Jancsó is a peerless formalist. Only Bresson surpasses him in rigorous adherence to a formal vision. My Way Home is a special early masterpiece because it marries this already totally perfected vision with a degree of warmth and a measure of play. It is about the establishment of a temporary autonomous zone in relation to the war machine. It is therefore an empowering work about a kind of resistance available to all.
Largo gyrations, barrened steppe slopes cresting in fruity undulations, mine fields girded by roundabout paths - there's little sensuality in this film of quasi-Ionic motion volutes, in spite of female nudes darting in beeline at some point, but there's friendship. The humans vagabond in loops - lint tied to the wheel of history, flesh flecks nailed to the turning rim and borne by it on a cycloid track, relinquished
The best Jancsó, and also one of the best Hungarian film I've ever seen. This film is very haunting. With brilliantly captured landscapes, the film creates a somewhat intense atmosphere. The friendship between the two boys could be political, but Jancsó kept their affection in innocent state (a nice but intense things). The psychological and nature of violence subjects are sharp but not in such exhortation way.