SYNOPSIS

Twenty-three-year-old Márk wakes in the middle of the night to find his father already dead and his family gathered in mourning. No one woke him in time to say goodbye. As relatives focus on undertakers, paperwork, and trying to avoid an autopsy, Márk fights for one final task: choosing the burial clothes. But the memories attached to the worn garments he selects unwittingly stir buried resentments, driving the family into a fierce clash – until Márk’s desperate attempt at a true farewell draws them into grieving together.

INTENTION

My father’s death came after years of anticipation, yet when it happened, it still shattered the family order. In Once-in-a-Lifetime, I return to that rupture through Márk, a young man who wakes too late to say goodbye and finds himself trapped between private grief, family chaos, and the machinery of mourning.

What moves me in this story is the confusion death leaves behind: how easily love can turn into irritation, silence, or comical fights over who remembers the dead correctly. In a society where shared rituals are fading, we are often left to drift between the harsh material reality of death and the absence of any transcendental frame that could hold it. This film explores that aimlessness, and the quiet danger of losing one another precisely when we need each other most.

I want to approach grief through the mundane and the darkly humorous: creaking floorboards, spilt coffee, bad suits, small humiliations, and sudden tenderness around a body still present in the room. Visually, the camera begins close to Márk, then gradually opens as the family fractures. Through the shared ritual of watching, I hope to make a film that restores something healing and transcendental to grief.