Sátántangó (1994)

***NOTE: The following analysis/review may contain MILD SPOILERS regarding some detail in the film, but not to the extent of making the film viewing experience any lesser.***

An over 9-minute long, single take of a herd of cattle coming out from some dilapidated structures on to the boggy grounds of a rain-soaked rural Hungarian farm land, kicks off Bela Tarr's magnanimous, magnificent cinematic giant, "Sátántangó" (1994).

The cows and bulls moo away as some distant bell gongs and a faint, unsettling rumble fills the air. The cattle look around, confused, stand scattered, look for food, try to screw each other, and then walk along as a united herd in one direction. They are an aimless slothful lot, just going with the flow. This 9-minute long sequence pretty much sums up the condition of the grubby, miserable characters and their existence that "Sátántangó" delves upon and the course of the story that is to unfold in the rest of the 7-hour duration of this big mammoth of a film.

Divided into 12 chapters, (6 forward moves + 6 backward moves = the Tango structure, get it?), Sátántangó tells the story set in a small rural farmland after the fall of communism. The farm has failed and the peasants are struggling to earn a livelihood. With some money leftover, possibly received from the government owing to their shut-down, the primary characters, including three couples plan to scoot to some other location where they can start life afresh. Alas, some scheming individuals have secret plans of making away with all of the loot and not sharing the treasure with the others. But then, bell gongs are heard, the otherworldly kind. The nearest chapel doesn't have a bell tower anymore. So where is the bell sounding from? Well..."The News is They are coming".

Two dreaded individuals Irimias (Mihály Vig) and Petrina (Putyi Horváth) have been seen alive, rumour goes! They were presumed dead, but now they are back, possibly to stake their claim in the farm land, or take away what belongs to the peasants. Deemed dangerous, there is a sudden chaos in the scheme of things as these ordinary individuals become increasingly fearful at this unexpected turn of events. Frustrations follow, a tense atmosphere, fear of being robbed (again?), not wanting to part with what is theirs, not able to believe the rumours, the peasants decide to execute their plan of fleeing anyway. Meanwhile, a portly, alcoholic, lonesome Doctor (Peter Berling), a part of this doomed universe, sits in his ramshackle room, spies on his neighbours (these very other individuals), sips his fruit brandy, grumbles and grunts like a pig and takes down notes in journals named for each of the characters! Is he the one writing their story? Or just observing?

Quite a few things happen. A single incident is told from different vantage points. Occurrences in the lives of several people in the same time instance are related. Disparate chapters of the film could in fact serve as separate stories.  Time folds back and there are temporal overlaps. Over the sprawling length, there is a very grim story being told. The mortal humans and their natural reactions to the quagmire they have landed themselves in, their desperation owing to their predicament, their vulnerability, their ill-feelings for each other, are all one would come to expect, given their plight. So where does Irimias fit in?

He is the spider who weaves an invisible web that binds them together. It is easy for a spider to target something that does not move. Lazy, meaningless lives such as those of our characters are effortless targets for the likes of Irimias to cast their deadly webs of deceit! Irimias is a certified outlaw, but seems to be a messiah-like cult figure; the mystical character, who stands tall amidst all the mere mortals. A persona that almost looks like Jesus Christ. God? Satan? Who knows! But he has a charisma about him.

In a fantastic , surreal scene in a pub, when he says "Quiet", literally everything comes to standstill for a few seconds. We almost think Tarr has employed the freeze frame here, until one character moves slightly! Irimias has established his presence. He is a smooth-talking manipulator, probably a con-man who is capable of fleecing people and has done so before, and therefore they fear him. But he also has this extraordinary convincing power, that people can't help but listen to him. The peasants fear Irimias, but they can't do without him either. He is their support system. Much like God!

An incident of a little girl, Estike (Erika Bók, who also appears as an adult actress in "The Man from London" (2007) and "The Turin Horse" (2011)) and her cat sets things in motion. Irimias manipulates the situation. The ambiguous nature of Irimias is the main pulse of the film. Behold how Irimias is transfixed and falls to his knees as he approaches some ruins shrouded by fog, where Estike's body had been found. But it isn't certain if Irimias is aware of the location of her death! So what makes him kneel? Petrina laughs it off "What? You never seen fog before?" Could Irimias be an all-powerful being who senses the importance of that place?

Irimias has a masterplan. He promises to take the peasants elsewhere, where they can all start afresh. One begins to wonder if it is anti-Christian symbolism, what with a Christ-like figure leading a group like a pack of sheep with assurances of a "promised land". But in reality, this very Christ-like figure is an criminal, possibly planning a terrorist attack! Is it really a moral act of salvation? Or a trap that the peasants can't see? 

There is a lot to admire and embrace here. Tarr's film is all about how authority is exercised. It is all about control and power. The Doctor could very well be a puppet-master, controlling events from within his miserable abode. Irimias is exercising his manipulative control over the peasants. Mrs. Schmidt (Éva Almássy Albert) is controlling and manipulating the menfolk with her immoral sexuality. Estike exercises control over her hapless cat! Animal rights activists may bay for Tarr's blood, for an entire half hour sequence is dedicated to how Estike tortures and poisons her cat! One might question the cinematic liberty taken by Tarr. This reviewer had the same doubt, but Tarr claims that a Vet was present all the time during shooting of that scene! So he isn't really denying that the cat was not harmed..!

Nonetheless, art-house aficionados have plenty to lap up from this monumental labour of love that Tarr has built over a troublesome process of four years! A realistically acted, well photographed film that one must dedicate his entire day to. Not so much the plot, but the story-telling, narrative structure, the themes, the characterization and the dark humour are the highlights. A lot has been said about Tarr's visual style which is not new to anyone who has seen Tarr's other work.

The bleak black and white cinematography, melancholic score, long, slow-burning, uninterrupted takes, mesmerizing visuals, meticulous sound design (amidst silence, you can hear people pouring and gulping their drinks down!), use of apocalyptic, rain-soaked grim locales that give off an eerie, deserted feel, almost makes you feel like it is the end of the world as the camera pans through those landscapes! No one can capture dilapidation, bleakness and desolation quite like Bela Tarr. A visual style of filming people from behind as they walk on and the camera walks with them is signature Tarr by now, as there are entire shots dedicated to people walking along endlessly, like nomads, on streets and marsh-lands, getting wet, with no umbrellas, only trench-coats, and nary a vehicle to be seen around!

Tarr's filmmaking technique is flawless, and his hypnotic storytelling style with each chapter closing with a deep baritone-voiced poetic narration (by Mihály Ráday) summing up the story by putting out a conclusion, leaves a lasting effect. The length of the film and the amount of time we spend with them in our "Sátántango" experience makes us one with these characters. We become observers, much like the Doctor! We practically live their lives and it is difficult to shake off that effect long after the film has ended.

Only one wishes Tarr had gone easy on the desire to make the film a 7-hour long epic! With all due respect to Tarr, the same story could've been told in a length little under 5 hours. Long takes are very much welcome, so is meditative pacing, more so when they are done signature Tarr style and showcase haunting audiovisuals, like in the case of "The Turin Horse" (2011) or "Werckmeister Harmonies" (2000). But there is such a thing as being too glacial when it comes to the pacing!

Certain sequences in "Sátántango" did seem to overstay their welcome, with a drunken bar dance sequence stretching to over 11 minutes and the torture and killing of the cat which takes place in some ruined claustrophobic interiors (no good atmospherics) stretches to more than 30 minutes! Like in one scene, a drunk conductor Kelemen (István Juhász) keeps rambling and says, "I went plodding and plodding and plodding....", and it goes on, to no end! Let alone the pace, the cat torture is a somewhat painful sequence to watch too, given its realism! There are other instances as well, where a little cutting down could have made "Sátántango" far more accessible in terms of viewership like his other two masterworks mentioned above.

Nevertheless, "Sátántango" remains a unique piece of cinema, one that is an unforgettable experience and a towering achievement for Bela Tarr, the under-acknowledged visionary, the brave auteur and risk-taker. You are warned about the length...and the pace. Venture if you dare. And if you do, take minimal breaks to fully tap its absorbing power.

Score: 9/10

The Turin Horse (2011)

Famous German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche suffered a complete mental breakdown in 1889 in Turin. It is rumored that this happened sometime shortly after he witnessed the brutal whipping of a horse at the hands of its cabman for it refused to move. Nietzsche apparently rushed to the hansom cab, threw his arms around the horse’s neck in order to save it from the beating, and started sobbing profusely! He collapsed to the ground later, and was taken home by his neighbours. But Nietzsche was a completely different person thereon. He gradually spiraled down into dementia and stayed that way until his death which was ten years after. This is what happened to Nietzsche. But what happened to the horse?

Mihály Ráday’s deep baritone narrates the above tale in a verbal prologue and sets the somber tone for Bela Tarr and Ágnes Hranitzky’s directorial marvel, "The Turin Horse" (2011), which picks up the story from here, and in a fictitious account, depicts six days in the life of the horse, its cabman by the name of Ohlsdorfer (Janos Derzsi) and his daughter (Erika Bok). Tarr takes us to their humble home with bare minimum stone-age-like furniture and shows us their dreary daily existence, through the lens of cameraman Fred Kelemen who captures it all in stark monochrome, thereby emphasizing the bleakness of their condition. We become mute witnesses to a rather tough life, as Tarr shows us in a repetitive fashion, how the deadpan daughter fetches two buckets of water daily from the nearby well, braving the storm winds. She dresses and undresses her old father who has lost the strength in his right arm. She helps her father prepare the horse carriage. She also boils two potatoes as a daily meal for them which they wolf down with their bare hands, sitting across the table, but hardly talk to each other. 

Later, like mechanical clockwork, they consume some Palinka (a fruit brandy), almost like a daily activity akin to brushing teeth! The cold weather outside echoes the cold sentiments inside the house as the father-daughter duo live an almost robotic existence. The embers used to heat the potatoes seem to be the only things that exude any warmth! Life goes on with a dreadfully humdrum note, except for a couple of variations in the form of a cryptic visitor, some trespassing gypsies and the waning condition of the horse that deteriorates with each passing day, as it refuses to eat or move. The storm outside and the gradually declining condition of the horse spell doom and prove to be harbingers of rough weather in the lives of our lead characters, and we are forced to look on helplessly, as permanent darkness threatens to descend upon them…

Bela Tarr has said that "The Turin Horse", which could be his last film is about the "heaviness of human existence". To make us feel the heaviness, he makes us witness with (his famous) long takes and in almost real time, what almost every average human being goes through; a sort of tedium, a routine that one becomes slaves to! "A daily repetition of the same routine makes it possible to show that something is wrong in their world", Tarr has said! Why is it wrong? Is it making them less human as time passes? Although Tarr only chooses to divulge very little about the deeper meaning of his film, there are themes a lot more complex to be drawn. And then there are those underlying references to Nietzsche himself.

The most blatant reference comes in the form of the visitor who seeks to buy liquor and ends up delivering a long monologue hinting at an apocalyptic event. Perhaps hinting at the God is dead philosophy? But what of the horse? The dying horse could very well be a catalyst bringing about a radical change in the lives of Nietzsche (emotionally) and its cabman and his daughter (literally). With the decline of the horse, comes the storm, a storm that brings about death, decay and darkness. Or maybe Tarr is trying to point out that just like the horse, man is also a beast of burden, and at the mercy of the horse in this case! There are references to Nietzsche also to be found in the text in the book handed to the daughter by a trespassing gypsy. It wouldn’t be entirely wrong to say then, that the Nietzschean philosophy of eternal recurrence reflects in the repetitiveness shown in the microcosm of Ohlsdorfer’s meager existence.

And indeed, what a woeful existence it is! The relentless storm serves as a literal as well as metaphorical device that spells an inherent rough patch for Ohlsdorfer and his daughter. The graceful camerawork captures the perpetually stormy, desolate landscapes with a poetic brilliance, while a heavily melancholic dirge-like score composed by Mihaly Vig fills the atmosphere. When it’s not that, it is mostly the sound of wind howling or an eerie silence despite the signs of life in the modest little cabin, enhanced by the meticulous sound design.

There is very minimal dialog. "It’s ready" is amongst the handful of things the daughter says to her father when the potatoes are cooked! Much about the nature of the father-daughter pair’s relationship is conveyed, not through dialog, but through the facial emoting in a masterstroke of acting from the lead duo, especially Janos Derzsi. Erika Bok is mainly required to appear stoic and emotionless. In one striking scene, she goes inside the house, sits in the window and just stares outside, her face appearing like a pale ghost, while the camera stays there for a few seconds! 

Maybe it echoes her feelings of being trapped or doomed to a place of no escape. It is the dexterous juxtaposing of the horse’s deteriorating condition with that of Ohlsdorfer and his daughter that make you sit up and take notice. At one point of time, the horse stops eating. Pretty much around the same time, the father-daughter duo seem to leave their potatoes unfinished! Not surprisingly, the two are directly dependent on the horse for their livelihood. The horse refuses to co-operate, and its masters probably lose their appetite!

Amidst all the doom and despair, Tarr, in the crushing final frame of his phenomenal film, still salutes the human spirit. A single flicker of hope and man’s will to survive against all odds will continue to prevail, no matter how dark the fate...

Score: 10/10

Werckmeister Harmonies (2000)

A small town. A drunk room; a rather dreary bar with two big lights hanging from the ceiling. Village simpletons falling all over the floor with an overdose of drinks. “You tubs of beer”..the bartender calls them! At closing time, a wide-eyed, gaunt, but seemingly popular young man walks in. He is Janos Valuska (Lars Rudolph). He uses the drunks at the bar as props and demonstrates the Solar Eclipse and the effects of this phenomenon on the behavior of the mortal beings of the earth. The scene lasts for the first 10-12 minutes and ends with a melancholic, haunting score by Mihaly Vig. This single scene is so beautiful, it sets the tone for what’s to come.

There is a shroud of ambiguity over Hungarian filmmaker Bela Tarr’s “Werckmeister Harmonies” (co-directed by Ágnes Hranitzky). There is communication that is very vague. Things are spoken about something bad that happened before and something terrible that’s perhaps about to happen. And in some towns, they say it has already begun. Is it the advent of the apocalypse?

At the center of this mystery is a stuffed giant whale, a part of a “circus” that has arrived in town. This circus also features the enigmatic “Prince”. With the coming of the whale and the Prince there is suddenly a ‘lack of harmony’ within the quietude of the town. Foreigners have started encroaching. There are stories that they have started rioting and looting. The whale is perhaps the reason. Most people seem to regard the whale as an abomination. Only Janos sees it as a bounty of nature, a miracle of God…Janos is clearly an optimist. Or is it the Prince who is behind all the turbulence? There are all kinds of stories. The dead whale and the Prince are somehow responsible for creating ripples in the otherwise still waters of the quiet little town. They have already spread their wings on other parts of the country. But are all these just urban legends?

One of the main characters, György Eszter (Peter Fitz), speaks about how the musical intervals and harmonies as we know them over the centuries are “false” and the result of a huge scandal brought about by a certain Andreas Werckmeister. The title alludes to the harmonies or lack thereof owing to some funny business brought about by Werckmeister as a result of an “unhinged arrogance” that wished to take possession of the natural harmonies of the Gods! This one scene and the philosophy within has a strong connection with the overall theme of the film…lack of harmony and how it is brought about!

Eszter’s former wife Aunt Tunde (Hanna Schygulla) has an agenda of her own…she is out to initiate a “clean town” project with the help of her current lover, the Police Chief, for which she needs her former husband’s help. “Our Janos” (as he is referred to by all townsfolk who like him) is entrusted the task of convincing Eszter to use his command and popularity to get support of the movement. Eszter reluctantly agrees. “I've paid for it and I may pay for it all my life”, he says. But what exactly? Tarr doesn’t think that is important. We never get to know. He clearly loves ambiguity.

Tarr also loves extremely long takes, stark Black and White cinematography (beautiful at that), a somber mood, melancholic score, a languorous pace, bleak imagery and an overall sense of doom and despair. There are long philosophical monologues which are almost poetic and need to be heard at least twice to grasp. There is a distinct “meditative” feel to the proceedings. It is not difficult to spot the heavy Andrei Tarkovsky influence here, just as in other films of his. But Tarr’s pictures are less abstract than those of the great Russian filmmaker. “Werckmeister Harmonies” is mostly materialism heavy but there certainly is some symbolism embedded in the narrative. The “Prince” who travels with the whale, for example, is a mysterious faceless creature who seems to have immense powers. A clock that was dead for years started ticking again as he went past! And he apparently also incites rioting. He doesn’t believe in any greater power or authority either. Is he then the “Prince of darkness” with a thirst for destruction?

Tarr demonstrates his ability to create a powerful impact through the marriage of visuals and sound. On one hand there is the scene in which Vig’s soulful music accompanies, like Janos appreciating the whale and being awestruck by its enormity. And then there is the scene in a newspaper factory. Long monologues and ambient sounds serve as a background to Janos’ mundane activities being filmed, and later the camera slowly pans to the person delivering the monologue! Then, of the several long tracking shots, a particular shot of Janos and Eszter walking adjacent to each other in an almost synchronized march of their feet (with only the sound of their feet and a lunch box providing the sound…carrying on for a good 2-3 minutes!) can’t help but bring a smile on your face. Apparently, for one other scene, in which a lot of people are marching together to reach a destination, Tarr was asked why the scene is that long. Tarr simply answered “that’s how long it took to get there!”

“Werckmeister Harmonies”, like any other Bela Tarr film, is surely not for the impatient viewer. It is for that segment of film lovers who love their films grave; and who don’t mind the scenes playing out real time, with the editing process being allowed to take the back seat as long as the final product delivers. Suffice to say, Tarr manages to engulf the viewer under his spell and guarantees a hypnotic audiovisual experience, one that culminates into a powerful ending that leaves a lasting impact….

Score: 10/10.