One legacy of the scientific revolution is the West’s insistence that everything and everyone ought to be classified and arranged into neat categories. In this system, every human being should identify with a race, religion and most importantly with a state. But, identifying with a single state is problematic for many people for myriad reasons. In “The Hungarian Passport,” Brazilian filmmaker Sandra Kogut highlights many of these problems and shows the viewer how bureaucracy, biology, law and culture all intersect with regards to nationality. Attempting to explain this issue, Kogut documents her endeavor to obtain the supreme material paradigm of citizenship, a passport, from the state that her grandparents left shortly before the onset of World War I. Pleading her case to bureaucrats on two continents in several countries, the filmmaker is able to show how arbitrary and utterly strange the laws and custom of national citizenship have become.

At first, a film that examines and documents bureaucracies might seem tedious and soporific, the hallmarks of paper pushing. Through effective editing and a flair for comic timing, Kogut is able keep the viewer engaged in her quest while stressing the inconsistencies of modern citizenship rules. When viewing Hungarian bureaucrats at a consulate in Paris contradicting the words of their counterparts in Budapest, it becomes clear that citizenship rules are a la carte to some extent and only employed at certain times by certain bureaucrats. At the Hungarian consulate in Paris, Kogut is told that to become a Hungarian citizen, she must pass a rigorous exam in Hungarian (of which she speaks next to nothing). Later on at another consulate, it is revealed that this not the case and that she must simply find someone who speaks Hungarian to fill out her citizenship papers. Kogut’s case for citizenship is dependent more on the office or officer she encounters than whether or not she actually deserves the privilege. As subjective and nebulous as the laws for Hungarian citizenship appear to be, Kogut’s reasons for seeking to acquire it are equally elusive in the film.

Kogut is purposely quite vague in defining why she wishes to have Hungarian citizenship. At several points in the movie she brushes this query aside or says something like “it might help me to work in Europe.” And the viewer never sees a burning desire on Kogut’s part to belong to Hungary. Although she expresses some yearning to reconnect with her roots, Kogut does not emphasize this point at all. This lack of definition fits in well with the rest of the movie. Kogut is able to show how arbitrary her decision to acquire this national citizenship really is. In fact, she is never shown on camera. She is blank and emotionless, trying to show that this process is faceless and generic. For Kogut, the passport is not much more than a piece of paper. It does not define or classify her in any substantial way with regard to her own understanding of identity. Kogut’s identity is further complicated when it is revealed that her maternal grandparents were Hungarian Jews. Winking at biology, Kogut includes footage where an older Hungarian man tells her that she does not “look Jewish” and is dumbfounded to learn that our protagonist is fully a Jew by lineage. Clearly, phenotype is not the best way to understand nationality, culture or religious background. This sequence creates an analogy between the questions of who (or what exactly) is Jewish and what defines a citizen of a state. Both are too amorphous to create an ultimate definition. The culture, nation and state that a person identifies with is then intangible and certainly open to scrutiny. A state’s citizenship law does not always pertain to every person who culturally or ethnically identifies with that state.

At the end of Kogut’s quest, the filmmaker is left with a Hungarian passport. She partakes in an elaborate ceremony in an ornate public building with many other soon-to-be Hungarians. At the ceremony, she takes an oath of citizenship and is issued a passport. Legally, Kogut has become a Hungarian. There is just one peculiar thing about the document she receives: it expires one year from its date of issue. Compounding Kogut’s journey into this hysterical mess, she and the viewer learn that one can actually become a Hungarian for just a single year. According to the law, one day you can be a Hungarian and the next day, you cannot. At the same time, it signifies that anyone can become Hungarian if they are willing to submit the government’s procedure for citizenship. Such legal standing is then not contingent on heritage, birthplace or other aspects of one’s ethnicity. And Kogut is able to obtain this standing with an extremely limited understanding of Hungarian life.

“The Hungarian Passport” can help us understand modern identities. Citizenship is a legal definition and not much more. Yes, it can signify culture or ethnic background, but it still remains a legal standing that almost anyone can acquire. Kogut proves this by avoiding a citizenship test that would have at least proven that she has an understanding of the language, laws, culture and history of the state she wishes to join. Without knowing much about Hungary or considering herself Hungarian, Kogut is able to obtain a Hungarian passport, albeit for just a year. In this sense, legal citizenship is just one of many aspects of a person’s national identity.