|
||
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: |
||
Sátántangó Noel Megahey
I know what you’re thinking. Seven and a quarter hours of miserable people trudging through drab, bleak Hungarian countryside in pouring rain - black and white, subtitled, slow, East European minimalist, arthouse cinema featuring long scenes where little is said and nothing much happens - Sátántangó isn’t exactly going to be a bundle of laughs. Well, you’ve got that right. The middle part of a trilogy of films co-written with the author László Krasznahorkai starting in 1987 with Damnation and ending in 2000 with Werckmeister Harmonies, the intimidating reputation of Béla Tarr’s four years in the making magnum opus Sátántangó from 1994 is only matched by its long anticipated release on DVD. It more than lives up to every expectation. Despite its formidable reputation, Sátántangó is not as difficult and unapproachable as it might appear. Much in the same way that the plot of Damnation, such as it was, adhered to many of the styles and characteristics of a film noir, Sátántangó is actually something of a thriller, albeit one that is highly stylised, unusually structured and certainly at variance with the conventional pacing of the genre. A group of people are holed-up in a small farming community and it appears that they have been there for a long time, with a lot of money between them, all dreaming of a better life they are going to have when they get away. Kráner (János Derzsi) and Schmidt (László Lugossy) are planning to split the money between them and leave, but Futaki (Miklós B. Székely) – who, like everyone else, has been sleeping with Schmidt’s wife (Éva Almássy Albert) - overhears their plans and demands to be counted in. As they are arguing over how to divide the money between them, the news arrives that Irimiás and Petrina (Mihály Vig and Putyi Horváth) – long believed dead – have been seen causing a disturbance in a nearby inn and are heading their way. With
scenes taking place in practically real-time, long, slow and
endlessly drawn out, the characters mired in dark, muddy and
desolate locations, Tarr’s film says much about his view of the
human condition, but it is one that is specifically linked with
Hungary’s status as a former Soviet Bloc country. The opening scene
– a single ten minute tracking shot following a herd of bulls though
the buildings that make up the farm yard where the characters reside
– sets the scene for a population lost and without direction,
wandering aimlessly with no purpose other than existing. It’s a
modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah, the inhabitants sleeping with each
other’s wives, raucously drinking and dancing, squabbling over what
money they have been able to store up under the old regime and
waiting for the opportunity to make their getaway. And the old
regime is crumbling. The comings and goings of the people on the
farm are being documented by the Doctor (Peter Berling), who keeps
them under constant surveillance – but he’s grown fat and is too
fond of his fruit brandy. When Mrs Kráner warns him that she will no
longer make deliveries for him, he finds that he cannot fend for
himself without the support of the people and their complicity in
keeping the old ways going. Similarly, Irimiás and Petrina are
hauled up before the military authorities who are outraged at their
inactivity and vagrancy, for failing to heed the rule of order.
Human life is meaningful, rich beautiful and filthy. It links
everything. It mistreats freedom only ...wasting it as if it were
junk.” There
is no small amount of pleasure to be gained from trying to figure
out all the symbolism and allegory in the story, and a certain
degree of anticipation to be drawn from the slow unfolding of events
– the initial scenes are replayed over the first four hours of the
film from different perspectives, each cumulatively adding to form a
complete view of the sordid situation – but the real strength of
Sátántangó is almost entirely within Tarr’s wonderful mise en
scène. The camera lingers over the grim, hard-set, craggy and
worn faces of each of the characters, each of the drab, dank rooms
they inhabit and the bleakness of the featureless landscape that
surrounds them as they trudge and squelch down muddy roads under
heavy rain that almost beats them into the ground. The scenes stay
static enough for the viewer to savour every little detail – the
gentle patter of the rain building up to a heavy downpour, stray
dogs wandering in the background, the relentless ticking of passing
time, the buzzing of flies crawling along walls and tables. Tarr
somehow even seems to have the spiders and flies practically
choreographed to appear on cue at the end of long ten minute takes.
The long unedited takes and the constant replaying of events serve
to show how everything is connected and all of it speaks of the
aimlessness of the characters and their grubby little lives and
their relationship with the land around them - life in misery in
perpetuity. The camera is not static however – it follows the
characters, tracks them, closes in on them, encircles them – each of
the movements serving to emphasise a situation or condition. DVD
Audio
Overall
|