The first full-length animated Hungarian documentary “Pelikan Blue” directed by László Csáki greeted an eager audience of town members and students in a packed Dana Auditorium on March 27. The film shares its name with a type of ink, Pelikan Blue, which plays a critical role in the plot due to its easy removability, facilitating the fabrication of train tickets.
“Pelikan Blue” is based on true accounts gathered through interviews about ticket forgery in Hungary after the fall of the Iron Curtain, which had long restricted international travel to Western Europe. The film tells the story of three main characters — teenagers Ákos, Laci and Petya — who dream of traveling abroad but cannot afford the expensive ticket prices. Eventually, they discover and master the technique of ticket forgery, aided by the removable Pelikan Blue ink. As tales of their travels spread, they are drawn into a career of forgery, helping fellow Hungarians travel abroad while constantly fearing the prosecution of the state and law enforcement.
Set in 1980s and 1990s Hungary, which had just started opening up after 40 years of communist rule, the film begins with the country’s transition to and slow incorporation of capitalism. This shift created new freedoms which were previously restricted, beginning with the opening up of borders and allowing for international travel to a once unreachable Western Europe.
“Pelikan Blue” seamlessly merges the story of the three main characters with interviews recalling these past events, creating a thrilling visual and auditory experience that blends past with present.
One of the documentary’s most compelling features is its use of voiceover. According to producer Ádám Felszeghy, the narration is entirely sourced from interviews featuring authentic stories of forgery and experiences of buyers, initially recorded for research purposes. The film jumps through time, supplementing the narrative of Ákos, Laci and Petya with commentary from other relevant individuals who were implicated in the forgery. This results in a dynamic dialogue, adding to the film’s vibrancy and intrigue. For instance, after Ákos, Laci and Petya start forging tickets for others, the scene shifts to an interview with the three characters in the present, reflecting on their decisions, followed by comments from their customers explaining how they could not afford real tickets and thus saw fake ones as a viable option.
The documentary’s inventive use of animation alongside found and real footage further enhances its storytelling, taking advantage of both the imaginative, artistic and metaphoric potential of animation and the realistic authenticity of videos. The animation also provides a creative way for participants to remain anonymous, employing a recently popularized technique in the documentary industry.
A particularly memorable animated scene is when “The Clown,” a French ticket inspector with a keen eye for identifying forgeries, catches a few passengers using fake tickets likely forged by our protagonists. The animation’s creative power is put on full display as the scene adopts a thrilling yet humorous mood. The entire train is drawn in dark colors, creating an ominous atmosphere, while “The Clown,” ghostlike, morphs into strange shapes and appears unexpectedly around the passengers, capturing the fear felt by those traveling with fake tickets.
The interplay between animation and footage really shines during the scene when Ákos, Laci, and Petya experiment with removing the Pelikan blue ink from the tickets by using Domestos bleach. The film smoothly alternates between the animated sequence of their actions and the real-life footage of someone bleaching a ticket. Scenes such as this occur frequently, helping audiences better visualize these historical events.
Beneath its vibrant visuals, “Pelikan Blue” explores the gap between desire and access, freedom and affordability. The motive behind the protagonists’ forgery was not driven by greed, but by a hunger to explore the capitalist world newly accessible beyond Hungary’s borders — a desire shared by many, like them, who simply lacked the financial means to realize it.
One of the film’s most memorable lines captures this ethos: “My mother told me that stealing from another man is a crime, but stealing from the state is glorious.” Though Ákos, Laci and Petya’s actions were illegal, they viewed their forgery as reclaiming opportunities and freedom unjustly out of reach for civilians.
As their forgery network grows, the risks accumulate. Eventually, one fabricator is arrested; however, the entire community unites to protect each other against the threat of state power, defying the logic of the prisoner’s dilemma. Their solidarity testifies to the larger struggle of the working class, protecting their chance at freedom and ideal against the intrusion of the state.
Even the authorities seem to recognize the futility of punishing this crime. In the end, the captured fabricator is simply interrogated and then released, escaping the severe punishment he had anticipated. The detective involved also revealed in an interview at the end of the documentary that he eventually found the case unnecessary to pursue further.
As the narrative progresses, “Pelikan Blue” becomes more than just an ink — it becomes a symbol of hope, resilience and resistance. It provides a loophole, an avenue into the capitalist world which the state couldn’t close. The film’s slogan echoes this liberation, asking a question still deeply embedded in our society: “What good is freedom if you can’t live it?”
