is large. He was a teacher, a mentor, and a leader for younger directors, and he showed that a Hungarian director could make films that were both Hungarian and international, both personal and historical. He proved that a small country could produce world-class cinema, and that a director from Budapest could win an Oscar and be respected around the world.

Szabó also left a legacy of asking hard questions. His films do not give easy answers. They ask the audience to think, to judge, and to feel, and they trust the audience to do that work. That trust is rare, and it is valuable, because it treats the audience as intelligent adults, not as children who need to be told what to think. That is a legacy that any director can be proud of.

Today, Szabó is remembered as one of Hungary’s greatest directors, a man who made films that were beautiful, serious and human, and who never stopped thinking about the past, even when the past was painful. His films will keep being watched, because the questions they ask, about power, about art, about fame, and about conscience, are questions that will always matter.

Actors, Opera, and the Love of Performance

István Szabó’s films are full of actors, of theatre, of opera, and of performance, because he loves the world of the stage, and he understands it from the inside, as a director who has worked in theatre and who has spent his life watching actors work. His film Mephisto is about an actor, Colonel Redl is about an officer who performs a role, Hanussen is about a showman, and Being Julia is about an actress, and in each film, Szabó shows how performance is not only on stage, but in life, how people perform roles, how they wear uniforms, how they speak, and how they try to be someone they are not, in order to survive, to succeed, or to be loved. That interest in performance is at the heart of his work, and it is why his films are so rich, because they are about the theatre of life itself.

Szabó also directed opera, and his work in opera showed his love for music, for grand stories, and for the visual beauty of the stage. Opera is a form where music, drama, and image come together, and Szabó, who loves history, who loves beauty, and who loves actors, was naturally drawn to it. His opera work was respected, and it showed that he was not only a film director, but a director of stories in any form, as long as the story was about human beings, with their passions, their ambitions, and their flaws. That versatility is a sign of a great director, one who can work in film, in theatre, and in opera, and bring the same care, the same eye, and the same human understanding to each one.

His work with actors, especially with Klaus Maria Brandauer, is legendary, because Brandauer’s performances in Mephisto, Colonel Redl, and Hanussen are among the greatest in European cinema, and they were made possible by Szabó’s trust, his patience, and his ability to create a space where an actor can be great. Szabó did not direct Brandauer by telling him every move. He talked to him, he listened, he gave him a character, a history, and a world, and then he let him find the performance, with his own talent, his own intelligence, and his own feeling. That trust is rare, and it is why Brandauer’s performances feel so alive, so complex, and so human, because they were not forced, but grown, in collaboration with a director who respected his actor.

Szabó’s love of performance also extends to his own life, because he has always been a performer in a sense, a public figure, a teacher, a speaker, and a man who has had to perform roles in his own life, as a student under communism, as a director in a changing Hungary, and as a man facing questions about his past. He has performed those roles with dignity, with honesty, and with a willingness to face difficult questions, and that performance, that life, is as complex and as interesting as any of his films. His films about actors are, in a way, films about himself, about the choices he has made, and about the price of performance, in art and in life.

In his later years, Szabó continued to work in theatre and in film, to teach young directors, and to be a presence in Hungarian cultural life, and his love of performance never faded. He remained a director who believed in actors, in the stage, and in the power of a story told well, with beauty, with music, and with human feeling. That belief is at the heart of his legacy, and it is why his films, his theatre work, and his opera work are all part of one story, the story of a man who loved performance, who understood its power, and who used it to ask hard questions about history, about morality, and about what it means to be human.

My Take:

When I think about István Szabó, I think first about the question at the heart of Mephisto, because it is a question that stays with me long after the film is over. How far would I go for success, and what would I give up to get it? Hendrik Höfgen gives up his friends, his beliefs, and finally himself, to become a star, and Szabó shows that process step by step, without rushing, without judging in a loud way, and with a sadness that makes the film feel true. I admire that, because it is easy to make a film about a villain, and it is much harder to make a film about a talented, weak, human man who makes bad choices, one small choice at a time, until he is lost. Szabó does the harder thing, and that is why Mephisto is a masterpiece.

What I love most about his trilogy is its elegance. The films are beautiful to look at, with theatres, uniforms, cafés, and the lost world of Central Europe, but that beauty is not empty. It is the beauty of a world that is about to fall apart, and Szabó films it with love and with sadness, as if he is saying goodbye to something precious. I feel that sadness when I watch his films, because I can see the world he loves, and I can see that it is already doomed. That mix of beauty and doom is powerful, and it is what makes his historical films feel so alive.

I also think about his own life, and about the reports from 2006, and I try to be honest and fair about them. It is easy to judge a young man in the 1950s from the safety of today, and it is harder to imagine what it was like to be a student in communist Hungary, under pressure, afraid, and trying to survive. I do not want to excuse what happened, because informing on others is a serious thing, and it hurt real people. But I also do not want to pretend that Szabó’s whole life can be reduced to that one chapter. He made great films, he taught young directors, and he lived a long life as an artist. I think both things can be true at once: that he made a grave mistake as a young man, and that he also made great art. Holding both truths is hard, but it is honest, and Szabó’s own films teach us to hold hard truths.

The lesson I take from Sunshine is about identity, and about how a family can try to fit in, change its name, change its religion, change its life, and still not be safe. The Sonnenschein family tries everything to become Hungarian, to become accepted, and history keeps moving the goalposts, from anti-Semitism to war to communism. That story moves me, because it shows how fragile identity can be, and how cruel history can be to people who only want to belong. I think about my own identity, and about the people I know who have tried to fit in, and I feel a deep respect for Szabó for telling this story with such care and such length, over three generations, without rushing it.

I also admire his work with actors, especially with Klaus Maria Brandauer. Brandauer’s performance in Mephisto is one of the great performances in cinema, and it is clear that Szabó trusted him, gave him space, and let him find the character’s vanity, charm, fear and emptiness. That trust between a director and an actor is rare, and it is visible on screen. I learn from that. A good director does not control every move. A good director creates a space where an actor can be great, and then steps back and lets the greatness happen. That is a lesson I can use in my own work, in any field, not only in film.

I feel sad when I think about the lost world Szabó films, the Austro-Hungarian Empire, the cafés of Budapest and Vienna, the theatres, the music, the elegance, because that world is gone, and it will never come back. Szabó is like a man remembering a beautiful house that has burned down, and showing us the rooms, one by one, with love. That sadness is part of his films’ beauty, but it is also a real loss, and I feel it when I watch them. I wish I could have seen that world, and I am grateful that Szabó filmed it, so that I can at least imagine it.

Another thing I admire is his patience as a filmmaker. He does not rush his stories. He lets a character grow, lets a historical period unfold, lets a moral choice develop slowly, over a whole film, or over a trilogy. That patience is rare in modern cinema, where films are often fast and loud, and it is a sign of respect for the audience. Szabó trusts that his audience will stay with him, will think, and will feel, and that trust is rewarded, because his films stay with me long after I have watched them.

If I have a criticism, it is only that some of his later films, like Being Julia, feel less personal than his Hungarian films, and that his international work, while elegant, does not always have the same depth as Mephisto or Sunshine. That is not a failure. It is a natural thing for a director who tries new things in new countries, with new actors and new languages. I still enjoy those films, but I return most often to his Hungarian and Central European work, because that is where his heart is, and where his films feel most alive.

For a young reader who wants to make films, or who wants to tell stories about history, I would say this. Learn from Szabó. Study history, love your actors, take your time, and ask hard questions. Do not be afraid to make a film about a difficult moral choice, even if the answer is not clear. Szabó’s films do not give easy answers, and that is why they last. A film that tells you what to think is forgotten quickly. A film that asks you to think is remembered for a long time. That is a lesson I will keep.

In the end, I think István Szabó teaches us that art and power are always close to each other, and that an artist must be careful, brave, and honest about that closeness. His films show what happens when an artist makes a deal with power, and they show it with beauty, with sadness, and with a deep understanding of human weakness. I am grateful for those films, because they help me think about my own choices, about what I would give up for success, and about what I would not give up, no matter what. That is a valuable lesson, and it is the reason Szabó’s work will keep mattering.

I also want to say something about Budapest, because it is at the heart of his films, even when the films are set in Berlin or Vienna. Budapest is a city of beauty and of pain, of grand buildings and of hard history, and Szabó films it with love. I have never lived in Budapest, but through his films, I feel as if I know it, its streets, its theatres, its cafés, and its people. That is the power of a director who loves his city, and who films it with care. I hope his films keep bringing Budapest to new audiences, and I hope young Hungarian filmmakers keep learning from him.

Finally, I think about the word Mephisto itself, the devil, and how Szabó uses it not as a monster, but as a bargain, a deal, a temptation. The devil in his film is not a creature with horns. He is a system, a regime, a chance to be famous, and that is a much more frightening devil, because it looks like success. I will remember that image, and I will remember Szabó’s warning: be careful what you wish for, be careful what you trade for fame, because the price may be higher than you think. That warning is as relevant today as it was in 1981, and it is why his films still speak to us.

I think about Szabó’s love of actors, and I feel grateful, because a director who loves actors is a director who trusts people, and that trust is visible on screen. His films with Klaus Maria Brandauer are not only great because Brandauer is great, but because Szabó created a space where Brandauer could be great, where he could try, fail, and try again, without fear. I learn from that. In my own work, I should create a space where the people around me can be great, where they feel trusted, where they feel safe to try, and where their talent can grow, rather than being controlled or criticised. That is a lesson in leadership, and it is a lesson Szabó teaches with his films.

Another thought that stays with me is about performance in life, because Szabó’s films show that we all perform roles, as sons, as fathers, as workers, as citizens, and that those roles can be both true and false, both helpful and harmful. Hendrik Höfgen performs the role of a loyal Nazi actor, Colonel Redl performs the role of a loyal officer, and Hanussen performs the role of a prophet, and each one loses himself in the performance, until he no longer knows who he really is. I think about my own life, and about the roles I perform, and I wonder if I am still myself underneath them, or if I have lost myself in trying to please others. Szabó’s films ask that question, and they do not give an easy answer, but they make me think, and that thinking is valuable.

I also think about his opera work, and how it shows a different side of him, a love for music, for beauty, and for grand stories, that is not always visible in his films, which are often serious and historical. Opera is a form where emotion is sung, where love and death are expressed in music, and Szabó’s love for opera shows that he is not only a thinker, but also a feeler, a man who loves beauty, who loves music, and who wants his audience to feel, not only to think. That balance, between thinking and feeling, is at the heart of his best films, which are both intelligent and moving, both beautiful and sad, and that is why they last.

There is also a sadness in thinking about Szabó’s own performance in life, about the reports from 2006, and about how he had to face questions about his youth, about his choices, and about his past. That is a hard performance, to stand in public, to answer difficult questions, and to live with the consequences, and I feel both sadness and respect for him, sadness that he had to face that, and respect that he did not hide, that he spoke, and that he continued to work, to teach, and to make films. His life, like his films, is complex, and it does not offer easy judgments, but it does offer a lesson: that we are all performers, that we all make choices, and that we must live with those choices, with honesty, even when it is hard.

Finally, I think about Being Julia, and how it is about an actress, a woman who performs on stage and in life, who is loved, who is ageing, and who tries to keep her career, her love, and her dignity, all at once. That film moves me, because it shows that performance is not only for men, for officers, or for showmen, but also for women, for actresses, who have their own struggles, their own ambitions, and their own ways of surviving in a world that often values youth over talent. Szabó’s film about Julia is a film about a woman, told with respect, with humour, and with a deep understanding of what it means to be an actress, and it is a reminder that his love of performance includes everyone, men and women, young and old, and that is a generous, human love, one that I will remember.

Frequently Asked Questions

When was István Szabó born and where is he from?

István Szabó was born on 18 February 1938 in Budapest, Hungary. He studied at the Academy of Drama and Film in Budapest, and he became one of Hungary’s leading directors, known for historical films about Central Europe.

What is István Szabó’s most famous film?

His most famous film is Mephisto, released in 1981, which won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film. The film tells the story of a German actor who makes a deal with the Nazis to advance his career, played by Klaus Maria Brandauer.

What films make up Szabó’s Central Europe trilogy?

The trilogy is made up of Mephisto from 1981, Colonel Redl from 1985, and Hanussen from 1988, all starring Klaus Maria Brandauer. Together, they tell stories about Central Europe in the early twentieth century, about empire, power and talented men who make deals with regimes.

What is Sunshine about?

Sunshine, released in 1999, tells the story of a Hungarian Jewish family, the Sonnenscheins, over three generations, from the late nineteenth century to the 1950s. The film stars Ralph Fiennes in three roles, as father, son and grandson, and it covers anti-Semitism, war and communism in Hungary.

Did István Szabó face controversy about his past?

Yes, in 2006 reports in Hungary said that Szabó had, as a young student in the 1950s, worked as an informer for the communist secret police. He spoke about the period as a painful part of his youth, and the reports led to a wide debate about his past and about moral choices under communism.

What is Taking Sides about?

Taking Sides, released in 2001, is about the German conductor Wilhelm Furtwängler and his relationship with the Nazis after the Second World War. The film asks whether an artist who worked under the Nazis can be forgiven, and whether art can be separated from politics.