“Andrei Tarkovsky wrote that ‘the cinematographer does not speak, but thinks’ – a principle the Balázs Béla and Kossuth Prize–winning Distinguished Artist considers essential as a professional attitude. He has thought in images since childhood. ‘A good cinematographer must shape every single shot. Motion pictures have their own structure, their own laws, their own language. One must learn these, and then one begins to think in film images. Film is the highest form of the visual arts, and the pinnacle of the cinematographic profession is feature filmmaking,’ says Tibor Máthé, who believes film is brilliant partly because, in its beginnings, it was made by visual artists. The sets, the music, the acting – the convergence of the arts on the screen is a fantastic experience. This is why he became a cinematographer. Tibor Máthé was a late bloomer, but only in relation to film. He intuitively sensed what he was doing or learning long before he consciously realised that the events and experiences of his life were in fact preparing him for a cinematographer’s career. Photography and architecture paved the way for what would become his profession – even before the idea itself ever occurred to him. Between 1957 and 1961 he studied photography at the Secondary School of Fine and Applied Arts, then earned a degree with distinction in architectural design at the Hungarian College of Applied Arts in 1971. Finally, from 1972 to 1976 he attended the Film and Television Cinematography programme at the Budapest Academy of Drama and Film, studying under István Szabó, György Illés, and Tibor Vagyóczky.”
Looking at Tibor Máthé’s visual worlds, what stands out is his mannerism-free storytelling, the authenticity of events, the fidelity of representation, the willingness to confront things directly, and the relentless unveiling of underlying processes. His career – richly adorned with awards – showcases a refined array of a human-centred visual language expressed through images. “Much can be achieved with photographs, with setups, with the choice of optics, but the technique alone is not enough,” Tibor Máthé asserts in an article reflecting on the 30th Hungarian Film Week. What lies beyond technique is a factor that, to use a cliché, cannot be learned – one must be born with it. We may call it an honest humility and sensitivity toward the craft, the very qualities that separate the wheat from the chaff.
Tibor Máthé does not categorise his own style; rather, he says he has stylistic traits rather than a fixed method: “Since no two stories are the same, they cannot be told the same way. Each film has its own directorial vision and its own visual experience. I am not trying to express myself – I want to bring a story to life. To give the viewer an experience they can delight in.” The cinematographer’s work in a film cannot be converted into words. The scenes appear before the viewer’s eyes, and what they see there is the meaning of the film. Expression happens primarily through images – they tell the story, they narrate. Among the exceptional cinematographer-phenomena endowed with the privilege of talent, the work of two late members of the MMA, Sándor Sára and Vilmos Zsigmond, serves as a standard for him. He also considers the American Conrad Hall his master. What captivated him in their work was the extraordinary visual sensibility and vision. His first true film experience came at the age of twenty, with Ashes and Diamonds, directed by Andrzej Wajda. This was of special significance for his career because it was the first time he realised that a film has a cinematographer, and that the film image can convey moods and emotions just as powerfully as the visual arts. His favourite genres are drama, and any work that has some poetry. He collaborated most frequently with Ildikó Enyedi – in their films, poetry predominates. His other favourite director is János Szász, with whom he made dramas.
Tibor Máthé’s visual world – shaped in his mind through observing the interrelations of space, light, and movement – always becomes a story that attunes itself to the emotions of others and unfolds together with them. He never creates for his own sake or for his own amusement. He is a team player, and instead of speaking in the first-person singular about himself and the world in which he moves, he much prefers to speak in the first-person plural. He throws away his storyboards after filming; he does not keep them. He expects no recognition for his work. “Michelangelo placed his signature on his first sculpture, then never again. Before his death, he burned all his drawings; only those remain that he had given to someone as a gift.” So much for vanity, he says. It was enough that he made the work.
“An image exists where words no longer do”
According to Tibor Máthé, he never intended to become a cinematographer – not even by accident. He drew well, and could imagine himself as a painter, yet he still became an architectural designer. How, then, did he become a cinematographer? Near his primary school in Kőbánya, on the side entrance of the church designed by Ödön Lechner, there was a beautiful mosaic that constantly drew his gaze during lessons; when he stepped into the neo-Gothic church, it was the lights that captivated him. This sincere sense of wonder fundamentally shaped his personality. The visual world – standing in stark contrast to the soul-destroying, demeaning nihilism of the Rákosi-era cube buildings surrounding him – determined the direction of his interests toward the visual arts.
After a long detour, the lasting impulses of the golden-background mosaics and the colourful play of light returned during the entrance examination for the cinematography programme: he shot his entrance short film in the inner-city church. Although as a first-year student at the Secondary School of Visual Arts he won a book prize for a drawing competition, in his final year he won a competition called the “Liberation Contest” with a photograph. This was surprising, because at the time only manually created work had rank and prestige among the students. He shared that view. Neither still photography nor, later, static architecture enthralled him. Stillness could not serve as a guarantee of its own authenticity. At this point he had not yet identified with photography; the conscious commitment to capturing and presenting light had not yet appeared. He did sports instead, neglected his studies, and took on manual labour. Movement remained an organic part of his life right up to college. When he saw his goals more clearly, he applied to the Academy of Applied Arts, but he was drafted into the army, and his entrance results expired after two years. He had to reapply, though eventually leniency was shown and he was admitted. Another key milestone in this long detour came in his third year of college. A certain Mr Bikácsi from the Academy of Theatre and Film Arts visited the Academy of Applied Arts in Zugliget and offered students the chance to watch old films once a week at the Film Academy. He attended these sessions for a year; moving images captivated his attention completely, and he committed himself to film. He became aware that a photograph has only a single viewpoint. Architecture may have multiple viewpoints, but it does not move (in most cases). Film, however, allows the camera to move in 3D space. You can place the camera anywhere. You can walk around the scene, and the viewer does not feel – as they do in theatre – that they are seeing events from a single viewpoint; in fact, through camera movement, “the viewer wanders around” – as Máthé puts it. In moving images, the authentic expressive instinct of his nature finally found release, and cinematography became his instrument for reaching others. The camera is a tool of realisation, of existential fulfilment built upon reality – a device that captures shifting images, human moments, moods, from the camera obscura to images appearing fully illuminated – if it is in good hands, and with Máthé Tibor it seems to be. Looking back at the “long introduction” of his life – since he began cinematography studies in 1972, nearly at the age of thirty – there must indeed have been something in that award-winning photograph that foreshadowed his talent. “Film is a segment of still images. The movement in film is an illusion. The whole thing is an illusion, containing a human being, a fate, a story, emotions.” This is its magic. With every film he grew more attuned to the possibilities offered by motion.
Transferring from the Academy of Applied Arts to the Film Academy was not without friction. When shooting his entrance film, he did not even know what a camera looked like, yet he still filmed his short piece in that inner-city church – the film with which he was admitted. “It’s not the technology that matters, but what is in a person’s mind. Without any prior experience, this is how one can achieve something” – the cinematographer states. Yet he came very close to achieving nothing at all. As a graduating student in 1976, alongside the short fiction film Mundstock úr (Mr. Mundstock) directed by János Vészi, he shot his cinematography diploma film titled Születésnap (Birthday), which dealt – somewhat symbolically – with the 1956 Revolution. Naturally, it was considered “politically incorrect”; the committee distanced itself from its content, though they acknowledged its professional quality.
By then it was already well known that he intended to work at the film studio and create feature films, and that he planned to use his artistic knowledge for this purpose. He was not accepted as a cinematographer at Mafilm’s Studio No. 1 – only a year later, and practically as a punishment, he was assigned to Studio No. 2 of the then Newsreel and Documentary Film Studio. After the screening of his diploma films, he was immediately dismissed. A fortunate deus ex machina appeared in his life in the person of film director Péter Gárdos, who wanted to make a film with him. Thanks to his help, he was finally allowed to stay at the Newsreel and Documentary Film Studio, where for five years they mainly produced documentaries and short fiction films. According to Tibor Máthé, he owes a great deal to Gárdos and to Gárdos’s ceramic-artist wife for enabling him to remain in the film profession.
“Here is a story. One must formulate it just as a writer does, only in images. How can one achieve that ‘the reader keeps turning the page’? How can one create something that does not exist?” Like this:
Ház a sziklák alatt (House Under the Rocks), a Hungarian film released in 1958 and directed by Károly Makk. Its cinematographer was György Illés.
Hannibál tanár úr (Professor Hannibal), which debuted in 1956. The film was directed by Zoltán Fábri, with Ferenc Szécsényi as cinematographer.
The already-mentioned 1958 film Hamu és gyémánt (Ashes and Diamonds), shot by Jerzy Wójcik.
The 1967 film Hidegvérrel (In Cold Blood), directed by Richard Brooks, with three-time Oscar winner Conrad Hall as cinematographer.
Nagyítás (Blow-Up), the 1966 film drama directed by Michelangelo Antonioni, with Carlo Di Palma as cinematographer.
Papírhold (Paper Moon), the 1973 film directed by Peter Bogdanovich, shot by László Kovács.
The 1978 film Szarvasvadász (The Deer Hunter), whose cinematographer was the late Academy Award–winning MMA member Vilmos Zsigmond. The film was directed by Michael Cimino.
Sodrásban (Current), directed by István Gaál, with cinematography by Sándor Sára, Kossuth Grand Prize laureate, director, and Artist of the Nation.
Finally, Feldobott kő (Upthrown Stone), in which both the director and cinematographer was Sándor Sára.
Máthé Tibor looked with admiration at these productions and at the world-altering visual solutions of the cinematographers. Few are capable of reshaping taste and transforming the language of form, yet they succeeded. The “professional vigilance” of these director and cinematographer geniuses can be felt in his works. He received his first cinematography award in 1977 at the Kraków Short Film Festival, then in 1985 he won the award for Best Cinematographer at the Hungarian Film Week with his second feature film, Uramisten (My God). After that, he won the same award at the festival with seven more films in 1989, 1994, 1997, 1999, 2006, 2007 and 2008.
His innate talent eventually led him to Toruń in Poland, to Camerimage, the most prestigious international festival for feature-film cinematographers. Being selected into this competition, which annually includes hundreds of cinematographers from around the world, is itself noteworthy. Máthé Tibor was nominated five times for the main competition, which usually includes only twelve entrants. At Camerimage, he competed with tiny, practically negligible films by industry standards – productions costing two or three hundred million forints – against films with budgets of tens or hundreds of millions of dollars. Nevertheless, in 1994, with the film Woyzeck (Woyzeck) directed by János Szász, he succeeded in winning the festival’s top prize for feature-film cinematographers, the Golden Frog.
Despite all this, with many years and many awards behind him – and with such cult works to his name as Péter Gárdos’s internationally acclaimed film Szamárköhögés (Whooping Cough) or Ildikó Enyedi’s Az én XX. századom (My Twentieth Century) – he gives the most unpretentious self-description possible: “There is no simpler man in the world than me; I don’t want to be better than anyone, only in what I do.” The foundation of Máthé Tibor’s artistic character is not a compulsion to conform, nor a craving for praise fueled solely by the desire for validation. He does not make himself dependent on publicity in the slightest. “As long as I am not well-known, I am free,” he says. One of Máthé Tibor’s distinguishing traits is this restrained humility, which dislikes fuss around his person, avoids the carnival-like glamour of decorated entertainment, and, as an ordinary man, seeks to rise above the everyday only on the cinema screen – chiefly by making those everyday moments extraordinary with the help of his camera. The only professional recognition he is genuinely proud of is the outstanding esteem he received at the “Camerimage ’94” world competition. And he is proud that, twenty-five years on – in a world that has undergone so many changes, especially his profession – he is still able to be present and influential with innovative ideas. This is no easy task. Cinematography is a technical field, and its development is so rapid that even with openness, keeping up with the changes is demanding. There is always something new to learn. Máthé Tibor’s natural urge to communicate and depict, his simple inner drive, enables him to meet these challenges at the proper level. In 2019 he received the Hungarian Film Critics’ Award for the cinematography of A hentes, a kurva és a félszemű (The Butcher, the Whore and the One-eyed Man), directed by János Szász.
There are no typically Máthé Tibor–specific traits in the world he articulates through his films, which is a rare “trademark” of his individuality. Yet the elements that best capture the essence of his cinematographic work are feature filmmaking, human-centred representation, the spatial perception and lyricism stemming from his architectural studies – the application of spatial poetics and spatial metaphors emerging from the fusion of these two, the use of writerly analogies, close-ups, light, and his attraction to black-and-white cinematographic technique. All these converge in the figure of the thinking cinematographer in the sense of Tarkovsky. He most often does not take on a cinematography assignment unless the given story has some emotional impact on him and activates his visual imagination. He must have a thorough understanding of the director’s intention and a deep grasp of the screenplay. Thanks to his spatial perception and drawing skills, he can easily sketch scenes in advance on the storyboard or plan the lighting – an area in which many struggle. Even if he is on very good terms with a director, the most important thing is that the story must move his mind in images, that his soul can come to terms with the plot, and that his emotions can connect to the dramaturgical structures. “The viewer is first captured by emotion, by the emotional effects of the story, and of course by the visuality. To elicit these is the result of intense, hard work. In the best case, the film continues to live on in the viewer’s mind, and then many things can become thoughts, philosophy, or lesson.” If Máthé Tibor has truly understood something, he then tries, as the director’s partner, to express it in images and to convey it to audiences by transforming it into moving pictures. When he begins the work, he plunges into the unknown. “There is always a bit of doubt in a person as to whether something exceeds their abilities or not. Then, when it is finished, one calms down, thinking: ‘Ah, I managed to do this,’ and then one moves on.” Only one thing interests him: telling a story visually.
“Every film involves taking a risk. You either move forward, or you cut yourself off – and then there is no way back.”
“The painter can take the canvas and repaint it the next day. The writer can correct the text. With film there is no such thing. Every minute is calculated precisely: whatever you have made is what people will see. You can’t correct anything even five minutes later, which is why this profession is psychologically very demanding. Constant final decisions within a tightly constrained time frame. And if the finished material still has soul and emotion, that is a miracle.”
If the director and the cinematographer step out of the everyday and can realise on screen the imagination they have dreamed together, the collaboration will bear fruit. If these threads break, then friendship usually remains, but inspiration is sought with other colleagues in the profession. Working together for 20–25 years is rare. Máthé Tibor has worked with many directors, and he never exceeded the allotted timeframe, which made him highly sought-after in the industry.
According to him, the hallmarks of a good cinematographer are the following:
A cinematographer must understand all genres. He must be able to do everything from commercials and reference films to documentaries and feature films. Where one specialises after one’s studies is a matter of personal preference.
How can one create something that does not exist – for example, how can a mood be conveyed with the help of a camera? One must articulate it in the same way a writer does, only in images.
One must understand the nature of light. All visuality depends on this. Just as actors must observe people in order to portray characters accurately and authentically on screen, so must the cinematographer study light.
There is continuous, rapid development in recording technology. A healthy interest in current innovations makes it easier to absorb new techniques. New technology means new possibilities. There is no obligation to use them – but if cinematographers invent their own techniques (new lenses, cameras), even better.
“For me, the actor’s face should be three or four metres tall when projected.” The statue of David or the Eiffel Tower is not as striking in the form of a small plastic keychain as it is in its original scale. Scale is important.
This craft must be practised constantly, just like sport. If one falls out of practice, it shows in the work. It is sometimes worthwhile to take on a film as a kind of rest – something that does not engage you deeply, in which you do not grow tired. These works contain little thought, and that is perfectly fine.
The work must remain close to people, human centred.
Film director Pál Zolnay once recorded an interview with poet László Nagy shortly before his death. At the end of the conversation, he asked him: “What message do you send to the future?” As I recall, he replied: “If they have a human face, then I send my kisses to them.” This story came up between us in connection with computer image manipulation. CGI (Computer-Generated Imagery) has no human face. It may hold attention for a moment, but it cannot create value. CGI contains no human emotion. To tell a human story, a fate, one needs real footage with real people. If something is not human-centred, there is no contact. A genuine scene exists only when two people sit down and talk, and their souls shine through their eyes. That is what makes it humane. A person who gains strength when holding a camera wishes to express himself in the memory of the film world solely through this approach, and to leave a mark in that spirit.
From 2005 until his retirement, Máthé Tibor taught cinematography as the head of the Cinematography Department at the University of Theatre and Film Arts, where he also developed the Bologna-system accreditation for the BA and MA cinematography programs.
The cinematographer, who has shot numerous feature films, is now preparing for new tasks, but after full retirement he hopes to return to painting.