Sátántangó

This is my favorite film of all time and its such a pity that it gets screened so rarely, but who can blame the cinemas as not too many people are prepared to take Tarr's advice and call in sick in order to spend eight hours at the movies instead of going to work. Also, I reckon this is one of the very few films you actually have to see on a big screen, so even if it was available on DVD, it wouldn't do much good. I've seen it three times so far and I got blown away every single time. So I really urge you to give it a go if this epic masterpiece comes anywhere near you. First time I saw it was on the Berlin Film Festival in 94 and I have to admit I wasn't really prepared to sit through the whole thing, but after three hours I was completely hooked and when the credits finally rolled in, I was rather sad that it was over. I would have liked to spend another few hours in this strange and compelling world. OK, the plot in itself is kinda depressing and bearing in mind that it runs for so many hours, not that much happens, but to complain about the absence of jolly dialog and action packed stunts would be completely beside the point. You just have to be willing to go along with Tarr's approach and once you accept that storytelling here is a bit different to what you are used to, the whole thing it is more exciting, entertaining and gripping than everything you've ever seen. Tarr's main achievement in my view is that he creates a completely new form of imagery and its so utterly convincing that I still wonder why it never caught on big time. Instead of editing the takes into a scene during post production, he shots almost everything in one go with the help of a steady cam. As the takes are as long as 7 minutes (just a spirited guess, I never timed them) and involve occasionally more than 9 actors its just utterly amazing how Tarr choreographs actors and camera in a way that it seems perfectly natural and you get to see exactly what you need to see. Well its pretty hard to explain if you haven't seen it as it really is so different from everything else. What can I tell you? Every single frame is aesthetically a revelation, thus making this an utter delight from start to finish. I could harp on endlessly about why I love this film so much. About the absolutely convincing atmosphere, the great acting, the inventive use of lighting, how the story unfolds, the subtle use of humor, but as it is with all great love affairs, words fail to even hint at the magnificence of Sátántangó. Go, see and believe.

I was mesmerized by this 7-hour long 1994 Hungarian film called "Satantango." Filmed entirely in black and white, director Bela Tarr has created some of the most stunning images I've seen on film. The opening shot, about 10 minutes long, is an enormous tracking shot following a herd of cows wandering through an otherwise desolate village. Then there's this 10-minute take of a window at dawn. Everything but the window is dark, then ever so slowly morning light brings the objects in the room into view, a character finally enters, peers out the window, then goes back to bed. There's a 5-minute tracking shot of two characters hurrying down the street in a horrendous wind while a veritable tornado of garbage and litter whirls about them. There's a stark, almost surreal woods strewn with fog. No take is less than a minute long, and there are about a dozen around 10 minutes. The average edited shot in a Hollywood film is less than 10 seconds. It's almost mind-boggling the logistical and practical difficulties of sustaining such long takes. In a great many, Tarr utilizes extensive camera movement. The camera tracks and weaves and gives you a sense of space found in few other films -- maybe those of a Welles, Ophuls, or Kubrick. The dance in the middle of the film from which the film takes its title is shown in one 10-minute take. It cuts away to a little girl watching the dance for a few minutes, then cuts back to the dance for another 10-minute take. And nothing about this sequence is boring. The eight actors in the scene carry on heartily. Another inspired shot has the camera revolving around seven sleeping characters while a narrator describes the dreams of each.

The story concerns a group of poor villagers who gets conned by a smart talker who was once one of their own into giving up all their money to go live on a non-existent communal farm. The first 4-1/2 hours is made up of 5 "stories" from the perspective of different characters over the course of the same day. Some of the events in each story overlap, so you see them occur again and again, but each time from a different perspective since they occur in the context of a different character's life. It is not unlike what Tarantino does with a segment in "Jackie Brown," but whereas Tarantino's technique is tiresome because it is plot-related, Tarr's is a grand achievement in tone.

The first story shows us Futaki, who while having an affair with Mrs. Schmid, finds out that her husband is planning to make off with the money that eight villagers have come into through one of conman Irimias's schemes. Then they both discover Irimias, who was thought to be dead, has returned to their village. The second story follows Irimias and his trying to evade trouble with the law. The third shows us a doctor who observes the other villagers and who writes down everything he experiences in journals that he keeps. The fourth has a young girl taking out her miseries in life on a cat and contemplates suicide. The fifth shows all the pertinent villagers gather together at a bar and drinking and dancing until they are all in a drunken stupor.

Satantango is one of the grand achievements in cinema of this decade.

I saw SATANTANGO about ten years ago. At that time, I found it impressive, but quite an ordeal to sit through. But then, years later, I realized I kept thinking back to the images and rhythms of this film. It grows. I also saw other very long movies with very long takes, like TAIGA by Ulrike Ottinger (8 hours) and FROST by Tarr's student Fred Kelemen (4 hours); they didn't work. SATANTANGO stayed with me, like two other films by Tarr, DAMNATION and WERCKMEISTER HARMONIES. Today I consider it as one of the greatest movie experiences I ever had. I do not know how Tarr pulls this off; his most effective takes often seem simple and straightforward. It must be magic. By the way, Gus Van Sant's ELEPHANT uses similar techniques at times (long shots of people walking), and Van Sant acknowledged Tarr's influence.

The dance with the devil based on novelist László Krasznahorkai's novel about the aftermath of the fall of communism for sure has to rank very high up when it gets to unconventional motion pictures. Filmed in beautiful black and white by Hungarian director Béla Tarr in the early Nineties, the movie consists of twelve parts and lasts seven and a half hours with single tracking shots up to ten minutes, often with very little or only repetitive action on screen. And it rains and rains and rains. Make no mistake: Despite its length Satantango is not an epic narration, but rather achieves long lasting impressions by pointing the camera on banalities inspired by the bleakness of the scenery, perfectly enhanced by the director's choices what to show and how to show it in order to induce a trance-like reaction in the viewer. And while doing so Satantango mesmerizes, shocks, devastates, enthralls.

The time line is a bit unclear and episodes overlap or could have happened the same way at another time. Yet there is a main thread of story about a con-man in the messiah's disguise, a seemingly eternally lasting dance in the very middle, and an essential episode about a little girl representing the core of the film - a symbol of the disillusionment and victim of betrayal, desperately searching for ways to exert some power herself in her forlorn reality. Not that much is happening in Satantango, and some things remain vague, but reality is also transcended at key points adding to the allegorical impact. The aesthetics of the experience and its ultimate conclusion will remain with those who are open for it.

Although the inspiration is clear, there is no film quite like Sátántangó. Building on the vision and style of Andrei Tarkovsky, in this film, Tarr attempts to create a completely different experience of cinematic time. The best way of illustrating this is with this fact: the average time between cuts in a typical Hollywood film is 2.5 seconds, the average time between cuts in this film is 2.5 minutes. The shots are complex, they travel through landscapes, they track along buildings, they typically settle on closed doors or zoom into characters' backs. The screen often becomes filled with blackness; the viewer is like a curious child waiting for movement, waiting for the opportunity to see again. Until, eventually, he is able to see again, and he is grateful for the return of his vision. With each shot, the film is redefining and developing the viewer's perception of cinematic time and space.

If it seems I'm focusing too much on how the film is composed as opposed to what the film is about, there's a reason for that: it's not so easy to discern exactly what the plot of the film is. It's set in a Hungarian village. The villagers have acquired money and are considering betraying one another. There is a mysterious prodigal son, who has a preternatural hold over the villagers and manipulates them seemingly at his will. Police officers are involved and there is a potential spy-element taking place within the narrative but, essentially, the plot is secondary to the way in which the film represents sheer experience. The experience of the life of various villagers is presented unedited, unfiltered. There are long scenes involving a disturbed, neglected child and her abused cat; there's a drunken, reclusive doctor; there are drunken villages dancing an inebriated, tortured tango.

The film, for all of its representation of everyday experience, never feels like a documentary or even cinema verité. There's a jagged quality to the film, something foreboding and nightmarish. It feels constantly unsettling and is captivating as a result. The way in which the film blends the quotidian and the surreal is utterly unique. Yes, once again, it is clearly inspired by Tarkovsky's work, but the film takes this in a new direction, a direction which seeks to blend artifice and experience to the point where the gap between the two becomes indiscernible.

Oh, by the way, did I mention that it's 7-hours long...