the main issue is in front of you

Celestial, bodies

But Mr. Hagelmayer. It's still not over.













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bodies moving: social interactions, humans inside houses inside villages, attempted loves.








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"György Eszter, a major character in the film, gives a monologue propounding a theory that Werckmeister's harmonic principles are responsible for aesthetic and philosophical problems in all music since, which need to be undone by a new theory of tuning and harmony."

NYFF: The Man From London

Following the brief comments made by David Bordwell, I'd like to note some of the stylistic approaches that Tarr experiments with in The Man From London.

In Tarr's previous 3 films, the camera mostly has a viewpoint of it's own. It moves with often unmotivated zeal around its subjects, or trails them as they move. The duration of Tarr's shots heightens this sense of the camera's independent point of view, pulling us out of traditional methods of story-reception. Tarr's camera never hides behind montage to approximate psychological reality; instead, he approximates psychological reality through the act of seeing, and through this process identifies our consciousness as a viewer with the autonomous travels of his camera.

The Man From London finds Tarr's camera (literally) drifting closer to the realm of the subjective. While still autonomous, it resembles the viewpoints of his characters with a greater fidelity and frequency. There's also a greater commitment on Tarr's part to representing the mechanisms of observation, which also brings us closer to the subjective realm in that we approach information from the perspectives of the film's characters. [Here I point you to Bordwell's beautiful description of the first shot of the film, and his thoughts on the continuity of composition over Tarr's last 4 films.]

In spite of this more frequent near-subjectivity, moments of this film strengthen Tarr's use of the camera as a limited objective narrator. When Maloin walks to a hut late in the film, the camera follows him on the approach. After a lengthy traveling shot, the camera pauses as Maloin goes inside, leaving the viewer outside with no (literal or figurative) window inside the hut. The camera's trailing of Maloin seems to play by the rules of Tarr's previous work; by halting before the 'climax' to this journey, Tarr withholds information to amplify the narrative strategies (and mood) of the Noir genre he's drawing on.

Overall, though, I agree with Danny that Man From London is a minor film by a master filmmaker. At times the style felt too deliberate, as if Tarr were trying to make a "Bela Tarr film." On a formal level, his shifts in camera dynamics were not matched by the story, and elements of the film felt like self-pastiche (one comic dancing scene in particular reads as an artless ripoff of a beautiful scene from Sátántangó). Tarr may have stepped into a zone of self-conscious auteurism, but I've seen other great filmmakers fall into that trap and emerge with a better understanding of their own work. The visually stunning Man From London is by no means a failure, but from a titan such as Tarr it does come as a disappointment. I hope that Bela Tarr will soon return to the natural filmmaking grace so evident in his previous recent work.

Brief Notes

A recap of short reflections that I haven't found time to expand into full-fledged blog posts over the past month or so.

On the Town is really, really fun. Early on, the film's narrative logic resembles an Animaniacs episode. Its naivete and childlike wonder is infectious.

The Seventh Seal is even philosophically richer than I remembered, but what makes it special is the utter simplicity of the story. Like a morality play from the era depicted (and of the type performed by the troupe of actors), it brings simple allegory and personified mystical forces into human conflict. Sublime.

Gladiator seemed successful the first time I saw it, but gets less so with each successive viewing. It now seems cliche-ridden and a bit of a slog. Certainly my tastes have changed since first watching it but, but I think the core issue is its lack of philosophical and thematic depth.

The most scarily prescient Hollywood film I can think of:
Enemy of the State is a film about surveillance, paranoia, and an irresponsible government, where privacy legislation is at stake, government officials lie and battle with other agencies, and 'security' is used as a cover for a high-level power-grab - all that with a villain born on 9/11. It's a disturbing experience watching this film and realizing it was made in 1998. Dystopias are supposed to be cautionary, not prophetic.

Bela Tarr's Damnation is a bit too rigidly formal. The camera movements are so slow that they mainly convey a sense of stasis, leaning closer to the boring rather than the affecting (easy to say compared to the arresting camerawork of Sátántangó). the film is quite dark (thematically) and rainy (on screen). The rain is clearly the product of a rain machine, whose usage just barely calls attention to itself as artificial (intentionally?). I enjoyed sequences from this movie very, very much, but it seems a training exercise for his later brilliance. Certainly worth a watch for students of Tarr (and we should all be students of Tarr), but not up to the level of his later films.

The Lake House is narratively complex enough to confuse viewers not practiced at juggling complex chronologies, but is essentially a very simple love story. A unique take on time-travel cause-effect relationships makes it more confusing than it ought to be - because without that, there would be no narrative engine. The film's ending is strong because it toys with the ending I wanted to see before restoring the possibility of romance. The ending should have referenced what I recall as the closing shot of Tsai Ming-Liang film (The Hole?... it might not be a Tsai film, or not the closing shot - I haven't seen this mystery film in 5 or 6 years. Please post theories in the comments). In any case, The Lake House carries a premise screaming for an oblique arthouse remake.

Hannah and Her Sisters is nearly my favorite "Woody Allen film" of Woody Allen's films (Manhattan is a shade better, Sleeper is funnier and higher concept, Match Point is better drama). It goes deeper than most of his "Woody Allen films" because Woody himself is an ancillary character, allowing Michael Caine to invest in the tortures of misdirected, confused love without also being his own comedic counterpoint (if you're wondering why I like Manhattan better, it's the cinematography, mostly. Also, Hannah and Her Sisters end with the optimism of resolution, while Manhattan ends with a future-directed optimism that understands the passage of time and the changes we go through in our lives).

I intend to put together posts on Werckmeister Harmonies, The Mother and the Whore, The Host, The Funeral, and Woman is the Future of Man. Look for those soon.

Also, I'm looking for a new format for the 'Cinephile NYC' feature. It may be on a dedicated blog, or perhaps an online calendar application... I'm currently in the research phase, but I do expect it to return in some form. I'll keep you posted.

Partisans in the persistent and hopeless fight for human dignity: Sátántangó

{Nearly titled Sátántangó (or, Bela likes to dance)}

Bela Tarr's 1994 epic recently screened as part of a 3-day mini-Tarr fest at BAM. I saw all 3 films (Damnation, Sátántangó, and Werckmeister Harmonies) that weekend, and so got the kind of crash course in Tarr that allows for a more intuitive understanding of his formal and thematic approaches. Once the lights came up after the 7 1/2 hour cinematic marathon that is Sátántangó, the first thing I said to the friend sitting next to me was: "If it was screening again right now, I would definitely stay."

Told in 12 sections (mimicking the 6 forward and 6 backward steps of the tango), Sátántangó warps the viewer's experience of time. Sections overlap, and Tarr invests a heavy significance will the act of watching as events develop.

Assorted reflections on the film:

The use of Black and White photography, combined with the exclusive use of the (extremely) long take, asks a question: What is realism in the cinema?

Tarr's view of human nature is not as dark as has been otherwise suggested, but the film asserts that human life is primarily a dilemma. This dilemma is inescapable, not even by music, drunkenness, or suicide. Our escape from the problem is also the problem.

The long take extends time. Each shot spends so much time observing a character that it becomes a sort of presentation without judgment. The experience of watching each shot is meditative; as a result, the viewer spends most of the film in his/her own head. For me, a typical experience of watching a single shot in the film might go like this: I identify the action and the character. I process how it relates to what I've seen. Then I get an idea of what it "means." I then have time to contradict my thoughts and construct an alternate - or opposite - meaning. I then am struck with the weight of time, and the length of an action as it occurs. This time then forces me to be aware of the moment presented as a component of life, an event that exists but then fades away (both on screen, and for me). I then think about the limitations of time, and about my impending death. I then return to the scene and feel empathy for the characters even as they commit morally questionable acts. Finally, I'm left watching them, seeing them as they are: striving, flawed, human.

Broken bottles, drunken people, drinking glasses (or: suffering, suicide, mourning)... so much of this film is about consequences, about loss as a part of the natural flow of human events.

Life goes on for so long even as it speeds by. The shots tell this story, but so do the actions: struggling on the trip to refill a brandy jug, replacing spaghetti with bread as two lovers approach a kiss.

Things must be seen to be understood.

Moments of glory are not an endpoint.

Irimiás is a poet: "Partisans in the persistent and hopeless fight for human dignity." I wish I had a copy of the letter he dictates in the cafe. I intend to transcribe it when I get the DVD.

Note also that Irimiás is played by Mihály Vig, who also scores all of Tarr's films (Sátántangó included). This score stands out for its excellence.

Sátántangó is a masterwork.


Its a film that I could watch over and over again, that I could write on for years. But in absence of some Sátántangó book deal, life goes on.

If you have not seen the film, DO NOT watch it anywhere except a cinema (or, if you must, as part of an uninterrupted DVD screening, but that's really no way to see this for the first time). If you have seen the film, you can relive the first shot on YouTube. Or watch the "plodding and plodding and plodding" scene in the bar (one of my favorite examples of self-referential humor in Tarr's work). I do wish the scene with the drunken accordion-accompanied dancing - and the man balancing a loaf of bread on his head - was available for me to link to in one of its iterations.

Others on Sátántangó:

Jonathan Rosenbaum's 1994 article on Sátántangó The Importance of Being Sarcastic is included in his book Essential Cinema.

Sátántangó: And then there was Darkness by Donato Totaro at OffScreen

Ryland Walker Knight's eloquent post Lateral Sculpture: Béla Tarr's Sátántangó.

Waggish on Sátántangó, in 3 parts: 1, 2, 3.

Harry Tuttle, briefly, on Tarr

David Bordwell has a post that offers some insights - and a few good links.

Acquarello reviews Sátántangó

Waiting For The Prince - an interview with Béla Tarr

In search of truth - Béla Tarr interviewed