A Harmonia Werckmeister

made entirely of longshots of 2-4 minutes in duration. Layers of symbolism in poetic images. It's not a movie, it's not entertainment. It's film, and you have to engage and ask questions about what you are seeing. Why did only 2 people saw the whale? What was the significance of that? How did the riots get started? Who were the insiders and who were the outsiders? How could you tell? Why the hospital? Why do humans always need a causation? Why was the Prince's speech in a different language? What did the Prince represent? What did the Whale? A viewer may not want to be taxed with these questions but given the way the world is, these questions are worth thinking about. I've only seen one other "contemplative film" which is Angelopoulos' Ulyssey's Gaze, which I deeply cherish. This didn't get to me as deeply as it's images weren't as evocative to me. This is probably due to my being able access the cultural symbols of Angelopoulos more easily (though that film isn't "easy" either,it's just that I have more background in modern Greek poetry, etc.). Recommend this film as a unique chance to think of an alternative use of celloid, don't be intimidated.

This is as bleak a film as I have since for a long time. Seen mainly through the eyes of a 'holy fool', played by German Lars Rudolph, it may be allegorical, it may be a horror story or it might even be a distinctively Hungarian very black comedy.

Bela Tarr's direction is stunning. The lighting is brilliant throughout, but none more so than when the circus comes to town in the middle of the night. The care and patience with which scenes are built greatly enhances the intensity of the most violent moments. The scene, for example, when a mob march down a long street before attacking a hospital matches the greatest moments of black-&-white silent cinema.

The film retains a disturbing ambiguity throughout, right up to its powerful ending. What is the significance of the whale and its owners? And is Valuska (Lars Rudolph) as innocent as it seems on the surface? The result is a long (140 minutes), gripping and exciting film that leaves more questions than answers at the end.

My Rating : 8/10

Béla Tarr, Hungarian filmmaker - known for philosophical arthouse cinema delivers a mystical mad tale (that will require immense patience, I think I did 10 household chores while watching this movie) that is original in content and absurd yet meaningful.

37 long takes make up this oeuvre of world cinema and a black-and-white palette works best for such kind of art - colour would distract from the cinematic experience.

Watch it and absorb the melancholic background music - images and sounds melt so beautifully in this arthouse venture.

How to engage emptiness, visually? This is the most tasking difficulty that I know of in film, for both the filmmaker and viewer. You cannot merely look - sitting still is not meditation - it needs to be a particularly sharpened but effortless way of looking. Seeing things without the person that sees obscuring the view.

Only the Buddhist have adequately solved this to my mind, by tying into an actual practice of purging the self so that we got a work, a painting, poem or flower arrangement, that was itself an act of meditation. But they had centuries ahead of them to refine.

In film, I can always count on Bela Tarr for a vision of formative emptiness, and ways to engage that emptiness as a space for contemplation.

No doubt he has studied Mizoguchi for the 'mono no aware' of a transient sorrowful world, itself derived from the Buddhist eye. And even more Tarkovsky, in more explicitly adopting his omniscient camera for the reflections. The gloomy darkness he surrounds it with no doubt comes from Eastern Europe as churned from the broken machinery of decades old communism. It is implicit in everything he does, always iron cast in punishing ways. At least this part doesn't require any more comments I feel. The impressions of abstract horror are from a life lived.

So it is a dark world rolling into the night that we are given here, from the memory of it, a kind of nightbound universe. How to struggle from our end? Why, most importantly, why even admire the great whale, if the whole is nothing?

Of course, it is nothing less than simple honesty on Tarr's part for presenting a world as he does, as we know historically up to now. For the most, it is the Prince that humanity has been the most eager to hear, someone to incite change. There is no time to see the great whale whose body encompasses the world, the wonder of that emptiness that can generate form of such awesome beauty. The only thing that has power to halt the rampaging mob then is a vision of their own mortality.

So in several ways, one is tempted to imagine a kinship between him and Trier; an encounter with the void, and human wretchedness in the face of that encounter. But I posit Tarr to be a wiser filmmaker, especially here.

Look how he opens the film for example, a magnificent round-up even more pertinently addressing now, our microcosmic cycle mirrored from above, with humans dancing into position of the spheres. This is a filmmaker who understands.

The only problem; the Nietzchean dismay he seems to have resigned himself to. The last bit of news is that he has decided to stop making films altogether. His worldview is a bleak one, no doubt.

But it's an honest dismay, a way of confessing that he knows there will be light again in principle but can't seem to see any. It's a profoundly human despair, how he wearily examines the broken whale at the end. So the problem remains, one of embodying a world where, by simply existing, we are negations of that primal void. Isn't that what we're taught? So how to embrace the great whale then?

The film ends here. It falls on us to see beyond the dark, and see if we can embrace the whale by seeing that the whole and nothing is the one.

A wonderfully balletic and poetic film, built on long, long tracking and steadycam shots (thirty-eight for 2hrs 25mins). A study in pervasive yet neutral melancholia; the main character, who accompanies us through the whole film, is a simple, dreamy yet quietly optimistic postman, if one were to interpret his wide-eyed stare and unquestioning attitudes in such a way. One is drawn in from the very beginning, via the evocative music and camerawork. It is rare these days to see European films that take so much time and care as they progress. Watching it I was reminded of Aleksei German's Khrustalyov, My Car! - 1998, Roy Andersson's Songs from the Second Floor - 2000, Fellini and of course Tarkovski. I don't think that all cinema should be 'easy' or well wrapped up. Indeed, I often feel that I am simply not in the mood for seeing a particular film, or experiencing a particular atmopshere. After all it is fairly easy to tell from even short descriptions or reviews the kind of thing that is in store. So I was somewhat surprised to see one previous reviewer here describe this film as "dreary drek". Well, perhaps, but if they wanted to go and see a comedy or redemptive drama, why didn't they go see one already?! I may have had the odd moment of wishing certain shots were a tad shorter, but all in all I was mesmerised, from beginning to end.