3 reviews
Though I enjoyed the screening of this film, I was quite disappointed about "Bartas' latest". Unlike his previous films The House did not take control of the, in my case well-disposed, viewer.
The separate shots were predominantly fascinating yet sometimes of a very 'controlled' profundity, the lack of continuity on the other hand was embarrassing. At most three consecutive shots formed some kind of a unity.
Therefore I think Sharunas Bartas should be locked up this time, in the editing room for at least a moth and then present a piece that will be worth his signature.
The separate shots were predominantly fascinating yet sometimes of a very 'controlled' profundity, the lack of continuity on the other hand was embarrassing. At most three consecutive shots formed some kind of a unity.
Therefore I think Sharunas Bartas should be locked up this time, in the editing room for at least a moth and then present a piece that will be worth his signature.
The House was reviewed a little less favorably than Bartas' earlier films (regular cinemagoers having given up long ago), but personally I found it his most beautiful film yet.
Bartas does tend to repeat himself, it's true. Reviewers love his grim shadowscapes, shot in B/W, of anonymous, more or less lonely, drunk or disheveled men and women stumbling through a haze of cold forests, smoky houses and city wastelands in seemingly arbitrarily fashion - but even they get, I assume, weary of it.
(Contrary to what you might think based on the above, there is nothing gothic about Bartas' depressed realities; and he himself insists, whenever somebody dares suggest a socio-political interpretation, there's nothing Soviet about it either. It's existential. No matter, to me his 'The Corridor' still serves as a brilliant visual summary of the comfortless, hopeless human condition of the former Soviet Union).
But The House, the way I experienced it in any case, showed a whole new step. Not just because there was some color. But because abstract, surrealist scenes of indulgence - eating, caressing - and a suggested presence of tales about the house were added to the mere stumbling in the dark, making the film sensual, almost, without ever lessening the impact of how lost (these) people seem.
More than that. Having suspended, first, your urge to recognize or follow any story line, then, even, your urge to formulate any analysis or interpretation of the images he's providing you with - by the time you're just looking at what you see and *feeling* - suddenly you find yourself watching at a fire outside, on the ice in the lake, and there is a glow, and even the sound of unexplained fireworks, and although it's still lonely, it's *pretty*, and you - well, I was, in any case - are moved, sincerely moved.
That's good, if mere images - without plot, without actors, without explanation or meaning even, can move you, to your bones, almost make you cry in grief or relief, that's pretty good. 10/10.
Bartas does tend to repeat himself, it's true. Reviewers love his grim shadowscapes, shot in B/W, of anonymous, more or less lonely, drunk or disheveled men and women stumbling through a haze of cold forests, smoky houses and city wastelands in seemingly arbitrarily fashion - but even they get, I assume, weary of it.
(Contrary to what you might think based on the above, there is nothing gothic about Bartas' depressed realities; and he himself insists, whenever somebody dares suggest a socio-political interpretation, there's nothing Soviet about it either. It's existential. No matter, to me his 'The Corridor' still serves as a brilliant visual summary of the comfortless, hopeless human condition of the former Soviet Union).
But The House, the way I experienced it in any case, showed a whole new step. Not just because there was some color. But because abstract, surrealist scenes of indulgence - eating, caressing - and a suggested presence of tales about the house were added to the mere stumbling in the dark, making the film sensual, almost, without ever lessening the impact of how lost (these) people seem.
More than that. Having suspended, first, your urge to recognize or follow any story line, then, even, your urge to formulate any analysis or interpretation of the images he's providing you with - by the time you're just looking at what you see and *feeling* - suddenly you find yourself watching at a fire outside, on the ice in the lake, and there is a glow, and even the sound of unexplained fireworks, and although it's still lonely, it's *pretty*, and you - well, I was, in any case - are moved, sincerely moved.
That's good, if mere images - without plot, without actors, without explanation or meaning even, can move you, to your bones, almost make you cry in grief or relief, that's pretty good. 10/10.
- noitsme_habibi
- Oct 12, 2002
- Permalink
The 1997 film A Casa might just be one of the most captivating films I've seen in recent memory. Watching it felt like strolling through the Louvre, spending a decadent evening with Victorian bourgeoisie in a candlelit manor, or witnessing Renaissance paintings come alive in slow motion.
Following a cold yet emotionally charged monologue about the fractured communication between a mother and her son, the film mostly retreats into silence-only to fill that silence with bizarre, visually arresting scenes. For those, like me, who have a soft spot for the Gothic, this film is deeply satisfying. A co-production between Lithuania, Portugal, and France, its artistic sensibility feels unmistakably French from the very first frame.
We follow a lone protagonist wandering through the decaying halls of a crumbling mansion: a female dog with engorged teats scavenging scraps at an empty table; a room full of naked children lost in obscure games; the remnants of bourgeois dinner parties; and a blooming, almost surreal garden. What initially plays out like a meditation on the hidden chambers of the subconscious morphs, by the final scenes, into a full-blown metaphor for Lithuania-made literal with the arrival of military tanks.
Ahhh, so many scenes brought to mind those infamous bohemian gatherings Lord Byron once held in his homes...
Sharunas Bartas, it turns out, is a remarkably compelling filmmaker. This film was my introduction to his work-and knowing myself, this is only the beginning of the journey.
Following a cold yet emotionally charged monologue about the fractured communication between a mother and her son, the film mostly retreats into silence-only to fill that silence with bizarre, visually arresting scenes. For those, like me, who have a soft spot for the Gothic, this film is deeply satisfying. A co-production between Lithuania, Portugal, and France, its artistic sensibility feels unmistakably French from the very first frame.
We follow a lone protagonist wandering through the decaying halls of a crumbling mansion: a female dog with engorged teats scavenging scraps at an empty table; a room full of naked children lost in obscure games; the remnants of bourgeois dinner parties; and a blooming, almost surreal garden. What initially plays out like a meditation on the hidden chambers of the subconscious morphs, by the final scenes, into a full-blown metaphor for Lithuania-made literal with the arrival of military tanks.
Ahhh, so many scenes brought to mind those infamous bohemian gatherings Lord Byron once held in his homes...
Sharunas Bartas, it turns out, is a remarkably compelling filmmaker. This film was my introduction to his work-and knowing myself, this is only the beginning of the journey.
- yusufpiskin
- Jun 30, 2025
- Permalink