His early work is generally described as “raw” when compared to his later more methodical and exacting outings. The aforementioned first feature film, Family Nest is the rawest of the early work and also arguably his weakest film to date; it concerns a Hungarian husband and wife living together with the husband’s father who sets about spoiling their life together and convincing his son that his wife has been cheating on him. This is a bleak portrait of an unhappy life, featuring unbearably long dialogue scenes of heightened naturalism, no artificial light, no post production sound work (you can actually hear the camera whirring in the background through most of the film) this is an unvarnished film and its unvarnished appearance adds to a blurring of lines between fiction and documentary. Events appear so real at times that it’s impossible not to question if we’re watching fiction or not, only a disturbing rape scene pushes the film into the realms of the cinematic in the sense that we know we’re watching something staged but this is the exception rather than the rule, for most of the film it seems as if Tarr simply got a hold of a 16mm film camera, a few rolls of black and white film stock and began shooting a local family. His second film The Outsider came two years later in 1981, it is Tarr’s first film in colour which follows an eccentric musician as he gets married and struggles with domestic life, once again the low budget nature of the film is betrayed by its unvarnished nature, exterior scenes are particularly revealing when the extras (who were most likely passers by rather than hired professionals) notice the camera and quite frequently look directly into the lens. The technical deficiencies do not detract from what is in another excellent example of Hungarian naturalism. With The Outsider Tarr pushes the naturalism to unbearable levels, and lets the films story take a meandering form, arguments and dialogues between the couple continue uninterrupted for a staggering length of time and become highly repetitive (as arguments often do in reality). Tarr’s reoccurring theme of troubled marriages would continue to its next logical stage of development with the excellent Prefab People, arguably the best of the three films Prefab People shot in 1982, returned to the black and white film and this time focuses on an older married couple who are desperately unhappy together but can’t live without each other either, the husband is infantile and has a muddled sense of priorities, the wife is unhappy with her husband but also desperate to stay in the relationship and suffers untold anguish at the hands of her uncaring spouse. Judit Pogany gives an exceptionally strong performance, you feel her pain as she bursts into tears and you hope she can find the strength to rid herself of her selfish husband. John Cunningham writes about these films in his book Hungarian Cinema From Coffee House to Multiplex: “All three films show contemporary Hungarians in reduced circumstances and frequently at the margins of society. Both Family Nest and Prefab People have families living in cramped apartment blocks, doing menial jobs and often interacting with each other brutally. The hero of The Outsider, a young man with a great musical talent, appropriately called Beethoven, is a product of the state care system, while in Family Nest a Gypsy woman is raped. As David Thomas Lynch remarks, ‘These first three movies are harsh and unpleasant works of social criticism, preserving an analytical distance and a certain hope and compassion for the characters’.” (P137) None of Bela Tarr’s films can be described as “light entertainment”, in fact the opposite is true for every single Tarr film, Prefab People is no exception, although it is also the shortest of Tarr’s feature films at 84 minutes and so in that sense is possibly the most accessible of his entire filmography, the institution of marriage is never viewed as negatively as it is in a Tarr film, and Prefab People is the bleakest of the bunch. Family Nest, The Outsider and Prefab People represent the first stage of Tarr’s career, Damnation, Satantango, Werekmeister Harmonies and The Man From London represent the second stage; then Almanac of Fall is the tricky middle ground, produced in 1985 it is the only other film Tarr shot in colour, and surprisingly for a director who so clearly favours the monochrome look, Tarr makes undeniably bold use of colour in this film, taking the lighting to unnatural levels with stark uses of greens, oranges, reds and blues. The film is monstrously difficult, with an almost complete abandon of plot, long dialogue sequences which ramble in repetitive circles, another disturbing rape sequence and all set in the single location of a families flat. Almanac of Fall is a distinctive work, possibly unique within the breadth of cinema, but that uniqueness comes at a cost and that cost is entertainment. Bela Tarr’s films are about endurance as much as anything else and Almanac of Fall is one of the most difficult of his films. Tarr’s fifth film, Damnation will remain as incomprehensible the tenth time of viewing as it did the first, its "point" or "goal" seems not to exist and perhaps that's the point in itself. The characters are minimal and unlikeable, so much so that you have little to no interest in what they're doing or where they're going. Bela Tarr unveiled his new style to the world with Damnation in the 1980's, the fact that the film didn't get a UK distributor until 2001 is indicative of its inaccessible quality. Damnation makes David Lynch’s Inland Empire seem comprehendible, but this is one of the only occasions this would happen in Tarr's career, it is the exception rather than the rule, Almanac of Fall is incredibly difficult to watch as well because of an added claustrophobia, and the three films Tarr has made since all have statements to be made or interpretations to be read about the human condition and or society. Perhaps that is because they're all based on books where as Damnation is an original work, but Satantango, Werckmeister Harmonies and The Man From London all follow clearer narratives than Damnation and all have an easily seen comment, of course there are moments of random obscurity and certain plot strands remain unconcluded, but Damnation is chaos, it is total loss of control, it is the visual embodiment of a nightmare. Not nightmarish - an actual nightmare. When people speak, you understand the words themselves, but not the sentences they form and thus paying little attention to what people say, this in one respect is what happens when you watch the film as a whole, you see the scene; you understand the scene but when connected to the other scenes they make little to no sense. Cunningham mentions that despite the changes in Hungary’s social political status, this change did not force any concessions from Tarr: “The final shot of the film shows Karrer (the protagonist) in the middle of a rubbish dump barking at a dog. It would be difficult to imagine a bleaker, grimmer film than Damnation. The mining town is falling apart, it is raining almost all the time and the monotony of the place is emphasised by the frequent shots of coal buckets passing overhead on cables. Tarr is hardly the biggest box-office draw in his home country but he is highly thought of in critical circles, at home and abroad, and his films have been compared with Tarkovsky. Apparently proud to be the enfant terrible of Hungarian cinema, he has shown absolutely no interest in compromising with the new economic and cultural climate in Hungary.” (P137) Damnation although visually indicative of Tarr’s proceeding work, it has little to no baring on the themes and characters of his work to come and thus not the best film to judge his corpus by. Although interestingly enough, despite what are considered quite vast differences between the styles of his films, Tarr insists that he’s only making the same film over and over again, that from Family Nest to The Man From London he’s only examining the same issues, the same concepts, nothing changes from project to project except his continued attempts to make his films simpler – to make his films clearer.
“Naturally Valuska construed the onset of silence as an undoubted sign of attention about to be concentrated on him, and, with the help of the house-painter who had invited his intervention in the first place-a fellow covered from head to foot in lime-employed what remained of his sense of direction to clear a space in the middle of the smoky bar: they pushed back the two chest high drink stands that were anyhow in the way, and when the forceful if vain entreaties of his erstwhile assistant (‘G’won, squeeze up to th’wall a bit willya!’) met the unsteady resistance of those clinging vaguely to their glasses and showing a few faint signs of life, they were constrained to employ the same methods on them so that after the minor kerfuffle caused by all that shuffling and involuntary backward-stepping, a space did in fact open, and Valuska, hungry by now for the limelight, stepped into it, and picked his immediate audience those standing closest to him, who happened to be a lanky driver with a pronounced squint, and a great limp of warehouseman, referred to for now simply as ‘Sergei’.” (P69) Obviously literature is a more expansive medium and combinations of words can and are more nebulous than a thousand shots of any film. Tarr when asked how he went about adapting Krasznahorkai’s works simply joked that he ‘ruined them’. But the previous passage as read (and the following) demonstrate Tarr’s reverence of the source novel and the collaborative nature of his relationship with Krasznahorkai: “Valuska was promising to deliver an exposition so clear that everyone could understand it, that would provide, as he said, a chink through which ‘plain people such as we are, might glimpse something of the nature of eternity’, the only assistance he required being that they should step with him into unbounded space where ‘the void which offered peace, permanence and freedom of movement was sole lord’ and imagine the impenetrable darkness which extended throughout the realm of incomprehensible, infinite, ringing silence.” (P71) This beautifully choreographed and touchingly simple scene sets up the film (and the novel after an extended prologue which was omitted from the film). The scene also provides us with the one element which pushes Werckmeister Harmonies above Satantango – a protagonist. No single character in Satantango has enough screen time for you to truly care about them, but Valuska is a highly sympathetic character who we immediately warm to because of his efforts to enlighten those around him, because of his fascination with God’s grand design and because Rudolph injects the character with a mesmerising sense of humanity and courts pathos throughout with very little effort. His innocent, child like eyes invite our sympathy before he’s even said a word and because Valuska is a very passive protagonist, our sympathy for him grows further because he is in no way responsible for the trouble he will find himself surrounded by. He is an unwitting patsy and a naive idealist with a fascination for realities grander than his own, his attempts to explain the solar system for example, and later in his bedroom a map of the cosmos can clearly be seen hanging over his bed. Tarr’s version of the character is very faithful to that which Krasznahorkai created, and although the film differs in several ways, the character and the sense of dread which permeates the proceedings are matched from novel to film. Cunningham presents his own view of Werkmiester Harmonies: “After the impact of his previous films Tarr disappointed no one with Werckmeister Harmonies. Again shot in black and white in yet another bleak setting. Werckmeister Harmonies is a visually stunning and even more unsettling than his previous offerings. Although this film has a much more straightforward sense of narrative than Satantango it is, nevertheless, difficult and elliptical.” (P156) The plot follows Valuska as a small circus arrives in his small town, the chief attractions being the large stuffed carcass of a whale, and the mysterious character of the Prince. The town square where the circus is based is soon over run by hordes of aggressive men, followers of the Prince, who galvanises them and then sets the men on a rampage through the town, destroying anything in their way. Valuska is not involved in the events of the film; he is a witness to them, until after the dust settles when his story takes a darker turn. He has unwittingly been used as a spy by his Aunt to see who is talking to who in the crowd of men, and because of his association with her, he falls under the suspicion of the authorities. As is the nature of Tarr’s films, the plotline is detached and simplistic; leaving a wide gap for interpretive possibilities. Tarr believes that the medium of film is not for just telling stories, but in fact a way of getting closer to people, to every day life so that we can understand human nature, why we commit our sins; how we betray one and other and what interests lead us where we’re going. Through Tarr’s hermetic sequences, and often esoteric imagery we witness a clear depiction of the boundary between civilisation and chaos, between humanity and barbarism, between love and hate. Werckmeister Harmonies is about the disintegration of civility, mob mentality, and fear controlling the masses during an absence of understanding. The film is punctuated by several breathtaking sequences, which convey an unmistakable mood of dread and foreboding. Bela Tarr’s style (like his metaphysical plots and dream-like environments) leap off the screen. Tarr is a very individualistic film maker, and like Yasjiro Ozu, Ingmar Bergman or Andrei Tarkovsky in years past, his visual and filmic style is distinctive, memorable and very much linked to him. An example, a tracking shot following Valuska through the town square, he walks through mist and smoke over a cobbled road. Valuska wears a black over coat with the collar up and a scarf wrapped around him tight. He is surrounded by menacing men who bully or intimidate him; the camera effortlessly glides through the crowds, Tarr’s lens floats in and out, up and down elegantly and never feels like there is a camera man controlling its movements, but rather miraculously appears totally organic. Remarkably there were no less than six directors of photography for this film, Tarr’s favoured cinematographer Gabor Medvigy who worked on both Satantango and Damnation previously was unable to complete the production. The number of directors of photography is understandable when considering the demanding nature of this four year production, the fact that Tarr and co-director and editor Agnes Hranitzky have managed to maintain such a visually consistent film is nothing short of a miracle, indeed given the number of shots used in the film, Werckmeister Harmonies averages just over five shots per director of photography. Cinematography duties are the exception rather than the rule for this film, Tarr is a very collaborative director, he frequently refers to his crews as his family, and over the years has worked with the likes of Hranitzky (his editor), Krasznahorkai (the writer), and Mihaly Vig (the composer) on a most of his other projects, and from the beginning of screenwriting to the end of post production they all make decisions on the project together, Tarr is truly first amongst equals. Tarr is possibly one of greatest directors of weather, conjuring vivid images of, wind or rain in his previous works. Werckmeister Harmonies has a real sense of cold, the breath of the occupants can be seen in the a ir, and it’s no surprise as the temperature dropped to -15 degrees during the filming of certain sequences. For Tarr the scenery and weather should be considered equal protagonists in his films. Locations have their own faces and contribute to the films meta communication which in this environment is more important than verbal communication.
Like Satantango before it, Werckmeister Harmonies has the briefest moments of the supernatural and the paranormal, the dead whale being something of this world but in the context of a small Hungarian town it appears more than extraordinary, likewise the Prince is never seen beyond an inhuman shadow on a wall that appears more like a puppet than a man, yet he wields incredible power over the people in the square with his mechanical voice, but we’re never sure if he is responsible for the unrest entirely. Werckmeister Harmonies is easily compared to the works of David Lynch, Lynch’s own multi-dimensional horror films; with there all but incomprehensible character arcs and narratives are here in Tarr’s film. Both directors make no apologies for the confusion their work creates, and Werckmeister Harmonies is like Lynch’s Mulholand Drive or Inland Empire in that they do not make one hundred percent sense - not even close. The biggest mistake an audience member can make with any of these films - is attempt a search for sense in the blatantly nonsensical. Tarr has created a world with Werckmeister Harmonies, a world very much restricted to the one space – the town and its surrounding country; with rules to govern it which are unlike other spaces and locations in cinema. From the films set up comes its spectacular second and third acts which throw a new light on the work of Tarr, and showcase his ability to contrive a set piece as challenging as it is thought provoking. The ransacking of the town, hundreds of men, unified by their mass hysteria, bound to violence set about destroying the town, and beating and killing its occupants. Valuska watches helplessly as one band of vandals storm a hospital and begin brutally assaulting its patients; we follow the action again through unbroken fluidly extended tracking shots. There is eerie silence from those being beaten and those doing the beating, no one screams, no one cries out in pain even though we can hear the men crashing to the ground and the cracks of sticks on beds and bones, the contradiction within the audio is perhaps the most unsettling aspect of the entire film, perhaps the silence of both perpetrators and victims is a lack of human expression, the lack of humanity, all that is left is fear and hate. Words can be the basis for civility, without them all that is left is chaos. The carnage is brought to an abrupt halt when the crowd come across an elderly man, naked, and trying to take a bath. Their sense of humanity restored by the image of this totally helpless, defenceless soul who none of them can bring themselves to assault. After the ransacking of the town, Valuska is being searched for by the authorities and decides to make a run for it which leads to the most unusually choreographed, low key, helicopter chase. Once again Tarr exploits the maximum amount of terror through his lens, it is an ordinary helicopter, unarmed, but its place within this film feels like an extraordinary leap in technology. Valuska’s expression leads us to believe that maybe he’s never seen one before and he rightly realises that he can not escape it. A concise reading is impossible to draw for this film, its style and presentation is so esoteric that there are any number of meanings to be derived from its content, the boundaries between humanity and barbarism, the boundaries between sanity and insanity, the connections between music and the soul. The unusually melodic and but beautifully simple soundtrack from Mihaly Vig is also of importance, music and meaning possibly being a key component of the films thesis as the title would suggests. The music infuses Werckmeister Harmonies with a sense of melancholy lost on other features by Bela Tarr. Cunningham again clarifies: “It is the kind of film which is open to, and indeed encourages, a variety of interpretation, such as the biblical allusions of the whale, or the work of Eszter who is investigating a complex question involving Bach’s The Well-tempered Clavier and the work of Andreas Werkmeister (hence the film’s title) who laid down a number of principles which form the basis of much of western music. Tarr, however is not prepared to offer his own interpretation or help his audience.” (P156) Perhaps the only area in which Werckmeister Harmonies is less accomplished than Satantango is in its humour, Satantango was viewed by many as a black comedy of epic proportions with often laugh-out-loud moments. Werckmiester Harmonies by comparison only has one clear instance of comedy, after Valuska leaves his Aunt with her drunken military partner (who attempts to compose music being played on a record, with his fire arm in one hand), Valuska passes by two children on his way out, both children refuse to stop jumping on a bed and making noise, one of them continually shouts: “I’ll be hard on you” into a fan over and over again, the scene lasts so long that you can not help but laugh at its sustained absurdity. It’s a slippery term for film critics to use, but one could describe Werckmeister Harmonies as poetic cinema. This often overused adjective in film criticism is, I feel is appropriate here. It is a challenging work, a descent into madness, the mass hysteria of the mob and the internal trauma which Valuska is subjected to. Although it is not as inaccessible as Satantango, it could still be viewed as infuriatingly baffling or uncompromisingly intriguing in equal measure. It may keep you transfixed, or simply send you to sleep depending on your cinematic predilections; Tarr’s cinema is the cinema of patience. From my view it is one of the most incandescent films of the current decade, but also paradoxically one of the bleakest. From the first to the thirty-ninth shot, Werckmeister Harmonies compelled me to keep watching, as our wide-eyed eccentric protagonist Valuska is compelled to watch the horror and the magic which he is unable to vanquish. A masterpiece of world cinema and another intriguing tale from one of modern cinema’s true visionaries. M.Dawson |
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The Director: Bela Tarr has been working in film since the late 1970’s, his first feature was released in 1979, but from then till now he has only directed eight feature films. His latest, The Man from London was released at the end of last year. He is not a director who can be described as particularly prolific, Satantango was his only feature film through the whole of the 1990’s, but given that it was the length of three or four average feature films combined he can be forgiven for his slower than average approach to his medium. 
The Film: 2000, the beginning of the current decade and six years since Satantango. The style and approach to Werckmeister Harmonies is very similar to that of Satantango and Damnation (which is available with Werckmeister Harmonies in a double disc edition on region 2 from Artificial Eye). Of the three films, Werckmeister Harmonies is the superior, although they share a common combination of visual elements: shot in gorgeously crisp high contrast black and white, featuring sparing score, and incredible extended tracking shots. Werckmeister Harmonies has in a very general sense, a larger canvas than Tarr’s previous films. Although nowhere near the mammoth length of Satantango, it’s still a lengthy two and a half hours, during which time there is a grand total of thirty-nine balletic shots, most films would be hard pressed to get less than thirty-nine shots in the first ten minutes let alone the entire run time of a film. Most film reels are limited to eleven minutes in length; this is more or less the maximum amount of time that a single continuous shot can last for on film stock. Bela Tarr once joked that this limt was a form of censorship on the part of Kodak, if he could, he’d make his shots even longer without the trick of hidden cuts. The opening sequence of Werckmeister Harmonies is made-up of one such ten minute shot, which introduces us to the main character, Janos Valuska played by Lars Rudolph. Valuska decides to create a mock up solar system using the drunken patrons of a run-down pub as human representation of the sun, planets and moons etc. He explains the rotations and orbits of these celestial bodies to his audience of half asleep and fully intoxicated local men. As in Laszlo Krasznahorkai’s book The Melancholy of Resistance, which Werckmeister Harmonies is based on:
Another excellent scene sees Valuska first going to see the stuffed whale, its giant eye fills Valuska with a sense of wonder (in the same way as the stars above him), and through Valuska it fills us with the same emotion. Through the whale Valuska compounds his belief that there is more to life than the surface reality, what an astounding creature God has created, a giant beast which demonstrates that there is no limit to the scale of his lord’s imagination. But what Valuska takes from the whale’s presence is unique, the other men who occupy the square find anything but spiritual rejuvenation from the dead animal, for the most part it is ignored by them, and then later discarded like an unwanted ornament.
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