Gábor Kerekes - Everday series

The Lord will afflict you with madness, blindness, and confusion of mind; you shall grope about at noon as blind people grope in darkness, but you shall be unable to find your way; and you shall be continually abused and robbed, without anyone to help. Deuteronomy 28:28

To read Krasznahorkai’s War & War is to infiltrate the consciousness of one of those desolate madmen we see from time to time wandering in the city, babbling incoherently, wild-eyed. Inclined to look away, a second glance might reveal worn but immaculate clothing and fastidious cleanliness. Today’s madman might be yesterday’s prophesier. There is in Korin, the novel’s protagonist, that dichotomy.

László Krasznahorkai describes the novel’s genesis,

On November 22nd, 1992 at about quarter past, half past one at night I was walking on Kurfürstendamm, the Western main street of Berlin to an apartment on Pfalzburgerstrasse. I was watching the heavy traffic rushing by in the middle of the road, watching the solitude of the expensive shops behind the plate-glass of the shop-windows, watching the squandered gaze of people walking towards me and suddenly fright seized me.

It was one of those cases that you describe as lasting just a single moment, but in this case this is indeed what happened – a single moment of fright, that’s all, arriving for no explicable reason at all, departing for no explicable reason at all, and leaving behind nothing but a shadow, and in this shadow, encircled by the night brightness of Kurfürsterdamm, there was an unexpected, fierce, poignant vision: a couple of people running for life in timeless devastation and meanwhile taking stock of  all that they have to say good-bye to.

From an intoxicating first chapter, available here, unbearably tense though we know from the first sentence that Korin’s survival is assured, Krasznahorkai draws us towards the consciousness of his archivist character, who has to preserve for posterity the contents of a manuscript he has stumbled upon. The rhythm of Krasznahorkai’s long sentences appear to draw us into the mind of Korin, close enough almost to comprehend his delusion. It’s an ingenious contrivance, that despite the third person narrative, the effect is almost of a first person narrator, offering a stance that is distanced yet remarkably intimate.

The novel’s genius is preserved in the macabre final section, which I shall leave readers to discover. Before the final section, Krasznahorkai provides us with the address of the web site that Korin has used to preserve for mankind the momentous contents of his manuscript. This website leads to the following message:

Not Found

The requested URL / was not found on this server.

Additionally, please be informed that your home page service has been called off due to recurring overdue payment. Attempted mail deliveries to Mr. G. Korin have been returned to sender with a note: address unknown. Consequently, all data have been erased from your home page.

‘There’s no sense or meaning in anything. It’s nothing but a network of dependency under enormous fluctuating pressure. It’s only our imaginations, not our senses, that continually confront us with failure and the false belief that we can raise ourselves by our own bootstraps from the miserable pulp of decay. There’s no escaping that, stupid.’

- László Krasznahorkai

‘I tell you: one must still have chaos within oneself, to give birth to a dancing star’. Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra.

A decaying Hungarian town is reluctant host to a visiting circus offering the spectacle of ‘the biggest whale in the world.’ The circus’ arrival, accompanied by a gang of refractory hoodlums, catalyzes the town’s entropy and sparks a single, violent night of vandalism and murder.

The travelling circus is dominated by an enigmatic ‘Prince of darkness’ who foments the night of savagery. In a town characterised by its feckless or drunken civic leaders, emerges the indomitable Mrs. Eszter, who deserves to  be remembered as one of literary history’s most unscrupulous villains, with plans to ‘spring-clean’ and restore pride to the degenerate town. Mrs. Eszter, in her cunning, recalls Stendhal’s brilliant Duchess Sanseverina. Beauvoir said of Stendhal,”[He] never describes his heroines as a function of his heroes: he provides them with their own destiny. He undertook something that no other novelist, I think, has ever done: he projected himself into a female character”.

Though the Prince and Mrs. Eszter, adversaries only in appearance, accelerate the story’s events, it is the misanthropic Mr. Eszter and his slow-witted disciple that are the main protagonists of Krasznahorkai’s story. Mr. Eszter withdraws to his drawing room, apparently in search of musical purity, but in fact to turn away from the dissolution of the town and its people.

The world, as Eszter established, consisted merely of ‘an indifferent power which offered disappointment at every turn’; its various concerns were incompatible and it was too full of noises of banging, screeching and crowing, noises that were simply, the discordant and refracted sounds of struggle, and that this was all there was to the world if we but realised it. But his ‘fellow human beings’, who also happened to find themselves in this draughty uninsulated barracks and could on no account bear their exclusion from some notion of a distant state of sweetness and light, were condemned to burn for ever in a fever of anticipation, waiting for something they couldn’t even begin to define, hoping for it despite the fact that all evidence, which every day continued to accumulate, pointed against its very existence, thereby demonstrating the utter pointlessness of their waiting.

Punctuating Mr. Eszter’s solitariness, Valuska, thought of as the town-idiot, delivers his freshly laundered clothes and meals. Valuska becomes embroiled with the gang of hoodlums and their orgy of violence; his subsequent disappearance awakens Mr. Eszter from his self-absorption.

I’ve seen Krasznahorkai’s style (first two sentences here) likened to Thomas Bernhard’s, although I am reading both in translation, but the similarities seem superficial. There is less humour in Krasznahorkai, at least in The Melancholy of Resistance, more ominousness, with the phantasmagorical terrain familiar to Kafka and Walser. Comparison to either of those writers may be puffery on the basis of a single book, but The Melancholy of Resistance is sublime.

James Wood writes, “His demanding novel “The Melancholy of Resistance” is a comedy of apocalypse, a book about a God that not only failed but didn’t even turn up for the exam. The pleasure of the book flows from its extraordinary, stretched, self-recoiling sentences, which are marvels of a loosely punctuated stream of consciousness”. My only disagreement with Wood is that the novel is demanding; as László Krasznahorkai explains: “You know, the problem is that anything that’s the least bit serious gets bad PR. Kafka got bad PR, and so does the Bible. The Old Testament is a pretty hard text to read; anyone who finds my writing difficult must have trouble with the Bible, too”.

Krasnahorkai has written six novels, only two are in English translation (all translated so far by George Szirtes); I’ll be reading War & War soon, followed in March by Satantango.

To welcome me home this evening, three packages bearing pre-ordered books, all of which are intended for consumption over the next six months. I found the Kristof edition today at the LRB.

For Russophiles there is the latest issue of Chtenia (unavailable online). The theme for the current issue is sport and it contains an excerpt from Anne O. Fisher’s new translation of Ilf and Petrov’s The Twelve Chairs, namely “The Interplanetary Chess Congress.” There are also excerpts from Anna Karenina (the scene where Levin is contemplating the cosmos while a fly ball drops untouched on the ground in front of him? Or maybe the mushroom-picking scene – for some people that is a competitive sport). There is also work by Yuri Olesha, Alexander Kuprin and Vladimir Vysotsky.

For living Russian writers you can turn to Russia beyond the Headlines, where there is an interview with Mikhail Shishkin, whose novel Maidenhair, translated by Marian Schwartz, will be published by Open Letter Books and his recent Big Book award-winning Pismovnik (Letter-Book) is already being translated by Andrew Bromfield.

Photo – Window from the Strasbourg Cathedral by Ecelan/Wikimedia

1. The Melancholy of Resistance – László Krasznahorkai
2. War & War – László Krasznahorkai
3. Sátántango – László Krasznahorkai
4. Embers – Sándor Márai
5. Parallel Stories – Péter Nádas
6. Fiasco – Imre Kertész
7. Dukla – Andrzej Stasiuk
8. Memories of the Future – Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky
9. Theory of Prose – Viktor Shklovsky
10. The Book Of Hrabal- Péter Esterházy
11. The Foundation Pit – Andrei Platonov
12. Skylark – Dezső Kosztolányi
13. The Notebook / The Proof / The Third Lie – Ágota Kristóf

I was just doing up my wishlist on the website that I use and here are some forthcoming new releases that I will be looking to acquire in 2012 (in no particular order):

• Sátántangó, László Krasznahorkai
• The Land at the End of the World, António Lobo Antunes
• Almost Never, Daniel Sada
• Varamo, César Aira
• Dublinesque, Enrique Vila-Matas
• Zona, Geoff Dyer
• Monsieur Pain, Roberto Bolaño
• Antwerp, Roberto Bolaño
• Blue Nights, Joan Didion
• Dead Man Upright, Derek Raymond
• The Planets, Sergio Chejfec
• My First Suicide, Jerzy Pilch

Most of these are just new translations of much older works (Dyer, Didion, and Derek Raymond being the exceptions). Some of them were released in the past couple of years in expensive hardcover editions that were too much for this poor student to afford, so these paperback releases are greeted with much welcome. And one of these (Derek Raymond) is simply a re-release with a nice cover, as far as I can tell. Which suits me just fine.

The one I’m probably looking forward to the most is Dublinesque, since Vila-Matas is probably my favourite living writer. (But as they say, here comes a new challenger, and Krasznahorkai is fast climbing the ranks.)

2012 looks like a brilliant year in literature. For me anyway.

As such, a final note on movement: I will move “outward” from this nightstand, photographing any place where books are set. I will photograph every kind of book in this house in its natural habitat; this includes children’s books and cookbooks, but does not include personal photograph albums, instruction manuals, or anything else of that nature. I plan to do 53 total book shelf posts, including this one (there are 53 Sundays in 2012).

My hope is that readers will respond to these posts by sharing their own bookshelving habits.

I love the idea and have decided to take up Biblioklept’s challenge to share my own book shelving habits. Using my iPhone I will photograph all the places in the house where books rest, carrying the project through moving to a new house in the spring.

My first photograph is of the stack that sits on my antique oak desk, beside my left-hand speaker. The size of this stack varies greatly depending on what I am reading at a given time. My photographs will move outward from my desk.

I’m rereading (for a third time) James Wood’s How Fiction Works, a chapter at a time. David Harvey’s The Condition of Postmodernity and Alice Oswald’s Memorial are recent acquisitions that have yet to be shelved. I’m slowly reading László Krasznahorkai’s intoxicating The Melancholy of Resistance.

Century 424 (April 1963 – May 1967)

A first date. Expectations are high for a writer I’ve anticipated with urgency. I read the first sentence, once, then again, then for a third time.

Since the passenger train connecting the icebound estates of the southern lowlands which extend from the banks of the Tisza almost as far as the foot of the Carpathians, had, despite the garbled explanations of a haplessly stumbling guard and the promises of the stationmaster rushing nervously on and off the platform, failed to arrive (“Well squire, it seems to have disappeared into thin air again..” the guard shrugged pulling a sour face) the only two serviceable old wooden-seated coaches maintained for just such an ‘emergency’ were coupled to an obsolete and unreliable 424, used only as a last resort, and put to work, albeit a good hour and a half late according to a timetable to which they were not bound and which was only an approximation anyway, so that the locals who were waiting in vain for the eastbound service and had accepted its delay with what appeared to be a combination of indifference and helpless resignation, might eventually arrive at their destination some fifty kilometres further along the branch line.

The Bank of the Tisza - Zoltán Bitay (1931)

With held breath I read the second sentence.

To tell the truth none of this really surprised anyone anymore since rail travel, like everything else, was subject to the prevailing conditions: all normal expectations went by the board and one’s daily habits were disrupted by a sense of ever-spreading all-consuming chaos which rendered the future unpredictable, the past unrecallable, and ordinary life so haphazard that people simply assumed that whatever could be imagined might come to pass, that if there were only one door in a building it would no longer open, that wheat would grow head downwards into the earth not out of it, and that, since one could only note the symptoms of disintegration, the reasons for it remaining unfathomable and inconceivable, there was nothing anyone could do except to get a tenacious grip on anything that was still tangible; which is precisely what people at the village station continued to do when, in hope of taking possession of the essentially limited seating to which they were entitled, they stormed the carriage doors, which being frozen up proved very difficult to open.

I look around. No one has seen me for a while. I make a cup of tea and wonder where I can disappear for a few hours, or the day.

This post is about the books I set out to read, tried to read, wanted to read, abandoned, neglected, acquired and thought looked interesting, etc. It’s also about what I want to—what I plan to—read in 2012.

A reasonable starting place: I wrote a post in early January of this year detailing the books I would try to read in 2011. I actually read most of the books I named in that post. But:

I failed to read past page 366 of Adam Levin’s incredibly long novel The Instructions, although I think I was a bit too harsh in my semi-review. Chalk it up to exhaustion.

I failed to even begin to try to read William Gaddis’s incredibly long novel JR. (But I swear to read it one year. Not next year, but maybe the year after?).

I failed to read past the first chapter of Katherine Dunn’s Geek Love.

I read most of the Tintin collections I picked up last year, but I didn’t get to volumes 5 or 6.

Moving beyond that early post, books that I recall abandoning (although I’m sure there must be more):

I abandoned Nathaniel Hawthorne’s Italian romance The Marble Faun after about 30 pages.

I abandoned 334 by Thomas Disch after about 50 pages. Somehow simultaneously dense and loose, it struck me as intensely imagined and sloppily composed.

I abandoned John Williams’s Butcher’s Crossing after the first chapter; it was a great opening chapter, but I thought it was going to be, I don’t know, more like Blood Meridian.

I also abandoned Chad Harbach’s big book The Art of Fielding (after 100 pages) because it was lame (notice it’s not pictured above because I traded in that sucker), but I had a nice dialog with some readers who responded to a post I wrote about abandoning it, so that was a plus.

Books I bought in 2011 that I aim to read in 2012:

Correction by Thomas Bernhard. Bernhard was a repeated suggestion from readers in the aforementioned Harbach post/rant, and he was apparently a huge influence on W.G. Sebald, so, yes, looking forward to this.

The Reivers by William Faulkner. I read A Light in August this year and reread most of Go Down, Moses. My plan is to read one Faulkner a year for the next ten years.

Ferdydurke by Witold Gambrowicz. I struggled to make it through Gombrowicz’s bizarre jaunt Trans-Atlantyk, but once the novel taught me how to read it, I was enchanted by its strange humor and frenetic syntax. Over some beer and wine, I had a conversation about Ferdydurke with my father-in-law’s priest who is Polish. His pronunciation of Ferdydurke should win an award for charm.

I will read Georges Perec’s big book Life: A User’s Manual.

I have already promised to read William Vollmann’s Imperial.

There are many, many more, of course (too many, really).

Books people sent me to read and review that look really cool that I will be reading and reviewing at some point in the very near future:

Satantango by László Krasznahorkai: I will read this and review this in the very near future.

The Funny Man by John Warner: Comedy, drugs, celebrity culture.

The Book on Fire by Keith Miller: This one is about a biblioklept. It’s been at the top of my stack for a few months now, but I keep letting myself get distracted.

Thirst by Andrei Gelasimov: Apparently this novella about a maimed alcoholic war vet is funny. (I hate the cover).

Mule by Tony D’Souza: Middle class man sells marijuana cross country. (I love the cover).

Various titles from Melville House’s Neversink line: I’ve got a few in the stack.

Also: I got a Kindle Fire for Christmas. I actually stayed up really late last night reading free public domain books from Hawthorne, Melville, Whitman, and Dickinson; I’ll read a contemporary novel on it this year—Neal Stephenson’s Snow Crash, perhaps? Suggestions welcome!—and try to review both novel and the process of reading the novel on a warm glowing machine.

And: I’m sure there are a ton of novels that will come out in 2012 that I’ll want to read; I’m already primed for Dogma, Lars Iyer’s sequel to Spurious.

So: What are you guys looking forward to reading in 2012? What did you fail to read in 2011?

Damn. Check this out. László Krasznahorkai’s novel Satantango, the title of which does not apparently include diacritical marks in its new (first published!) English translation.

Publisher New Direction’s description:

Already famous as the inspiration for the filmmaker Béla Tarr’s six-hour masterpiece, Satantango is proof, as the spellbinding, bleak, and hauntingly beautiful book has it, that “the devil has all the good times.” The story of Satantango, spread over a couple of days of endless rain, focuses on the dozen remaining inhabitants of an unnamed isolated hamlet: failures stuck in the middle of nowhere. Schemes, crimes, infidelities, hopes of escape, and above all trust and its constant betrayal are Krasznahorkai’s meat. “At the center of Satantango,” George Szirtes has said, “is the eponymous drunken dance, referred to here sometimes as a tango and sometimes as a csardas. It takes place at the local inn where everyone is drunk. . . . Their world is rough and ready, lost somewhere between the comic and tragic, in one small insignificant corner of the cosmos. Theirs is the dance of death.” “You know,” Mrs. Schmidt, a pivotal character, tipsily confides, “dance is my one weakness.”

New Directions has a fantastic record when it comes to lit in translation, and Satantango has been long anticipated by English-reading audiences, due in large part to Béla Tarr’s movie (which is more like seven and a half hours, which I meant to watch this summer but couldn’t because I want to watch it with no interruptions, but I have kids and a wife, so, hey).

I got into it a bit last night, and, I don’t know if it’s just the advance reader copy I got or what, but there are no paragraph breaks, which is a grueling rhetorical technique, a big dare to readers, really (see also: W.G. Sebald’s Austerlitz (note: Sebald blurbs Satantango)). The advance reader copy also has a delightful typo on the spine, one that makes the book sound like, I dunno, if Santana made a tango record. Or maybe Santa n’ Tango for ever (Cash will no doubt be jealous). More to come.

He fully accepted the paradox implied in the conclusion that his movements had direction but no aim.

It’s been on my shelf for years, but I have only now gotten around to reading László Krasznahorkai’s novel The Melancholy of Resistance.  I’ve actually written about the book before in a post on the various novels for which W.G. Sebald wrote blurbs.  But this summer James Wood wrote an essay on Krasznahorkai for The New Yorker (a brief excerpt can be found here) which prompted me to get The Melancholy and plunge in.

The book’s plot is skeletal.   An enigmatic traveling troupe with a mere handful of people appear in an insignificant Hungarian village, towing a large wagon that promises to hold “An Extraordinary Spectacle” in the form of “The Biggest Whale in the World.”  But instead of merriment and wonder, the newcomers, led by someone who calls himself The Prince, attract a thuggish group of outsiders who are mysteriously bent on wreaking violence.  For a brief time the village descends into total social breakdown until the army finally moves in and an uneasy peace returns.  In Krasznahorkai’s claustrophobic universe, there is no law or order and the state scarcely matters.  Human progress is a pathetic myth, life is an “icy museum of pointless existence,” and knowledge only seems to lead to “wholesale illusion or to irrational depression.”

Even though a sense of impending chaos and evil  hangs over every page, The Melancholy of Resistance is intensely, almost indescribably comic.  The plot might be simple, but Krasznahorkai’s style isn’t.  Krasznahorkai writes with a maniacal intensity and originality of the bawdy and language-lush novels of the 17th and 18th centuries.  His often long sentences operate like a multi-faceted lens that refracts the world into multiple vantage points almost simultaneously.  The Melancholy is a digressive ramble, the narrative point of view being handed off from befuddled character to the next like a baton. Here are some extracts from a nearly six-page description of Mrs. Eszter sleeping, while three rats rummage through her room.

She was a sound sleeper, so after a few minutes she quietly nodded off, and the occasional jerking of her feet, the rolling of her eyeballs under their thin lids and the ever more regular rising and falling of the eiderdown were accurate indicators that she was no longer properly aware of the world about her, that she was drifting further and further from the present enjoyment of naked power which was rapidly diminishing but would be hers again tomorrow, and which in her hours of consciousness whispered that she was mistress of her cold poor possessions and that their fate depended on her….Her body – perhaps simply because it was no longer covered – seemed to grow even bigger than it already was, too big for the bed and indeed for the entire room: she was an enormous dinosaur in a tiny museum, so large no one knew how she had got there since both doors and windows were too small to admit her.  She lay on the bed, legs spread wide, and her round belly – very much an elderly man’s beer-gut – rose and fell like a sluggish pump; her nightgown gathered itself about her waist, and since it was no longer capable of keeping her warm, her thick thighs and stomach broke out in goosepimples….The night, in any case, was slowly coming to an end, a hoarse cockerel was furiously crowing, an equally angry dog had begun to bark and thousands and thousands of sleepers, Mrs. Eszter among them, sensed the coming of dawn and entered the last dream.  The three rats, together with their numerous confreres, were scuttling and squeaking in the neighbor’s rumbledown shed among frozen cobs of well-gnawed corn, when, like someone recoiling from a scene  of horror, she gave a disconsolate snort, trembled, turned her head rapidly from left to right a few times, suddenly sat up in bed. 

The Melancholy was turned into a film that is usually described in polarizing terms (Roger Ebert, who liked the film, said audiences would either find it maddening or mesmerizing).  Béla Tarr’s 2000 film Werckmeister Harmonies translates Krasznahorkai’s novel into a stunning visual and aural experience, full of luminous and mysterious scenes.  (The 145 minute film is infamous for being comprised of only 39 shots.)  But in doing so, Tarr exchanges the pervasive sense of paranoia and dread for physical angst, and turned Krasznahorkai’s text to humorless and, at times,  agonizingly slow scenes.

I can’t do either the book or the film justice, except to recommend both.  I also suggest watching Tarr’s 2007 film The Man from London, which has a strong cast that includes one of my favorites, Tilda Swinton.  This is an adaptation by Tarr and Krasznahorkai of a Georges Simenon novel of the same title.

As I’ve done for the past two years, I’m going to pick five. I got Mario Vargas Llosa last year, so I’m hoping to go two-for-two this year. I’m going to go for Cormac McCarthy (the USA), László Krasznahorkai (Hungary), 残雪 (China), António Lobo Antunes (Portugal), and Antonio Tabucchi (Italy).

Yeah, I pick the unlikeliest bunch, but hey, it’s not like the committee has traditionally gone for the hot candidates.

I was going to go for Enrique Vila-Matas and Nicanor Parra, but I realise how unlikely it is that a Spanish-language writer will win for the second year running. Oh well. Next year.

d

“Writing is not pleasure. It’s just not. And you’re pulling things up from the depths of memory and feeling that should really be left alone. Most people leave them alone for very good reasons. They should be left alone. [...] And the imagination is this haunted house, and it doesn’t matter whether you’re writing down the first time or rewriting, you’re working with that all the time, and that is not pleasure. And maybe some people get pleasure from it, but I would call it pain.”

Colm Tóibín at the Edinburgh International Book Festival, on the emotional possibilities of the simplest phrases, pleasure and writing, and how to pronounce László Krasznahorkai’s name.

[Video via the Guardian]

d

…all preliminary conjectures about who I am will prove in retrospect futile…” (v)

If you want to know what language and literature permit us to do, read the fourteen short untitled, numbered pieces that comprise László Krasznahorkai’s Animalinside. The best of these pieces transcends any literalness or point of reference and simply speak to us in an oracular, disembodied voice that suggests the impossible, the unimaginable, the indescribable.

You can’t touch me.
I have no eyes, no ears, no teeth, no tongue, no brain tissue, no hair, no lungs, no heart, no bowels, no cock, no voice, no smell; …useless for anyone to scream at me, I don’t understand, because I don’t hear anything, useless for anyone to strike at me, I don’t see, I am entirely blind, you don’t know what I’m like and what I am, because you can’t picture it, you can’t even conjure me up in your dreams, because I am absent from any picture that you have ever seen…  (ii)

It’s the voice of a vengeful god warning us of what true, unlimited power really is.

And I am strong.  Too strong.  So strong that I break a knife in two with my teeth, that I break a sword in two with my teeth, that I break a house in two, that I break one hundred houses in two, one after the other, that I break one thousand houses in two, that I break every building in every city in two, so strong am I that I smash in the middle every bridge on earth…and if I want to break the entire Earth in two, I grab it by one end and – whoop! it’s snapped in two already… (iii)

Animalinside, a forty-page chapbook, is number 14 in The Cahiers Series being issued jointly by Sylph Editions, New Directions, and the Center for Writers & Translators at the American University of Paris.  According to the Preface by Colm Tóibín, the work is a collaboration that began when Krasznahorkai wrote a piece based upon one of German artist Max Neumann‘s powerful, enigmatic images of two-legged dogs (they have no forelegs).  Neumann created more images in the series for which Krasznahorkai then wrote responding texts.  The chapbook is beautifully produced, especially Neumann’s images, which are stunningly printed and selectively varnished to achieve vivid blacks and real texture.

…because my coming is violent, just a few moments now, and I shall break out of you, and you will be that which I am, and that which I have always been.  (vii)

For an excellent introduction to Krasznahorkai’s work, check out Jame Wood’s piece on the author in the July 4, 2011 issue of The New Yorker (there’s an online abstract here).  I’m reading his darkly humorous book The Melancholy of Resistance right now.

Much as the name suggests, like the tango, the narrative non-linearly moves six steps forward and six steps backward in episodic style ( Look for the linearized episodes at the bottom). Based on a novel by Laszlo Krasznahorkai, the film is an inclusive study on human condition, the bleakness of being, rather than merely remaining to the confines of cinema. The Schmidt and Kraner families have decided to flee the town with farm money that has been collected for the past year and a half. Futaki, their neighbor, finds out about the scheme and demands for a share. Irimiás, who was understood to be dead, has returned after two years. The narrative sees multiple points of views of how the town deals with the fear of this news, the ensuing machinations that they plot against each other. As more people join, news about Irimiás and Petrina coming to town engulfs the town in trepidation. Irimiás, following his return, schemes to con the townspeople into a grand plan when Estike, a supposedly demented girl, has died. He uses her death to bring out the guilt in people and gets them to agree to his plan as a way to their redemption.

At the periphery, we may see a coherent plot but Tarr’s is not entirely focused on narrative. He looks cinema from a cosmic dimension, a close study on human condition and it’s equation with nature and society. This differentiates him from every other filmmaker of his time. It took over six years to make this film. In one of his interviews, Tarr mentions that story is a secondary thing for him; he is interested in how close one gets to life.

The film has numerous long takes averaging around ten minutes, painstakingly choreographed and shot in black and white, which has now become his trademark style. Tarr uses a cut only as a logical break in chain of events. It would take away the realism if he had deployed the conventional edit pattern, understanding the importance of real time. In effect the viewer is transformed to the space-time of the narrative, vicariously replacing the camera. The first part of the film centers inside a house with the Schmidts and Futaki arguing over the money. The third part sees the same sequence from the window of the town doctor. The doctor is chronicling these events in his diary and meticulously makes drawings about it. Both sequences are long takes with almost no cuts. Had there been an intercut between the two scenes, it would have become the audience’s vision from a cinematic point of view as against the audience’s vision of being in the space-time of the character. When asked about his love for Long takes, Tarr had this to say

The people of this generation know information-cut, information-cut, information-cut. They can follow the logic of it, the logic of the story, but they don’t follow the logic of life. Because I see the story as only just a dimension of life, because we have a lot of other things. We have time, we have landscapes, we have meta-communications, all of which are not verbal information. If you watch the news it is just talking, cutting, maybe some action and afterwards talking, action, talking. For us, the film is a bit different.

Tarr’s long takes are not merely an exploration of stylistic art of life continuity but also adherence to realism in his atmosphere. He maintains the necessary character claustrophobia. The film deploys what I call as the beauty of the tedium in its favor. In traditional cinema we are used to cutting away swiftly, like from a character exiting the frame or some events that are trivial to the script or the narrative are cut off. Tarr explores the beauty of ordinary things, the little unimportant things we do in life, which filmmakers tend to ignore.

For instance, the same sequence of the old doctor chronicling the town in his diary is shot in a closed room that is dimly lit. We see him sipping his fruit brandy, filling the glass, taking a pee break, shifting through his notes, sketching, moving uncomfortably around the room, dozing off in the middle, injecting himself with medication, walking painfully in the rains to fetch a pail of fruit brandy and many such little details, all in a single long take, which seem grating to watch but they make you live the tedium that the character is going through, character claustrophobia as said before. You are transferred into the room, you watch the doctor passing out helplessly and wait till he returns to consciousness. Fantastic use of sound is also used to capture this realism. The squeaking door, the footsteps, panting, snoring and such diegetic sounds are more pronounced in the film to accentuate the ordinary in our lives. Tarr takes special care in non-diegetic sound which adds to the atmosphere of the premise. A recurring sound of a moving spaceship fused with church bells is heard in most of the scenes, lending an eerie apocalyptic vision to the narrative. And then again the same sound is juxtaposed with a cat’s purring making the end seem closer and scarier. One of the most smart sound techniques is the use of ticking clock in an extended scene preceding the final act (non-diegetic). The ticking clock almost obtrudes the conversation, adding to the discomforting wait for the demon to arrive and the fact that you can’t see the clock anywhere, adds to the discomfort.

Though I have appetite for gore and violence on screen but I was disturbed by a sequence in the film, so much so that I had to look away from the screen, however, it still is the best scene I have ever seen on cinema. A little girl, Estike is known by the village to have become insane. Her introductory scene has her digging the ground with her brother and planting all her savings in a cloth. He brother cons her into growing a “money plant” with this method only to discover her money being taken away by her brother. She is devastated. Soon after this, she is left in a loft outside the house with a cat. As she plays with the cat, she realizes the cat is weaker than her. She torments the cat to elicit some resistance. The little girl has shown brilliant restraint to hide her discomfort in torturing the cat. She feeds the cat with poison and watches it die gradually. This episode and what she does after this form the turning point in the film. Though Tarr has said in an interview that a vet was on the set during this scene and the cat is now his pet, because of this scene the film was withheld for a release in the UK. In its minimalist style this scene explores beyond the mise-en-scene; we can see the years of physical abuse that this little girl has seen in the house. She has lived with the memory of a father who hanged himself, sisters who have turned hookers for money. Towards the end of the film we realize the father hung himself by a rope in the same loft that the girl kills the cat. Though this is not shown but can be connected through the chain of events. Most haunting image of the girl is when she is peeping through the glass window while the townspeople engage in a long dance. You can almost see her questioning “what is sanity”, her angelic face glowing with the higher consciousness that she is about to witness out of this tragic act. I almost felt like this where Michael Haneke’s The White Ribbon picks up from.

Satantango has one of the most interesting tracking shots in cinema. The opening sequence tracks the herd of cows for over 150 meters, panning languidly to the left for a long time. More than the usages of tracks the way they have been deployed are noticeable. My favorite shot in the film is this long tracking shot from behind where we see the debris on the road being blown away by the wind, never mind that you are aware of the wind machine all the while. Irimiás and Petrina are walking in the middle of all this. It’s visually stunning and is the best tracking shot in the film

Some circular tracks (or steadycam maybe) make you wonder how it would have been shot. In one sequence where Tarr attempts satire to show the conversation between two corrupt officers, the camera revolves around them for whole ten minutes and you don’t even notice the movement. There is great writing in this scene to expose the bourgeois interpretations of the farm life. Irimias has sent a report of each town person in tone which is rather steep and full of expletives. The officers manipulate the lines to make them part of the official records. Like Mrs Schmidt, according to Irimias’ report says “She went to bed with anyone and everyone, and if she didn’t that was only by accident”. They change the line to: “She’s a paragon of conjugal infidelity.” After the whole thing they leave and the voiceover tells us that they both were asked about the day’s proceedings, to which they replied “Nothing much, the usual, my dear.” In another circular track, from a top angle camera, we see the characters sleeping and the voice-over narrates their dreams. In most tracking shots we see characters are walking and the camera doesn’t let go. Even after a point when the camera holds back, it patiently waits for the character to walk away until they reach the horizon over the bog covered town.

Tarr is not particularly interested in making a political statement or a social comment through the film. After finishing the seven hours, you’d feel like you have lived with these characters, in this town, for almost a lifetime. That is the effect of his art and the process of filming life rather than cinema. In a way it’s Hungarian but universal in its theme. The sodden landscape, the incessant rain, the bog enclosed town, teething walls, leaking ceilings, windstorms are settings for the characters who are led by deceit, hunger, greed, suspicion, naiveté and unremitting poverty into their own moral cataclysm. Satantango is a work of exceptional art. It’s one of the greatest films of the last century, eschewing every single convention of cinema, innovating and reinstating the remodernist that Tarr has come to be known as. I wrote this review for two reasons; one that this film has not been seen by many because of its daunting length or it’s glacial pacing or largely because it has been unavailable for screenings around the world. This masterpiece is not known to many and it should be watched, for such an innovative work of art should get its due. Secondly, Tarr has made very few films in his life. He has uncompromisingly stuck to his style of filmmaking; one of the truest auteurs of our generation (closest heir to Tarkovsky and Bergman according to me, many may not concur), has decided to end his career as a filmmaker. His latest and last film, The Turin Horse, won the grand jury prize at Berlinale this year. Satantango is the best film of his career and it has to be seen, discussed, and debated by all. I am making one such attempt here to document what I felt about the film. I hope that he continues to make films and inspire generations.

PS: I have tried to write the 12 episodes of the film linearly here. [SPOILER ALERT]

1) A hír, hogy jönnek [The News Of Their Coming] : Opens with a long take of dawn arriving at a window, Futaki and Kraner family plotting to leave the town with the money. Futaki has slept with Schmidt’s wife the previous night.

2)Feltámadunk [We Will Rise from the dead]: Irmias and Petrina arrive and meet the law inspector who asks them to collaborate to survive. They come to the town to intimidate people at a pub.

3) Valamit tudni [To Know Something]: This takes one step backward from the first episode where the town doctor sees the whole scene from his dingy one room apartment. He then goes out of the house in search of fruit brandy.

4) A pók dolga I. [The Spider's Work I]: People are at the pub and discussing about the unbearable rains and the wait. An old man comes and informs about the arrival of Irimiás and Petrina. Mrs Schmidt can smell the earth rotting but the bartender tells her it’s the coal and cobwebs that smell.

5) Felfeslők [Those Coming Unstitched]: The painful story of the little girl who is cheated by her own brother for money. In moment of displaced sense of power, torments and kills a cat. She later cannot consume the guilt and kills herself with the same rat poison she fed the cat with.

6)A pók dolga II (Ördögcsecs, sátántangó) [The Spider's Work II (Devil's Nipples, Satan's Tango)]: People at the pub do the demonic tango waiting for the dreadful Irimiás to come. Estike, the little girl sees this from the window ( A succeeding part of the girls story). Episode ends with cobwebs gently forming all around the glasses.

7) Irimiás beszédet mond [Irimiás Gives a Speech]: Irimiás uses the girl’s death to use it in his favor to convince the townspeople that they are cumulatively accountable for the loss. In his speech he cons them into his grand plan.

8)A távlat, ha szemből [The Perspective From the Front]: The villagers are convinced and leave the town with all their belongings.

9)Mennybe menni? Lázálmodni? [Going To Heaven, Having Nightmares]: Irmias is arranging for explosives in a bar. There is a sequence where the characters are sleeping in an abandoned building and we hear their dreams/nightmares being narrated in a recurring circular tracking shot.

10) A távlat, ha hátulról [The Perspective From Behind]” : The townspeople show some sense of rationale and rebel against Irimiás which is immediately put off. They again fall for the grand plan and are asked to scatter around the country.

11) Csak a gond, a munka [Just Trouble and Work]: This has two government officials typing out Irimiás’ report on the towns people. Here Tarr attempts satire through the funny improvisations used by the officials on Irimiás’ report.

12) A kör bezárul [The Circle Closes]: Final act of the doctor returning with fruit brandy. He closes himself in to the room, nails wooden planks on the windows and starts to narrate the initial opening lines of the film.

The Melancholy of Resistance is, at least for me, an example how the execution of a plot can ruin a lot of things. On the surface this story’s main idea is dazzling. An allegorical tale about a circus that sets up in a tiny Hungarian village. At first the villagers (all are screw ups in their own way) panic and think that there’s some evil plan behind this circus and later on this is actually correct. By the end the villagers wage a war.

However in reality the reader is treated to extremely long sentences and numerous digressions. When I finished the book I felt exhausted and annoyed at myself for not liking the book and the writing style.

Ah well.

Por Antonio Golmar

Hoy martes 27 de octubre el escritor húngaro Lászlo Krasznahorkai celebra un encuentro con periodistas y otras gentes de mal vivir con mótivo de la edición en español de su novela El último lobo por la fundación Ortega Muñoz.

La presencia de Krasznahorkai en España es especialmente oportuna, dado que dentro de unos días celebraremos los 20 años de la caída del muro de Berlín, un hecho del que se han hecho eco los Premios Príncipe de Asturias con los reconocimientos tanto a la ciudad alemana como al escritor albano Ismael Kadaré, autor de uno El palacio de los sueños, uno de los análisis más agudos del totalitarismo desde la literatura y que algunos sitúan incluso por encima de obras como 1984. Una de sus mejores novelas, el relato telúrico Abril quebrado, fue adaptada y llevada al cine en 2001 por Walter Salles (Estación central). Abril despedaçado se estenó en España con el título Detrás del sol. Aunque la película traslada la acción al sertao del nordeste brasileño, la traslación de la acción a tantos kilómetros de distancia no resta un ápice de dramatismo a la terrible historia en la que su autor describe con crudeza el choque entre la fidelidad al terruño y a las costumbres ancestrales y la inevitable tendencia humana a romper con algunos de los lazos que nos unen a las comunidades de origen.

Igual que Kadaré, Krasznahorkai, un símbolo de la contestación al comunismo para muchos de sus compatriotas, conjuga su trabajo literario con su afición al cine. Él mismo ha adaptado cinco de sus novelas a la gran pantalla bajo la dirección de Béla Tarr. Entre ellas destaca Melancolía de la resistencia, una tragicomedia que nos hace reír y llorar, a veces al mismo tiempo, y con la que el autor ajusta cuentas con el pasado reciente de su país, dominado por la colaboración con el nazismo y luego por la dictadura bolchevique antes de la restauración democrática, y sé pregunta qué impulsa a los pueblos a confiar en esas figuras salvíficas que al final sólo traen miedo y violencia. La versión cinemetográfica se tituló Armonías de Werckmeister.

Es una pena que con motivo del vigésimo aniversario de la caída del muro a nadie se le haya ocurrido organizar un ciclo de cine que aborde la mirada de estos creadores, tanto los procedentes de Europa del Este como los que desde este lado del telón de acero interpretaron lo que ocurría allí. Sin embargo, nada impide que uno no se monte uno en su propia casa. Para comenzar, les recomiendo esta gran película que se puede adquirir en DVD con subtítulos en español y que me parece un regalo perfecto para estas fechas. ¿Con qué otras películas completarían ustedes el ciclo?

หากลองจัดลำดับความจัดจ้า้นในฝีมือของนักทำหนังตามแนวนี้พอจะแย้มคร่าว ๆ ได้ดังนี้ ฟิลิป กา์ร์เรล(Philippe Garrel) ชองทาล อเคอร์มาน(Chantal Akerman) ธีโอ แองเจโลปูลอส(Theo Angelopoulos) อับบาส เคียรอสตามี(Abbas Kiarostami) เบลา ทาร์(Béla Tarr) อเล็กซานเดอร์ โซกูรอฟ(Aleksandr Sokurov) โหวเชี่ยวเฉียน(Hou Hsiao-hsien) ไฉ่มิ่งเหลียง(Tsai Ming-liang) ชารูนาส บาร์ตัส(Sharunas Bartas) เปโดร คอสตา(Pedro Costa) เจี่ยฉางเค่อ(Jia Zhang-ke) อภิชาติพงศ์ วีระเศรษฐกุล(Apichatpong Weerasethakul) ลิซานโดร อลอนโซ(Lisandro Alonso) คาร์ลอส เรย์กาดาส(Carlos Reygadas) กัส แวน ซ็องต์(Gus Van Sant) และอัลแบรต์ แซร์รา(Albert Serra)

ลักษณะร่วมประการสำคัญในงานสร้างของผู้กำกับเหล่านี้ ประมวลคร่าว ๆ แล้วประกอบด้วย เล่าเหตุการณ์ลากยาว(longtake) กระจายศูนย์เล็งการเล่า และไม่มีจุดหมายปลายทางหรือประเด็นไว้ตายตัว ลอยชาย พิรี้พิไร และเน้นหนักในความสงบนิ่งและกิจกรรมในชีวิตประจำวัน ในภาวะที่หนังเหล่านี้ผุดขึ้นราวดอกเห็ดจึงสมควรแก่เวลาที่จะพินิจพิเคราะห์ขนบการสร้างงาน สืบสาวสาแหรกงานฝีมือเพื่ิอค้นหาแบบแผนอันเป็นเอกลักษณ์และการออกแบบเค้าโครง หรืออีกนัยหนึ่งคือสุนทรียะของการเอ้อระเหย(aesthetic of slow)

งานของผู้กำกับที่กล่าวไปคือปฏิบัติการหักดิบคนดูจากการเป็นทาสวัฒนธรรมตาลีตาเหลือก ดัดหลังความคาดหวังกับท่วงทีการเล่าตามขนบหนังและปรับปรุงท่วงทำนองทางกายภาพของคนดูให้สงบ ตั้งมั่นในสติ เมื่อหลุดพ้นจากการรังควานของกองทัพภาพและสรรพสื่อซ่อนนัยขนาดมหึมาจากการระดมกำลังของหนังเอาใจตลาด ดนดูจึงจะเข้าถึงอรรถรสแห่งสามัญสำนึกอันไพศาล และอ่อนละมุน ภาพเหตุการณ์ลากยาว(longtake)เปิดโอกาสให้เกิดการพเนจรทางสายตา คนดูั้ดั้นด้นไปได้ทั่วแนวระนาบของกรอบภาพและสังเกตรายละเอียดจิปาถะที่แฝงเร้น หรือคอยยั่วแหย่จากเพลงกล้องอันพริ้วไหว

ในส่วนของการเล่าเรื่อง บรรดากลไกรวบรัดวิบากกรรมและเร่งรัดแรงจูงใจทางจิตวิทยา นาฎกรรมขาประจำใใงูนงานน้ำเน่าหมดสิทธิ์ประกาศศักดา และต้องยอมหลีกทางให้องค์ประกอบอื่น ๆ (เนื้อหา ลีลาการแสดงและท่วงทำนอง)ได้มีบทบาทเสมอภาคกันมากขึ้น

เร็ว/ช้า(Fast/Slow)

แนวคิดในเรื่องสุนทรียะของความอืดนั้นไม่ตายตัวและเลื่อนไหลอย่างยิ่ง ในการชี้ขาด ก็ต้องวางเกณฑ์ละเอียดยิบเพื่อวัดอัตราเร่งของรูปแบบการนำเสนอและความระทึกใจจากการขับเคลื่อนเรื่องราว การร้อยโยงบทสัมภาษณ์โจมตี “ความเร่ง” ของเหล่าผู้กำกับนอกกระแสหลักต่างกรรมต่างวาระ จะพบการก่อตัวของสำนวนโต้แย้งอันมีแบบแผนชัดเจนยิ่ง

กัส แวน ซ็องต์จำกัดความหนังอเมริกันว่าเป็นงาน”ตีหัวเข้าบ้าน – เราเล่นกันอย่างนั้น”(Mccaulay, 2002) ขณะที่เบลา ทาร์(Bela  Tarr)มองว่า”ผู้คนยุคนี้รู้จักแต่หยอดข้อมูล หยอดตัด หยอดตัด  เอะอะก็หันไปพึ่งตรรกะดังกล่าวอันเป็นตรรกะของการเดาเรื่องแต่ีไม่ประสากับตรรกะของชีวิตเอาเสียเลย(Ballard, 2004)ข้อสังเกตที่ว่าหนังรุ่นปัจจุบันตัดต่อเป็นบ้าเป็นหลังจนกลายเป็นเรื่องธรรมดา แต่ก็จำต้องยอมรับว่านับแต่คริสตทศวรรษ 1990 เป็นต้นมาหนังตลาดเอาเป็นเอาตายกับการลองผิดลองถูกเพื่อเพิ่มกำลังขับแก่มายาของอัตราเร่ง

เดวิด บอร์ดเวล(David  Bordwell)อรรถาธิบายผ่านงานศึกษายาวเป็นหางว่าวว่า การหล่อเลี้ยงความระทึกถือเป็นลูกหากินของหนังกระแสหลัก ขณะที่นอกดินแดนสหรัฐ หนังสารรูปไม่น่าพิสมัย ไม่อยู่กับร่องกับรอย สารพัดสายพันธุ์ต่างพากันวิวัฒนาการตัวเองและแตกหน่อต่อยอดขนานใหญ่จนแทบไม่เหลือเค้าฮอลลิวูดติดตัว กว่าจะจบแต่ละคาบเหตุการณ์ลงได้หนังก็ไม่เหลือเอกภาพ รุ่งริ่งด้วยการตัดต่อยัดเยียดลูกล่อลูกชนถี่ยิบ กล้องเคลื่อนตัวและกราดจับภาพส่งเดช ไม่คำนึงถึงตรรกะปมขัดแย้ง พื้นที่ท้องเรื่องหรือพฤติกรรมตัวละคร ภาพระยะใกล้และภาพและภาพยิงโดดเข้ามาแทนที่ภาพระยะกลาง(หรือระยะกลางกึ่งไกล 2 ฝีภาพ)เพื่ออำนวยความสะดวกมือลำดับภาพในการลงแส้เฆี่ยนเหตุการณ์ การปลุกปั่นอารมณ์ระทึกชำเราคุณค่าแต่อ้อนแต่ออกของหนังเหลือเพียงภาพประมวลเหตุการณ์และนำมาซึ่งการเห่อตามกันในลักษณะที่ฟิลลิป  ลอเพท(Phillip  Lopate)บรรยายไว้ว่า  คาบเหตุการณ์ไม่เป็นคาบตามที่ควรอีกต่อไป  ฝีภาพสมประกอบน้อยกว่าภาพโดด ๆ ด้วยซ้ำไปงานโดยทัวไปกลายเป็นการยำใหญ่ใส่สารพัดไม่ต้องเลือกสรรกันแล้ว อะไรที่มีแววว่าจะเพิ่มความดุเด็ดเผ็ดมันก็กระหน่ำใ่ส่เข้ามาให้เสร็จ ๆ ไป

เชื่อขนมกินได้เลยว่าความยาวฝีภาพหนังอเมริกันจากชั่ว 3 ทศวรรษหลังไม่แคล้วต้องลดลงตามลำดับดังที่บอร์ดเวลตั้งข้อสังเกตผ่าน Figures Traced in Light งานเขียนในค.ศ.2005 ไว้ว่า ความยาวเฉลี่ยฝีภาพของหนังยุคคริสตทศวรรษ 1970 อยู่ระหว่าง 5 ถึง 9 วินาที พอในช่วงทศวรรษ 1990 ก็หดเหลือ 2 ถึง 8 วินาที งานรุ่นหลัง ๆ ลงมายังเอาเป็นเอาตายกับโหมกระพือความระทึกใจ  ผลจากการตัดต่อบ้าระห่ำ หั่น ซอยไม่ลืมหูลืมตาของ The Bourne Supremacy(งานค.ศ.2004) และ The Bourne Ultimatum(งาน ค.ศ.2007)ส่งผลให้ความยาวเฉลี่ยฝีภาพมีค่าต่ำกว่า 2 วินาที  ช่องว่างระหว่างการสร้างความเร้าใจหูดับตับไหม้ไม่หยุดหย่อนกับสุนทรียะอันเอ้อระเหยขยายตัวจนกู่ไม่กลับ เมื่อหันมาดูผลงานที่มีความยาวเฉลี่ยฝีภาพอยู่ที่ 35.5 วินาทีอย่าง Stellet Litch งานค.ศ.2007 ของเรย์กาดาส์ หรือ 35.7 วินาทีในงาน ค.ศ.2006 เรื่อง Honor de cavalleria ของแซร์รา  65.1 วินาทีใน Gerry งานค.ศ.2002 ของกัส แวน ซ็องต์  66.7 วินาที ในค.ศ.2003 ใน  Café Lumiére โดยโหวเชี่ยวเฉียน  136.6 วินาทีใน Hamaca paraguaya งานค.ศ.2006 ของปาส  เอ็นซีนา(Paz  Encina)  151.4 วินาทีใน Sátántangó งานค.ศ.1994 ของเบลา  ทาร์(Bela  Tarr) หรือ 884.8 วินาทีจาก Five: Long Takes Dedecated to Yasujiro  Ozu งานค.ศ.2005  ของเคียรอสตามี  ฝีภาพยาวมีบทบาทยืนพื้นในการถ่ายทอดและส่งสัญญาณถึงการเริ่มต้นฝีภาพอันเป็นเอกเทศและบริบูรณ์ในตัวเอง ส่วนมองตาจ(montage)เป็นคู่ปรับกับเอกภาพและการปล่อยวาง โดยมีการหน่วงเหนี่ยวคอยรั้งชะลอ

จุดเด่นของหนังเรือเกลือร่วมสมัยอยู่ตรงโครงสร้างการเล่าสมถะจากการลดทอน  บ่มเพาะความว่างเปล่าธาตุพื้นฐานแต่อ้อนแต่ออกของเรื่องราว  การควบแน่นของประจุเรื่องราวหรือการต่อความยาวสาวความยืดใน Honor de cavalleria และ Werckmeister harmóniák(งานค.ศ.2000)ที่ทาร์สังเคราะห์จาก Don Quixote ของเซรบานเตส(Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra) และ The Melancholy of Resistance ของครอสนอโฮคาย(László Krasznahorkai)  การเอ้อระเหยหรือพิรี้พิไรระดับยกเครือข่ายใน Vive l’amour งาน ค.ศ.1994 ของไฉ่  Sátántangó ของทาร์  Elephant งานค.ศ.2003 ของแวน ซ็องต์ และ Still Life งานค.ศ.2006 ของเจี่ย หรือการเจือจางแบบแผนการเล่าตามลำดับเวลาเพื่ออ้อยอิ่งอยู่กับยามบ่ายอันรื่นรมย์ดังที่อภิชาติพงศ์ วีระเศรษฐกุลแย้มผ่าน Blissfully Yours ไว้ในค.ศ.2002  หรือแทนที่ด้วยการดั้นด้นธุดงค์ใน Trys dienos งานของบาร์ตัส(Bartas) ในค.ศ.1991  Gerry งานของแวน ซ็องต์ และ Collossal Youth งานของคอสตา ในค.ศ.2006  แต่การลดทอนดังกล่าวอาจนำความเบื่อหน่ายมาสู่คนดู ไม่ว่าจะมาในรูปการจับเจ่าอยู่กับเรื่องมโนสาเร่หรือการแทรกอนุกรมเหตุการณ์เข้ามาสร้างความไขว้เขว

หนังจงกรม(A Cinema of Walking)

รูปแบบงานต่อต้านขนบนาฏกรรมมาต้นตอจากงานของสำนักร่วมสมัยยุโรป(European modernist)ยุคคริสตทศวรรษ 1950 ถึง 1960  ครั้งกระนั้น การข่มฝืนกล้ำกลืนความรู้สึกเข้ามาบดบังงานประโลมโลกย์นรกชังสวรรค์แกล้ง(dramatic incident)และแนวคิดว่าด้วยความแปลกแยก สันโดษนิยมและความแหนงหน่ายมีพลังดุดันเหนือกว่าปมขัดแย้งชั่วนาตาปี  แนวทางต่าง ๆ ดังกล่าวไม่ว่าจะเป็นการล้มล้างนาฏกรรมสมัยนิยม  การทอดระยะทางอารมณ์และการขยักอั้นเรื่องราวดดยแทรกสร้อยเหตุการณ์และเรื่องไม่เป็นเรื่องเข้ามากินเวลาฝีภาพออกไปเรื่อย ๆ เหล่านี้เป็นพลังสั่งสมก่อเกิดสุนทรียะของการเอ้อระเหยขึ้นมา หนังจงกรม เป็นหนึ่งในหน่อความคิดที่แทงยอดสืบสันดานในภายภาคต่อมาจากการปลูกฝังของพวกหัวสมัยใหม่(modernist) อันมีสาแหรกบรรพบุรุษย้อนขึ้นกลับไปถึง Viaggio in Italia งานค.ศ.1953 ของรอสเซลลินี(Roberto Rossellini) ไล่ลงมาถึง L’avventura งานของแอนโทนิโอนี(Michelangelo Antonioni)ในค.ศ.1960 แม้แต่แนวของวาร์ดา(Agnès Varda)ที่เห็นในงานเมื่อค.ศ.1954 เรื่อง La Pointe Courte รวมไปถึง Hiroshima mon amour งานค.ศ.1959 ของเรอเนส์(Alain  Resnais)  หนังเหล่านี้หมดเปลืองเวลาไปกับการเดินอันถือเป็นการฉีกกฎการเล่าแบบตีโพยตีพาย(drama)และมักถือกันว่างานเหล่านี้เป็นบุรพจารย์ของหนังร่วมสมัย  เหตุการณ์เนิบเนือยใน En la ciudad de Sylvia งานค.ศ.2007 ของโฆเซ หลุยส์ เกอแรง(José Luis Guerín)  Gerry   Elephant และ Last Days(ค.ศ.2005)ของแวน  ซ็องต์ และงานชั้นหลัง ๆ ของเบลา  ทาร์ล้วนถ่ายทอดผ่านฝีภาพเคียงขนาบจากกล้องเคลื่อนที่เร็ว

หลายต่อหลายครั้งใน Sátántangó ทาร์ผูกคาบเหตุการณ์จากภาพเหตุการณ์ในระยะห่าง และมีตัวละครเดินแวะเวียนผ่านเข้าออก ง่วนอยู่กับพฤติกรรมซ้ำซาก หรือไม่ก็ยกฝีภาพทั้งฝีภาพให้กับพฤติกรรมอ้อยอิ่งแต่แน่วแน่ไม่ว่าจะเป็นในฉากหมอดื้อแพ่งขอเหล้า หรือชาวบ้านพากันย้ายถิ่น หรือเหตุการณ์ก่อนสิ้นวันที่สอง  ฉากที่ทรงความหมายยิ่งต้องยกให้ฝีภาพอิริมิออส(Irimias)กับเพทรินอบากบั่นจาริกฝ่ากระแสลมกระโชกไปตามถนนในช่วงเปิดฉากบทที่ 2 ชื่อ Feltámadunk  กล้องของทาร์ขยับขึ้น ๆ ลง ๆ จับภาพซากปฏิกูลพันแข้งพันขาหมุนเคว้งกระเจิงอยู่อย่างนั้นนานร่วม ๆ สองนาที  ฉากสิบแปดมงกุฎตบเท้าบุกศาลที่แทรกเข้ามายิ่งซ้ำเติมสถานการณ์ให้ยิ่งเยิ่นเย้อบานปลายกลายเป็นคาบเหตุการณ์วายป่วงสุดบรรยาย ไม่มีจุดหมายของการบากบั่น ไม่มีการให้สารสนเทศเชิงวัฎจักรอันระบุจุดเริ่มต้นและบทสรุป  เมื่อเป็นดังนี้ฝีภาพทิ้งทวนจึงอาจโผล่มาได้ทุกเมื่อ

ที่สุดแห่งฉากจงกรมอย่างไม่เป็นทางการต้องยกให้ฉากเจ้าเล่ห์แสนกลความยาว 9 นาที จากผลงานในคศ.2008 ของแซร์ราเรื่อง El Cant dels ocells  คาบเหตุการณ์นี้เริ่มต้นจากชาวดินแดนสามกษัตริย์ลากสังขารตัดผ่านภูมิทัศน์รกร้าง ถ่ายทำด้วยการกราดหน้ากล้องจับภาพจากระยะกึ่งกลางกึ่งไกล(medium-long shot) จากนั้นตรึงหน้ากล้องและปักหลักจับภาพตัวละครผลุบโผล่อยู่ลิบ ๆ จากกรอบภาพอันเป็นผลของการเคลื่อนกล้องตามแนวทแยง   5 นาทีผ่านไปตัวละครก็หายจ้อยไปจากแนวเส้นขอบฟ้าก่อนจะโผล่พ้นทิวขอบเนินขึ้นมาอีก คราวนี้เหลือเพียงร่างเล็กจิ๋วดุ่มตะคุ่มท่ามกลางความไพศาลของเวิ้งฟ้าและผืนโลก  ผ่านไป 7 นาทีคนดูจึงจะพอจับทางได้ว่าแท้ที่จริงอัครศาสนูปถัมภกเหล่านั้นเป็นฝ่ายไล่หลังมา และแซร์ราก็ตัดภาพกลับมายังตัวละครในจังหวะที่พวกเขาอยู่กึ่งกลางระหว่างเส้นขอบฟ้ากับพื้นที่หน้ากล้อง  ช่วงต้นของฝีภาพคนดูจดจ่ออยู่กับสารรูปแปลกตาของตัวเดินเรื่อง จากรูปกายกลมดิก ท่าเดินระทดระทวย แต่ยิ่งนานออกไป ๆ  สาระสำคัญของฝีภาพก็ค่อยเผยตัว  ยิ่งนานไปความมานะบากบั่นของนักพรตเผ่ามากิก็ยิ่งเป็นที่ประจักษ์ พร้อมกันนั้นการทอดระยะเหตุการณ์อันให้ผลเป็นรูปธรรมต่าง ๆ นานาย่อมยังประโยชน์ในแง่ของการจับต้นชนปลายเหตุการณ์

จากท่วงทีอันชวนให้นึกถึงคติของทาร์คอฟสกี(Andréi Tarkovski)ที่ว่า แหล่งกำเนิดและองค์ประกอบแห่งพลังทั้งปวงของหนังคือ จังหวะในการจรรโลงเวลาผ่านกรอบภาพ(1987, น.113) แซร์ราทลายทำนบความรู้สึกต่อห้วงระยะเหตุการณ์ของคนดูและปลดปล่อยเวลาในมิติหนังจากขุมความคิดว่าด้วยการหล่อเลี้ยงความระทึกหรือมองตาจ(montage)  ความเงื่องหงอยเดินทางมาถึงขีดสุดของอุเบกขาธรรมและศรัทธาต่อขบวนการถอดสลักโวหารภาพ(mise-en-scène)ตามรายทางเวลาในฝีภาพก็ชักจะคลอนแคลน  โมงยามแห่งการหักหาญกับความรู้สึก(dramatic)ค้างเติ่งและหวนคืนเพื่อให้คนดูดื่มด่ำและฟ้องถึงอคติอายตนภาพต่อเสียงและแสงของคนดู ในห้วงเวลาของความเป็นไปเบื้องหน้า

หนังเอ้อระเหยร่วมสมัยเต็มไปด้วยวาระส่วนบุคคล ไม่ว่าจะเป็น  Honor de carvalleria ที่ใช้เวลาไปสี่นาทีครึ่งเพื่อฝีภาพ ๆ เดียว  การขับเคี่ยวกันระหว่างอิริยาบถนิ่งงันของดอนและซานโช(Don and Sancho)ฝ่ายหนึ่ง กับอีกฝ่ายคือดวงจันทร์ขณะเคลื่อนคล้อยตัดผ่านท้องฟ้า  ท่อนเปิดและท่อนปิดของ Stellet Licht(ฝีภาพยาว 2 และ 6 นาที ใช้เพื่อถ่ายทอดช่วงรอยต่อระหว่างโพล้เพล้กับพลบค่ำ) หรือจะเป็นการพรรณนาอาการนกเขาของมินชูชันชนิดกระเบียดต่อกระเบียดใน Blissfully Yours

ความจริงตามขนบบาแซ็ง(The Bazinian Real)

งานของผู้กำกับหลายรายที่อ้างมาล้วนจัดอยู่ในจำพวกปลุกผีลัทธิวิจารณ์ของบาแซง(André Bazin)โดยเฉพาะอย่างยิ่งในส่วนของการวางรากฐานทฤษฎีภววิทยาของฝีภาพยาวอันมีที่มาจากการประดิษฐ์ภาพตัวแทนความจำเป็นทางวัตถุวิสัย ดังมีหลักฐานเป็นลายลักษณ์อักษรในงานเขียนของบาแซ็งชื่อ The Ontology of the Photographic Image ที่ว่า บัดนี้ถึงคราวที่ภาพสรรพสิ่งจะได้เล่าแจ้งวัยวุฒิไปพร้อมด้วยโดยการแช่แข็งสภาพเก่าก่อนเอาไว้  หนังสือเล่มดังกล่าวของบาแซ็งเขียนขึ้นเพื่อยกย่องพลังวิเศษของหนังในการเก็บภาพตามสภาพวัตถุวิสัยแท้ ๆ ณ วาระหนึ่ง ๆ  เขาพัฒนาเครื่องมือพิสูจน์จุดร่วมของบรรดาคนทำหนังผู้ศรัทธาในความสืบเนื่องของความจริง(continuum of reality)และต่อต้านภาพเชิงเดี่ยว  วัตถุดิบสุดโปรดของเขาในการนำมาตั้งเป็นตุ๊กตาการวิเคราะห์ก็คือ สุนทรียะแบบสัจนิยมใหม่(neorealist aesthetic)ของงานในยุคสิ้นสงครามหมาด ๆ ของอิตาลี(Italian post-war cinema) ฝีภาพยาวของฌ็อง  เรอนัวร์(Jean  Renoir)  การถ่ายภาพจากมุมชัดลึกถึงไหนถึงกัน(extreme deep-focus)ของออร์สัน  เวลส์(Orson  Welles) และวิลเลียม  ไวเลอร์(William  Wyler)

บางครั้งทฤษฎีวิจารณ์ของบาแซ็งก็ดูเหมือนจะดูแคลนขบวนการหนังเรือเกลือร่วมสมัยอยู่ในที โดยเฉพาะอย่างยิ่ง กรณี ดาวโรจน์ของความบันเทิงขนาดมัธยัสถ์ อย่าง La Terra Trema กับการนำเสนอความสำราญแบบจำกัดจำเขี่ยนั้นสร้างความแค้นเคืองแก่เขาเป็นอย่างมาก หรือกับการปรามาส Umberto D(งานของเดอสิกา – - Vittorio De Sica) ว่าเป็นงานสัจนิยมซังกะตาย หากตีความว่าท่าทีดังกล่าวเป็นการถือหางแนวคิดที่ว่าระวางบรรจุความจริงเป็นเพียงการเรียกขานกรรมวิธีหนึ่งในการผลิตหนัง ก็พอจะเชื่อขนมกินได้ว่าหากงานอันเป็นแม่พิมพ์พันธุกรรมของอลอนโซ  อภิชาติพงษ์  เคียรอสตามี และแซร์ราออกฉายในครั้งกระโน้น ย่อมได้รับเชิญไปเป็นข้อพิสูจน์

บาแซ็งประกาศจุดยืนผ่านงานเขียนชื่อ “วิวัฒนาการของภาษาหนัง”(The Evolution of the Language of the Cinema) ว่า จุดประสงค์และผลของการลำดับภาพงานหนังกระแสหลักยุคทศวรรษ 1930 ตามแบบแผนที่ผ่านการวิเคราะห์มาอย่างดีนั้น เล็งผลเลิศอยู่แต่กับการหักหาญความรู้สึก(dramatic) หรือไม่ก็ในด้านจิตวิทยา(psychological) อีกทั้งยังเชื่อด้วยว่าเหตุการณ์หรือสาระสำคัญยังคงคุณค่าอยู่ครบถ้วนแม้จะผ่านการถ่ายทำ(being filmed)มา “การเปลี่ยนมุมมองโดยกล้อง ไม่เป็นเหตุให้มีการปนเปื้อน ให้ถือเสียว่าเป็นการประคับประคองกระบวนการถ่ายทอดความเป็นจริง”

ด้วยความไม่สบอารมณ์กับการสังเคราะห์แนวคิดว่าด้วยความจริงในทำนองดังกล่าว บาแซ็งหันไปเป็นตัวตั้งตัวตีให้กับกรรมวิธีทางเลือกอันให้ความสำคัญกับความสืบเนื่องของระวางความรู้สึกและห้วงเวลา ในการแยกธาตุหนังของโรเบิร์ต ฟลาเฮอร์ตี(Robert Flaherty) และเอริช ฟอน ชโตรฮาม(Erich von Stroheim) บาแซ็งชี้ถึงแนวโน้มของค่านิยมปฏิบัติการทางภาพที่มุ่งตีแผ่มากกว่าเติมแต่งความจริง และหาหนทางเปลื้องเปลือยแทนที่จะเผยอแย้มเวลา โดยการปลุกปั้นภาพตามเนื้อผ้าเพื่อแสดงตนในสนามเหตุการณ์ปัจจุบัน  จุดเด่นข้อนี้กลายเป็นร่างแหทางวิภาษวิธีที่เป็นผลจากการดึงดันกันระหว่างความระทึกใจเป็นบ้าเป็นหลังกับสุนทรียะของการเอ้อระเหยอันเป็นผลจากการละเลิกพฤติกรรม เจ้ากี้เจ้าการนำเสนอ(forceful representation)  ขณะที่การหล่อเลี้ยงความระทึกใจต้องหาทางเร่งรัดเหตุการณ์ด้วยการนับถอยหลังเวลาในฝีภาพและเปิดโอกาสให้กล้องวาดลวดลายเต็มเหนี่ยว  ส่วนสุนทรียะเอ้อระเหยนั้นจะระมัดระวังเป็นพิเศษในการสร้างความระคายเคืองแก่บูรณภาพของพื้นที่(spatial)และเวลา(temporal)เพื่อคงสภาพดั้งเดิมก่อนเกิดการถ่ายทำอันเป็นขั้วตรงกันข้ามกับรูปแบบของฟลาเฮอร์ตี  เรอนัวร์ หรือเดอสิกา ก็ด้วยแนวคิดด้านภาพแบบบาแซ็งส่งอิทธิพลแผ่ลึกต่อภาพยนตร์ร่วมสมัย เห็นได้ชัดจากการยืดห้วงเหตุการณ์

มรณกรรม(The Dead)

การเล่าด้วยลีลาอมพะนำ จืดแต่เจ็บของลิซานโดร  อลอนโซมีแววจะเป็นผู้กำกับฝีภาพยาวตามอุดมคติตามตำรับบาแซ็งได้ไม่ยาก  อลอนโซได้พิสูจน์ศรัทธาอันแรงกล้าของตนที่ว่าคนดูมีหนทางพินิจพิเคราะห์หนังโดยไม่จำเป็นต้องลงเรือลำเดียวกันกับหนัง  ลูกไม้พื้น ๆ ของอลอนโซอยู่ตรงเหตุบังเอิญที่ไม่ถึงกับจืดสนิทในแง่การขยี้ความรู้สึกและการไหลเคลื่อนเสมอต้นเสมอปลายของคาบเวลาในแต่ละฝีภาพ  การวิเคราะห์ทิศทางความรู้สึกในแต่ละอึดใจเพื่อถ่ายทอดชีวิต ณ ระนาบหนึ่งระนาบใดโดยปราศจากการแต่งแต้ม

งานของอลอนโซไม่ใคร่จะเสนอหน้าเข้าไปร่วมพิสูจน์สมมติฐานที่ว่ายิ่งมีแนวโน้มเป็นสัจนิยมมากเพียงใด จำนวนฝีภาพในหนังก็ยิ่งน้อยลง ดังจะเห็นได้จาก 60 ฝีภาพใน La Libertad เมื่อค.ศ.2001  77 ฝีภาพใน Los Muertos เมื่อค.ศ.2004 43 ฝีภาพใน Fantasma เมื่อค.ศ.2006  และ Liverpool งานค.ศ.2008 อันประกอบขึ้นจาก 68 ฝีภาพ ทั้งที่งานเหล่านี้ล้วนตอกย้ำแนวคิดว่าด้วยภาพยนตร์ขนานแท้อันมีคุณสมบัติสำคัญคือ ไม่ใช้นักแสดง ไม่พึ่งการจัดฉาก การใช้ประโยชน์จากเล่าเรื่องให้คุ้มค่า(มีปมเรื่องแค่พอ”หาเรื่อง”) ใช้ตัวแสดงนอกวงการ(เอาชาวบ้านมาเล่น) และการใช้ชนบทไกลปืนเที่ยงเป็นฉากหลัง ตามที่บาแซ็งแจกแจงเป็นเกณฑ์ไว้ผ่านงานวิจารณ์ Bicycle Thief(งานค.ศ.1948) และเป็นวัตถุดิบชั้นยอดของงานสร้า้ง”สุนทรียะมายาภาพของความจริงอันสมบูรณ์แบบ”(perfect illusion of reality)

เค้าโครงการเล่า Los Muertos ผูกขึ้นจากการเดินทางของคนแปลกถิ่นจากแหล่งพำนักหรือพื้นที่หลังเขาแห่งหนึ่งไปยังอีกแห่ง อลอนโซหวนกลับไปใช้้แม่บทการเล่าดังกล่าวอีกครั้งในคราวกำกับ Liverpool  หลังจากพ้นคุก อาร์เจนติโน  บาร์กัสล่องเรือไปตามลำน้ำ(จากลาบาญ(La Valle)ไปยังปากแม่น้ำยากาเรๅ(Yacare) ทางตะวันออกเฉียงเหนือของอาร์เจนตินา)เพื่อส่งจดหมายและไปเยี่ยมลูกสาว   หนังถ่ายทอดกิจกรรมเผชิญโลกของบาร์กัสทั้งในภาคเข้มข้นและจืดชืดผ่าอนุกรรมฝีภาพยาว ไม่ว่าจะเป็นการกินอาหาร  จัดแจงสัมภาระ  โกนหนวด  เดินเรือ ซื้อาหารและของฝาก  เอกเขนก  สูบยา เก็บรังผึ้ง

ระหว่างเส้นทางการเล่าจะมีการแทรกชนวนเหตุ 3 ชุดอันเป็นทางผ่านเชิงภววิทยาสู่การสางปมปริศนา ทั้งยังสืบเนื่องกับสาแหรกวัฒนธรรมเฉพาะถิ่น ไม่ว่าจะเป็นเหตุฆาตกรรมอันเป็นปฐมเหตุ  การมีเพศสัมพันธ์อย่างเสียมิได้กับโสเภณีและภาพสื่อถึงการล้มแกะเพื่อประทังชีพ  ปัจจุบันที่เห็นกันล้วนเป็นผลสืบเนื่องของเหตุการณ์เก่าก่อนที่แจงมา  แม้ว่าฝีภาพเหล่านั้นจะไม่ได้เล่าความเป็นมาละเอียดยิบทุกขั้นทุกตอนตามระยะเวลาขณะเหตุการณ์ดำเนินอยู่ดุจเดียวกับใน Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles งานค.ศ.1975 ของอเคอร์มาน หรือบรรดาผลงานเอกอุของทาร์  โซกูรอฟ หรือ เจี่ยฉางเค่อ

น้อยครั้งที่งานประเภทสุนทรียะเอ้อระเหยจะผูกฝีภาพเพื่อรวบรัดตัดความเหตุการณ์  กรณีงานของอลอนโซอาจมีการแทรกภาพจากการขยับขยายมุมกล้องหรือจีบทบรายละเอียดซุกไว้ในซอกพับเล็ก ๆ บ้างหรืออาจจะกระโจนข้ามรายละเอียดบ้างตามแต่โอกาส แต่อย่างไรก็ดีการตัดต่อเหล่านั้นหาได้สร้างรอยสะดุดแก่กระบวนเพลงเล่าเรื่องไร้น้ำใจหรือบูรณภาพแห่งพื้นที่เหตุการณ์  ความยาวเฉลี่ยฝีภาพในงานชิ้นนี้ของอลอนโซอยู่ที่ 59.3 นาที

พลวัตรเวียนว่ายตายเกิดของการผลุบ ๆ โผล่ ๆ ส่งผลให้ตัวเหตุการณ์(หรือไม่ถึงกับครบสูตรความเป็นเหตุการณ์)ยังคงตามหลอกหลอน แม้ตัวฝีภาพจะลาลับไปแล้ว ในความเชื่องช้ามีการทวนสัญญาณความทรงจำให้แจ่มชัดอยู่เสมอ  หลายคาบเหตุการณ์จบลงด้วยภาพบาร์กัสเดินดุ่มกลืนหายไปกับส่วนหลังของระวางภาพ ปล่อยให้กล้องของอลอนโซอึ้งเหม่ออยู่กับพื้นที่ไร้ความเคลื่อนไหว หรือผินหน้ากล้องกลับไปย้อนสำรวจพื้นที่ ๆ เคยไม่อยู่ในสายตา

ในบทวิเคราะห์ Jeanne  Dielman เบน  ซิงเกอร์(Ben  Singer) จำกัดความกลยุทธนี้ว่าเป็น”อาการหลงล้าหลังพฤติกรรม”(post-action lag) โดยอ้างไปถึงแม่ไม้การเล่าของอเคอร์มานที่มักจะอาลัยอาวรณ์วัตถุในท้องเรื่องอยู่สักครู่ถึงค่อยตัดภาพไปยังกิจวัตรอื่นของจานน์(1989, น.59)  ตามหลักสุนทรียะเอ้อระเหยให้อนุมานว่า เครื่องมือดังกล่าวมีไว้ย้ำระวางคุณค่า การตัดต่อโต้ง ๆ มีให้เห็นไม่บ่อยแต่จะเน้นหนทางสู่ความปล่อยวาง

หนึ่งในคาบเหตุการณ์ระหว่างการล่องเรือตามลำน้ำ จะเห็นบาร์กัสวางมือซดน้ำจากภาชนะ จุดบุหรี่สูบและทอดหุ่ย พายเรือเป็นครั้งคราว  อลอนโซจับเจ่าอยู่กับการถ่ายทอดอิริยาบถเหล่านี้อยู่ 3 นาทีก่อนเปลี่ยนจุดเพ่งของกล้อง ผละจากบาร์กัสและกวาดหน้ากล้องไปตรวจตราตลิ่งใกล้ ๆ ต่ออีกร่วม ๆ นาทีก่อนตัดภาพ นับเป็นการตอกย้ำถึงอานุภาพของการตัดต่อในด้านการเปิดพื้นที่แจกแจงเหตุการณ์ เป็นใจให้แก่การตั้งสติพินิจพิเคราะห์เหตุการณ์ พฤติการณ์และรายละเอียดของสรรพสิ่ง ดังคำกล่าวของธีโอ  แองเจโลปูลอสที่ว่า การพัก การฆ่าเวลา  เปิดโอกาสให้(คนดู)ประเมินคุณค่าหนังด้วยเหตุด้วยผล ทั้งยังจรรโลงและเติมเต็มความหมายอันแตกต่างของคาบการเล่า

การประคบประหงมเวลาตามคาถาสุนทรียะเอ้อระเหย ต่อความยาวสาวความยืดผลิตซ้ำศักยภาพของฝีภาพในการถ่ายทอดธรรมชาติแห่งความจริงเชิงปรากฏการณ์และนำมาซึ่งภาวะเป็นปรปักษ์ระหว่างความกระโชกกระชั้นกับความเนิบนาบ ขณะที่ความวูบวาบกล้าได้กล้าเสียเทหน้าตักความตื่นตา บั่น ซอย และกระชากความสนใจเข้าเดิมพัน พร้อมกับปิดโอกาสคนดูที่จะเพ่งพินิจ ฉุกคิดและปะทะสังสรรค์

หนึ่งมุมมองอันปราดเปรื่องของฌอง  มารีอา  สเตราบ์(Jean  Marie  Straub)ต่อ Où gît votre sourire enfoui? งานค.ศ.2001 ของเปโดร  คอสตา(Pedro  Costa) น่าจะถือเป็นการสรุปสูตรอันลงตัวยิ่ง  ”เพียงให้เวลาและอุเบกขา สัญญะก็จะกลายเป็นนฤมิตกรรม”

แปลจาก

Flanagan,   Matthew. “Towards an Aesthetic of Slow in Contemporary Cinema”. http://www.16-9.dk/2008-11/side11_inenglish.htm

Un ejercicio interesante para comprender El hombre de Londres es preguntarse porque Béla Tarr ha decidido no partir, como venía siendo habitual, de una novela de László Krasznahorkai (aunque siga siendo su guionista) para poner en forma una adaptación de un autor a priori alejado de su concepción artística como Georges Simenon. Tras una lectura atenta de la novela, buscando lo esencial entre sus párrafos y dejando a un lado la comparación casi inevitable entre texto e imágenes, encontraremos  un verbo que se repite insistentemente. Mirar. Sobre él trataremos de ir tejiendo a lo largo de este análisis, la filiación entre texto e imágenes, entre Simenon y Tarr, y entre El hombre Londres y la filmografía de la que forma parte.

Porque mirar es el trabajo habitual de Maloin, un guarda agujas de una subestación portuaria de ferrocarril. Desde una torre de control elevada varios metros de suelo, esperará mirando desde su posición privilegiada a que llegue un barco[i], para cambiar las agujas del ferrocarril que permite la entrada del tren que viene a recoger sus pasajeros para llevarles a la estación central de la ciudad.

Maloin, por tanto, se enclava dentro del arquetipo del personaje mirón que sirve de anclaje en el intercambio de puntos de vista sobre los que mueven las películas de Tarr. El doctor de Sátántangó (1994) o János en Werckmeister harmóniák (2000) serían los puntos precedentes de una línea que comienza a torcerse en El hombre de Londres, ya que el punto de vista que se deposita sobre Maloin será el único sobre el que se desarrollará la narración. Recordemos además, que estos mirones son los encargados de testificar con su mirada la disgregación de la comunidad en la que habitan tras la llegada de un personaje extranjero a ella[ii]. Sin embargo, en El hombre de Londres, el extranjero que provoca la situación excepcional, llamado Brown, aparecerá a diferencia de las dos películas anteriores sin la intención que intervenir en el lugar.

En el plano secuencia inicial de la película, Tarr acoplará nuestra mirada a la de Maloin, para que observemos en igualdad de condiciones la escena en la que Brown, con su compañero Teddy, consiguen sacar del barco, y de forma clandestina, un maletín por el que luego discutirán. En esta discusión, al borde del espigón del puerto, Teddy caerá al agua junto con el maletín. Brown huirá, y Maloin bajará de su torre de control para recoger el maletín que ha quedado abandonado. Dentro de él, no podía aparecer otra cosa que no fuera ese dinero que acompaña a todos los personajes extranjeros que entran en las comunidades a las que miran los protagonistas de Tarr.

Sobre este punto se producirá una nueva variación en el imaginario de Tarr, ya que en El hombre de Londres no existe una comunidad visible como tal. Esta será presentada como un eco de la visión, representada como una línea de casas más allá del puerto. Tarr esta vez se olvidará de esa totalidad, para concentrarla en la familia de Maloin. Su mujer y su hija. Un mundo encerrado en una casa. Un mundo que forma parte del reducido mundo de Maloin, junto con su torre y el bar al que acude todos los días después de trabajar para jugar una partida de ajedrez.

Tres lugares que conformarán un triangulo que se revelará de vital importancia tras el amanecer del día después del acontecimiento del puerto. Porque en ese bar, Brown depositará la mirada sobre Maloin. El mirón pasa a ser mirado y eso se convierte en acontecimiento en un vida vacía de todo contenido social. Maloin, vouyeur por obligación, atrapado en una vida rutinaria de trayectos entre torre-bar-casa, encontrará un suceso extraordinario al sentirse mirado. A diferencia de los arquetipos de la obra de Tarr, la irrupción de ese extranjero y su dinero no supondrá un cambio en la comunidad, ni siquiera directamente sobre Maloin, ya que esa mirada insignificante, cuando sea retirada, producirá un cambio radical en la vida de Maloin con la aparición de un nuevo hombre de Londres en acción.

Este es Morrison, un investigador que también viene de Londres, y que nos descubrirá que el maletín pertenece a Mitchell, un promotor de espectáculos en Londres. Brown es descubierto y huye. Esa huida provocará el gesto determinante que marcará la película. Con la ausencia de su mirada, Maloin tratará de hacerle presente reproduciendo en su hogar los gestos que ha ido observando en el intercambio de miradas en el bar y desde la torre. Esa reproducción consistirá en adaptar a su manera la bronca que vio entre Brown y Teddy, a una situación durante la cena con su mujer. Y posteriormente para reproducir el gesto del robo del dinero de Brown, robando a su propia mujer el dinero que esconde en una pequeña caja, tras escuchar desde la distancia a Morrison detallar como se produjo el robo del dinero en Londres.

O dicho de otro modo. Lo que Maloin hace es adaptar al ámbito privado de su vida una situación azarosa observada en el terreno de lo público. La paradoja reside en que Maloin trata de ordenar un caos en el que cree que está sumida su familia, a partir de una serie de acontecimientos fortuitamente encadenados (como las carambolas en un juego de billar) sustentados en una vaga y distante interpretación sostenida por la mirada a la que está reducida su vida.

Al mismo tiempo que Maloin trata de llenar su vida a través de la reproducción de lo que fue Brown, Morrison llevará a cabo en el puerto una reproducción de la llegada de Brown y la muerte de Teddy. Maloin lo observará todo desde la misma posición y de la misma manera que observó el referente original. Momento tras el cual, Morrison depositará su mirada sobre Maloin. Este, de nuevo tendrá sobre sí una mirada que le hará cambiar de comportamiento.

Morrison le narrará la historia personal que ha dejado en fuera de campo Brown. Una mujer y unos hijos en dificultades económicas. Maloin en ese momento decide reproducir lo que no ha visto de Brown, prolongando el gesto de salvación de la familia que no puede llegar a completar este. Para ello rescatará a su hija, Henriette, de un trabajo en el que es utilizada como objeto de mirada gracias al uniforme que es obligada a llevar. Durante la celebración de su liberación aparecerá en el bar, convertido en centro epífanico de la mirada, la mujer de Brown.

Esta, al igual que Maloin, se nos dibuja como solo mirada. Con un gesto y una quietud que trasmiten una ética desbordada por la imposibilidad sostener una vida que se viene abajo, observará lo que tiene alrededor, asimilando las palabras que se vierten sobre ella. Maloin, en un momento determinado, cruzará la mirada con ella. Este cruce de miradas volverá a ser decisivo. La ética que subyace de la mirada de la mujer de Brown, traspasa a Maloin de tal manera que es desactivado de la posesión a la que le tienen condenado las miradas posadas en él. De esta manera se convierte otra vez en si mismo, a través de la mirada de ese otro(a) definido, precisamente, por la misma falta de atributos.

En la penúltima escena, Henriette comunicará a su padre que ha descubierto a Brown escondido en un cobertizo del puerto. Maloin acudirá presto a socorrerle con una serie de alimentos que tiene a mano en su casa. Al llegar delante del cobertizo, algo invisible cruza la pantalla y vuelve a afectar a Maloin. Este entra al cobertizo y cierra la puerta. No podremos ver lo que ha pasado allí dentro, pero sabremos cuando salga que ha matado a Brown[iii]

Es inevitable pensar que esta nueva reproducción de algo que ha pasado antes, se ha producido por la mirada de alguien en fuera de campo. Pero analizando la escena, nos encontraremos una satánica paradoja. Brown muere como reproducción de un gesto que nace de él mismo, en la noche de la discusión con Teddy. El que miraba era Maloin, y el único que miraba con Maloin era el espectador. Así se encargaba Tarr de filmarlo, acoplando nuestra mirada a la de Maloin durante el tiempo que duraba la ascensión por las escaleras de la torre. En contraplano tendremos el paseo hacia el cobertizo, en el cual la cámara seguirá (en uno de los habituales paseos de Tarr) a Maloin dándole distancia, separándose de él. Un espacio que separará la mirada del espectador de la de Maloin, para empujarle a la reproducción del gesto que quedaba por cerrar. Una muerte que clausura el relato del personaje antes de cierre moral[iv] que ejecuta Bela Tarr a través del reparto del dinero que devuelve Maloin tras confesarse culpable ante Morrison.

Final a modo de coda que resume lo que es El hombre de Londres. Una narración de la mirada entre fueras de campo. Entre el fuera de campo donde se robo el maletín y el fuera de campo donde quedó el que lo robó. Un testimonio de un flujo invisible de miradas y gestos, que unirán lo que no vemos y que quedará, tras la muerte de Brown, como algo que no ha pasado. Todo se ha borrado salvo la experiencia del tiempo a través de la mirada. Quedando formulada, en el fuera de campo del lado del espectador, la pregunta  de si hemos visto lo que nos mira tras haberlo mirado primero, para ser advertidos del peligro que corremos de ser colonizados en la misma manera que lo fue Maloin.

Ricardo Adalia Martín

Cinema started as simple, single-shot, full-length proscenium compositions resembling theater, the only thing it could find to reference to commercialize itself. By the next twenty years, there was a new vocabulary. The closeup, montage, and parallel storytelling fragmented the continuity of the previous proscenium-encased static-frame full-figure images. Separate fragments were now placed together to form meaning; the director could play with time and cinematic space. It was exciting. Was this an inevitable direction or just one road cinema chose to take?….Somehow Bela has gotten himself back there psychically and learned things all over again as if modern cinema had never happened.

Gus Van Sant.        (Source:  blog Girlish, post  Bela Tarr)


S: It seems to me that there are certain sections of Satantango which emphasize the image far more than the story, and vice versa. Do you see a tension between image and narrative?

B: I don’t think they are detached, because the story is always a part  of  the image. In my vocabulary, story doesn’t mean the same thing it means in American film language. There are human stories, natural stories, all kinds of stories. The question lies in where you put the emphasis on what’s most important. There are everyday tidbits that are very important. For instance, in Damnation, we leave the story and look at a close-up of beer mugs. But for me, that’s also an important story. This is what I mean when I say that I’m trying to look at things from a cosmic dimension. If I could describe a film fully by telling you the narrative, I wouldn’t want to make the film. It’s time that film frees itself from the shackles of linearity. It drives me crazy that everyone thinks film must equal linear narrative.

A Brief interview with Bela Tarr


….not a film you watch so much as an environment, world, which you inhabit for a time.

Jared Rapfogel


…..bells, cows, the distruction of old furniture, dipsomania, rain, dogs, and many other beautiful things…

The Art of Memory (blog)

Structure and detail

Partisans in the persistent and hopeless fight for human dignity:

There are twelve chapters in all, told from differing viewpoints with overlapping narratives – the story progresses in linear fashion, but the start of a new chapter may move events back a few hours to replay part of the previous chapter from a different angle. The narrative itself is for some while ambiguous in structure – halfway through I began to suspect I was now watching events that occurred before those of the opening scenes, a view I later reversed. Not that this necessarily matters, as it becomes increasingly evident that storytelling in anything approaching a traditional sense is not what Sátántangó is all about.

Kill the Snark:

Satantango is based upon a novel by Laszlo Krasznahorkai. Apparently in synch with the source material, it is arranged like a tango: six steps forward, six steps back (but not in that order). Some scenes advance the plot, while others step backward and show the same scene from a different character’s perspective, so the audience slowly learns what is happening to multiple characters concurrently as they criss-cross each other’s paths, each trapped in his own world to the point of obsession and paranoia.

Below, the twelve chapter  headings as translated* into English in subtitles on the Artifical Eye Disk,  with my own ‘script’ ( impressionistic action, some  dialogue and transcribed voice over/narration), to remind the person who, like me, who has watched the film then immediately forgets which bit is where.

In this synopsis of the Facets DVD, “Rise from the dead” becomes, “We, the Resurrected”, “Only trouble and Work” is  “Only problems and Work”. The final chapter is “The Circle is Completed” which is quite a way from the AI’s ” No Way Out”.

Cow scene

SEE Béla Tarr’s Long Takes (an education in film)

More thoughts on cows in note 7. Cows and horses.

Chapter 1. The News is They are Coming

Church bells. Window. Futaki and Mrs. Schmit have been getting it together. Mrs. Schmidt’s bad dream. Schmit arrives.

Futaki hides outside.

Knocks on the door as if he has himself just arrived.  All three conspire over money they hold earned by the commune.

Mrs Kraner brings rumour Irimiás and Petrina are coming back.

Voice over as Futaki and Schmidt walk off in rain:

So Schmidt went first, Futaki staggered behind him. He was trying to feel his way with his cane in the dark…And the relentless rain merged Schmidt’s swearing [..] Futaki’s cheery, encouraging words as he repeats:

“Never mind, old man, you’ll see we’ll have a great life! A great life!”

2.  Rise From the dead

[1] Irimiás and Petrina.

Irimiás and Petrina as they walk down a wind-blown road towards what at first seems like a hospital but reveals itself as a government building, possibly a police station, where the two are grilled and given a lecture on order and freedom and collaboration by an unnamed uniformed official. The pair are humble and obliging, but back outside display a more self-confident and authoritative swagger. Source: {1} Slarek.

[2] Waiting to be interviewed

I : “The Two clocks show different times. Both wrong , of course. This one here is too slow. The other, as if it showed the perpetuity of defenselessness. We relate to it as twigs to the rain: we cannot defend ourselves.”

P: ” Twigs and rain….? You’re a great poet, I tell you.

[3] Interview with Captain. Captain’s speech:

“How did this happen. Don’t call your lives a tragedy. Be modest about it, not a tragedy  at all…..not that human life was so highly valued….keeping order appears to be the business of the authorities. But it’s the business of all. Order. Freedom, however, is nothing human. It’s something devine, for which……our lives are too short for us to know it properly. If you’re searching for a link, think of Pericles…..order and freedom are linked by passion. We have to believe in both, we suffer from both. Both from order and freedom. But human life is meaningful, rich, beautiful and filthy. It links everything. It mistreats freedom only….wasting  it, as if it were junk. People don’t like freedom, they are afraid of it. The strange thing is there is nothing to fear about freedom…order on the other hand, can often be frightening.

I must call your attention to certain points. In actual fact you… have no choice but to collaborate. if you really, respect the law, then I’m just a little ahead of you in this.  Practically you have…offered it.

[4]  Cafe in town. That sound. Irimiás asks what it is.  He gets angry. Threatens to blow everyone up.  The pair leave.  In the corner drinking, heavily bearded man in leather jacket and peaked cap.

[5]  I/P walk in rain in countryside. Discuss villagers. In the background horse and cart crosses the road left to right towards woods on horizon.

{= Chapter 3.  May be showing The Conductor on his cart going to the woods where he finds doc. which happens at the end of Chapter 3.}

Teenager meets pair. Updates what’s been happening in village.

[6]  Three enter pub.

Final narration [over static side-shot of rain/lit entrance to pub ]:

In the east the sky clears fast like a memory. At dawn, it leans all red on the wavering horizon. As the morning beggar trudges up the back steps to the church, the sun rises to give life to the shadow and to separate earth from sky, man and animal from the disturbing, confused unity in which they became inextricably entwined. He saw the fleeing night on the other side, its terrifying elements in turn diving on the western horizon, like a desperate, defeated, confused army.

3.  To Know Something

Binocular shaped shot. View of Futaki looking out of pulling curtain window {= Chapter 1}.  Pan to water trough, tap running,chicken, make-shift tent shape, (like this)  dog, scap outside house, doorway, roof, dog eating scaps, dripping tap.

Man sitting, pouring drink. Drinks. Drag of cigarette smoking  in ashtray. Opens draw. Opens exercise book. Writes and speaks what he writes:

“Futaki….it seems…is afraid of something.  Early….startled….he was looking …out…the window. Futaki is terrified….he’s afraid of death.”

Smiles. Says:

“They kicked off anyway. You too, Futaki, you’ll kick off.”

Dog drinking from puddle seen through window. Cigarette smoke rising between camera and window.

Man draws picture of what he seens through window: two houses; electric posts and wires.

From a shelf of  flat-stacked folders, choses one folder containing exercise books, sits at desk in front of window. Compares three drawings of same scene.  Date on one older drawing: XI 3 – 6.

Sees man leaving right hand house who stands outside peeing. Second man leaves house. Hides against wall of house opposite. First man re-enters house. Second man knocks on door and enters.

[= externals of Futaki/Schmits  in chapter 1: The News is They are Coming]

Records event while speaking words. While writing, another man walks past window. Does not notice, does not record. Finishes with:

“It has started ….to rain….It won’t….stop…. tilll…spring.

Man drinking. Reads aloud from a reference/text book.

“It is fascinating to see….the erosion caused by water and wind at the edge of the Ponticum, when the sea on The Great Plain had receded. It looks like a shallow lake, like Lake Balaton does now.”

Mrs. Kráner brings his food.  Calls him doctor. Tells him she can’t do it any more. Leaves the key.

Doctor collapses and wakes. Inject himself. Recovers. Diabetes.

Goes to workshop/barn carrying empty spirit flagon. Two older girls in the upper floor who appear to be prostituting.  Ask Doc if he wants sex. He’s availed himself before…). Declines. Collects new flagon at their feet.

Exterior. Doctor walking in rain towards lighted building.  Stumbles and falls over.

Cut to front of lit front of pub.

Young girl [ in background looking into window of pub = Chapter 5] runs from alley along side of building. Tugs doctor’s arm.

“Doctor. Doctor.”

“What are you doing. let me go.”

Doc. falls over. Girl runs into night. Doc. Calls girl back. She doesn’t return.

Doc. in woods: In a back-lit misty background three silhouetted figures walking left to right. He doesn’t seen them.

Morning.  Doc. has slept in woods with flagon.

Man (same man in cafe with leather jacket)  takes Doc. home on his horse-drawn cart.

Narration as cart moves to horizon:

My heart – he thought again and again. He longed to lie in a warm room, and be taken care of by sweet little nurses, sipping hot soup, then turn towards the wall. He felt light and easy and the conductor’s scolding echoed long in his ears: You sholudn’t have done it, Doctor. You shouldn’t have done it if…

INTERVAL

4. The Spider’s Function [25 minute sequence]

Pub.

Gannex Man talks to barman who is out of frame.  Thunder and lightening plays through window left ass gannex sits on bench

Leather Jacket (the conductor) comes in. {Has picked up Doc. in the woods in the previous scene} Tells barman Irimiás and Petrina are coming.

Barman goes to store room to work up a head of steam about Irimiás and Petrina.

Mrs Schmidt enters. Barman and Mrs. Schmit discuss Irimiás.

The conductor says they will be here before midnight.

Mrs. Schmidt says she can smell something. Bends down under the stable to sniff floor boards. Says, “It is the earth.”

5.  Comes Unstitched

Girl and brother bury coins in woods. Kids her it will grow.

Told to sit outside house by mother.

Girl pets, tauts, tortures and kills cat.

Finds coins in wood are gone (carrying dead cat under one arm). Goes to tell brother (carrying dead cat).  He tells her he has taken it. Ignores cat.  Finds rat poison in her pocket.

Night. Girl walking towards pub.  Outside light on. Faint sound of accordion music.

Girl looking through window.

Adults dancing. Side view of girl looking into window. Doctor walking to pub door. Girl runs from window down alley to Doctor front of bar. (=  chapter 3. To Know Something ). Close up girl’s head and shoulders. Scared. Runs. Disappears into into dark. Cut. Short walking to camera.

Day. Long walk to camera. Dead cat under arm.

Ruined church. Takes rat poison. Lies down. Dies with dead cat under arm.

Voice-over:

Yes, she said to herself softly. The angels see this and understand. She felt serene and the trees, the road, the rain, and the night all breathed tranquility. Everything that happens is good, she thought. Everything was, eventually, simple.

She recalled the previous day and, smiling, she realized how things are connected. She felt that these events aren’t connected by accident, but there’s an indescribably beautiful meaning bridging them. And she knew she wan’t alone for all things and people, her father upstairs, her mother, her brothers, the doctor, the cat, these acacias, this muddy road, this sky, this night down here depend on her, just as she herself depends on everything.

She had no reason to be worried. She knew well that her angels had set out for her.

6. The Spiders Function II  (The devil’s nipples, satantango)

Pub.

Voice as yet unidentified:

I was just plodding and plodding, just plodding along. The Steigerwald kids and Hochan, the butcher, the girls, they jumped when like grasshoppers when Irimias hugged me and asked “How’s it going, Keleman?” and bought a round and told me everything and they were drinking rum and liquer, even thenI was plodding and plodding and plodding along.

They’ll be here. They’ll be in the yard. They’ll be here. The Toth kid, Irimias and Petrina, and they’ve been to the Steigerwalds. And as I was plodding along it became clear. They are leaving for the yard, then I knew everything.

Irimias and Petrina are  coming towards the yard. I met Hochan, the butcher and bumped into the Toth kid. And as I was plodding along, for I had to pod, and saw them by the road, revelation…which way…why…where to…and the plodding, the why the where to and the which way, the Toth kid, the Steigerwald kids. Irimias and Petrina and the gunpowder at the Steigerwald’s. And the Steigerwald kids talking of gunpowder, and me plodding and plodding…And the Steigerwald kids were talking of gunpowder. And the Steigerwald kids…But the Toth kid he was there in the Weighbridge.

[At the bar - Put some soda in it.

- I've already put some in.]

And the Steigerwald kids…

[ A bottle of wine (someone asks the barman)]

Gunpowder’s not gunpowder. They were talking about gunpowder.

[ Careful it doesn't go to your head. (barman)]

- No gun-powder, gunpowder.

Iwas plodding, plodding along…Gun-powder’s not gun-powder!  Gun-powder’s not gunpowder! Gun-powder! It’s no gun-powder! He hugged me…the waitresses jumped like grasshoppers…They were drinking rum and liquer.

Mrs. Schmidt: I shouldn’t have any more for it goes all to my head. You’re offering it so invitingly.

Schmidt: Just goes to your head! You’re pissed to the eyeballs.

Kel: As you plod along you learn everything.

Sch. to Kut.: Don’t give her another! Can’t you see the state of her!

Kut: I shouldn’t drink. When I do I keep thinking  of coffins.

Kel: The Toth kid, the Steigerwalds and Irimias hugged me, the girls jumped like grasshoppers, and bought a round, drinking rum and liquer…and he told me everything and I’m plodding and plodding…plodding , plodding, and plodding along….but there’s a huge difference between plodding and plodding. I knew exactly when I saw them at the junction, why, how which way, why and how…I’m plodding, plodding, and how am I plodding? How am I plodding? The gunpowder, the Steigerwalds, the Toth kid…the whole street was talking, that they’re hiding gun-powder. Why did they do this? And why are they coming here?  I know why they’re coming because I had a revelation…

(Woman, off frame) This heat is unbearable. Janos, please do something.

Woolly Hat at bar to woman off screen: You don’t begrudge the coal?

Kel: He’s coming at the road junction. I know exactly why. Why,why and why they’re coming and why they’re coming.

Man not Schmidt puts hands unto Mrs. Schmidt’s blouse from behind: It’s nice and warm in here….

Mrs. Schmit : You let,  him dickhead?

Sch: What the hell you want? There’s some at least for the others.

Kel (off screen): For I was plodding and plodding along…..They’re coming and coming…They stop but they’re coming!

Barman:  This is no whore-house.

Sch: What then?

Kel:….coming and coming. They stop but they are coming!

W H to barman: Let’s go to the mill.

{= two older girls chapter 3}

Kel: They get here. In some minutes.

Wife of WM : Where the hell are you going?

WH: Nowhere, honey-pot, nowhere.

Mrs. WH: I’ll show you who’s honey-pot, just you wait and get sober.

WH: Nothing, nothing.

Kel (to WH):  They’re coming  for I saw them by the road. At the junction.

Mrs WH (at bar):  Give me a shot.

Kel (still towards WH):   The Steigerwald kids talked about powder. Irimias and Petrina are coming towards the yard. Gunpowder, Steigerwald…and they’re coming towards the yard. They’re here in a short while. We were plodding along…

Mrs. WH [over Kel's repetitions]  (to barman) : My man’s a good man…but the alcohol, you know. He can be a blessed good man if he wants to be. He’s a hard worker. You know that. He can do the work of two. Only this tiny mistake, that he has. Who doesn’t have one? Who?

Keleman still directing his repetions at WH,  who is not listening or looking at Kel, while Mrs WH is at the bar:  They’re coming, plodding. Irimias and Petrina..

Someome shouts offscreen (Kel and WM look toward door (= to camera) : Someone’s coming. Everyone in the bar looks to door (= to camera).

Cut to door and handle opening. It is  the girl’s mother (all this conversation has Kel’s voice in the background repeating)

Mother : Have you seen my daughter?

Bar: which one?

Mother: The little one. Estike.

Bar: She hasn’t been here.

Kel, [off] : At the weighbridge.

Mother: You know what happened. A Little trouble with the Halics. [Smiles, wanly] Now he doesn’t even say hello, the shithead.

Kel [off]: I saw them by the road. Revelation….which way, why, where to…and the plodding, and the why and the where to, the which way…

Mother: I slept all day. I wake up in the evening: no one there. The house is empty. No Mari, no Juli, no Sanyika.

Kel [off]: And plodding, plodding, and plodding…The Steigerwald kids were talking about gunpowder.

Mother: But that’s alright, the little one wandered away somewhere. If she comes back she”ll get it.

Bar: She’ll come back. Sh’e s not the wandering type.

Mother: She’s really not.

Kel [off]: …the gunpowder’s no gun-powder…

Mother : Wandering in this rain all night long…no wonder I must stay in bed for days.

kel [off]: The waitresses jumped like grasshoppers. They were drinking rum and liquer…

Mother: That’s good for my stomach.

[ Kel [off]:  plodding and plodding …]

Bar: Do you want coffee?

Mother: Why? I’d be tossing and turning all night long. Then what for? Nothing.

Kel [ off]:  In a little while I was plodding and plodding….The Toth kid, the Steigerwalds…and Irimias hugged me….the girls jumped like grasshoppers…he bought us a round, they had rum and liquer. He told me everything and I’m plodding…

Mother: Well, good night. If you happen to see them, tell them to hit the road home. I can’t be wandering around all night long.

Bar: Here’s the bill.

Kel [off]: why, how, which way, why and how….plodding and plodding. And how am I plodding? The gunpowder, Hochan, the butcher, Steigerwald, Toth…Everybody was talking about the Steigerwald kids hiding gunpowder.Why? And why are Irimias and Petrina coming towards the yard? I know why they’re coming. because I had a revelation. A revelation. I know why they’re coming because I had a revelation.They’re coming at the junction. I know exactly why. They stop but they’re coming.

[3] Kutaki outside in rain being sick. Pig eating in the rain by the door. Barman stands outside in doorway in rain. Brings Fut inside.

[4] Barman to Fut:  Futaki, that stupid ass rolls in the mud like a pig, then he goes out in the rain like asheep that has gone astray. You’re out of your mind? You know you’re not meant to get wrecked in here? And without eating too? Wash your face.

Bar: milk chocolate or cheese rolls.

K: Give me two cheese rolls.

Barman and K.  eat in back on bed.  Barman rants about spiders covering everything with cobwebs.. At one point he says; “That damn Swabian did me in….nothing comes of nothing…

{ Irimias a Swabian? Who are the Steigerwalds?}

Kut:   Kut’s remarks and barman rant about Irimias drinking at his bar for a fortnight before disappearing and now coming back to take his money.

[5]  Tango dance sequence. At the end Halics the ex-teacher asks Mrs. Schmidt for a tango.

End narration:

And for the tender sound of an accordion the spiders in the pub launched their last attack. They sewed loose webs on top of the glasses, the cups, the ashtrays, around the legs of the tables and the chairs. Then they bound them together with secret threads so that in their hidden corners they notice every littl move and every litte stir until this almost invisible web is not damaged.

They sewed a web on the sleepers faces, their feet, their hands. The hurried back to their hiding-place, waiting for an ethereal thread to move to start it all again.

INTERVAL

7.   Irimias Gives a Speech

(Girl) Estike’s funeral. Irimias speech: part funeral oration/ part threat.  They hand over their money.

8.   Perspective from the Front

[1] Estike’s  coffin loaded on 4×4 by bar owner.

[2] Irimias wakes after sleeping with Mrs. Schmidt.

[3] Irimias’  farewell speech to group.

[4] Group smash furniture and leave [ in same direction as cows in first shot]

singing:

The wind is blowing the clouds, behind the sky is burning, Give me, my dear, your little hand, God knows if I’ll see you again; whether I’ll close you in my arms, whether I’ll kiss you, dear? God only knows the day the battery is leaving. Whether I’ll close you…

[5] Head and shoulder Futaki walking to camera heavy rain. [Song still heard in background...]

You’re lovely, you’re fair, Hungary…

[6] Pulling trolleys  along made up road away from camera. Noise of trolley wheels almost overpowering dialogue.

Stop at a monument. Share a bottle of spirit or water.  Gannex Man is called  Lajos by wife.

[7] Arrive at manor house at dusk.

[8] Inside manor by lamplight.

One owl hoot off screen.

[9] Manor house. No dialogue. Panning, swirling camera [accordion music] examines faces of group. Camera circles Mrs. schmidt’s head.

Zoom in on owl in fireplace.

[10] Sleeping group to accordion.

Narration over shot:

Halics was pursued by a hunchback with a glass eye. And after all sorts of trials he ran into the river, but he’s started to lose heart, every tike he came up for air the little man hit his head with a long stick. And each time he shouted, “Now you’ll get it.”

The schoolmaster persuaded a manwearing an old suit to go with him somewhere he knows;  the man agreed, like someone who can’t say no. He could hardly control himself and when they turned into a deserted park, he even pushed him to reach a bench surrounded by bushes. He made the man lie down and he jumped on him, kissed him on the neck, but in seconds some doctors appeared on the walk dressed in white; emabarrassed, he waved that he was going  but he started to reproach the confused little man for, by then, he seemed to hate his guts.

The ground trembled under Schmidt’s feet. As if he were walking on the moors. He climbed up into a tree, but he felt, that’s started to shrink too. He was lying on the bed and tried to get the nightgown off his wife. But she started to yell, he jumped after her, the nightgown was torn. She laughed,  and the enormous nippples on her breasts were like two beautiful roses.

Mrs Halics was washing Mrs Schmidt’s back;  the roasary on the rim of the tub slipped into the water like a snake. Mrs Schmidt said she had enough, her skin was burning from the rubbing but Mrs Halics pushed her back into the bath and went on srcubbing her back; she said she was afraid that Mrs Schmidt wouldn’t be satisfied.

Mrs Kraner heard a noise from outside but she didn’t kne what it could be. She put on a fur coat and left for the engine-shed. She had almost reached  the road when she had a bad feeling. She turned and saw their house was on fire.

“The chopped wood. Christ, I left the chopped wood out,” she screamed and ran back. Kraner was sitting at the table, calmly eating.

“Joska, are you crazy? The house is on fire!”

But Kraner didn’t move.

Mrs. Schmidt was a bird, flying over the clouds, happy. She saw that someone down there was waving at her. She came down a bit and heard Schmidt shouting.

“Why didn’t you cook anything, you bitch! Come down here.”

But she flew over him and chattered: tomorrow. You won’t starve till then. She felt the warmth of the sun on her back, she came down a bit. She wanted to snatch a bug.

Futaki’s shoulders were beaten with an iron bar. he couldn’t move, he was tied to a tree. He stretched out and felt the rope loosen. He looked at his shoulders and saw a long wound; he tunred his head, he couldn’t stand seeing it. He was sitting on an excavator, the grab was scooping out some earth. A man came up to him and said,

“Hurry up, I won’t giveyou any more petrol whatever you say.”

But it was no use scooping for the earth kept falling back. He tried again but failed.. The he cried…He was sitting at the window of the engine-shed and didn’t know whether it was daybreak or evening, it just didn’t end; he was sitting not knowing the time of day, nothing was changed outside,  morning didn’t come, night didn’t fall, day was beginning to break or night was beginning to fall.

9.   Go to Heaven? Have Nightmares?

[1] Irimias departure speech on steps of pub seen from behind the group.            {= Ch.7}  Camera pulls back. Group moves off. Same swearing at barman.

[2] I/P/Sanyi (girl’s older brother) walk to horizon discussing whether to go through with plan or get away.

[3] Three walk through woods.

[4] Irimias close up with deep sound heard first at cow shot.

[5]  Irimias kneels as mist passes through ruin {where girl killed herself}. Walk off in same shot. Mist disperses. Gets up.All three walk on on same shot.

[6]  Empty Town square.  10 -15 horses  appear,  run around central monument.  Camera pulls back to reveal backs of all three in close-up. Petrina  “The horse got away from the abattoir again.”

Three walk away down road horses have come from. A few of the horses mill around monument several times.

[7]  Steigerwald’s bar. Irimias dictates notes to Petrina.   Sanyi sent to find Peyer. Talk to him about explosives.  I/P sleep.

10.  Perspective From the Rear

Group at the manor.  Irimias turns up.  Tells them the plans for the project have to be postposed. They are to split up.  Driven to town, where final ‘instructions’ are issued by Irimias. Kutaki says he’ll go his own way. Irimias returns some money, so he can eat every day.

11.  Just Trouble and Work

I/P/S litter-strewn walk. Policemen tailor Irimias’s report on the group.

12.  No way Out

Doc writes.

During the thirteen days I spent in hospital…Mrs Kraner didn’t turn up….again….everything is…like I’d left it. Neither of them dares..to leave the house. They must be…lying on their beds, snoring…or staring at the ceiling. They haven’t a clue…that it is this dull inertia…that leaves them…at the mercy …what they most fear.

Sound of bells in the distance.

A cosmic wirtschaft*. My hearing…is getting worse.

* business

Sound of bells. Looks at window. Puts on coat. Goes out.  Cut. Walks toward camera.  Pan across wet meadow. Flat horizon. Sound of bells rises. Cut to bell tower. Walks to tower. Sound of  light bell.

Voice from tower:

The Turks are coming!  The Turks are coming! [repeated endlessly]

Enters tower. Man banging metal bar/gas cylinder.  Repeating chant. Sound of tinkling bell. Sound of deep bell rising up over it.

Doc walks along road away from tower. (SEE note. 6. Bells) Silence. Camera moves away leaving him walking. Smaller and smaller figure.

Back in room. Speaks.

I’ve mistaken the bells of the sky for the sound of the knell.

Boards up window. Blackness.

Doc’s voice pacing his voice to his writing:

One morning…at the end of October….not long before…the first drops…of the insufferably long …autumn rains….fell…on the parched…sodic ground…on the western side of the yard…for…the stinking bog….to make the tracks…until the frosts…impassable…and the town cut off…Futaki was woken…by the sound of the bells. Closest…eight kilometers to the south-west…on the Hochmeiss* field…was a solitary chapel…but not only no bell there…even its tower collapsed….during the war…

* that looks pretty German to me!

Reviews/comments/analyses

Overview

A Place in the Pantheon Jonathan Rosenbaum

The story line in Satantango– brilliant, diabolical, sarcastic–gradually unravels the dreams, machinations, and betrayals of a failed farm collective over a few rainy fall days, two of them rendered more than once, from the perspectives of different characters. But the plot operates almost independently of the moral and experiential weight given each shot: Tarr’s camera obliges us to share so much time as well as space with the grubby characters that we can’t help but become deeply implicated in their lives and maneuverings.

Other succinct summaries

The Spiders’ Webs (on Bela Tarr’s Satantango) Green Integer blog

and Bright Lights Film Journal

A Longer summary with comments

The Spiders’ Webs (on Bela Tarr’s Satantango)

Two reviews by dialogue

Dan and Ben go barmy at Cinemania (My title)

A compilation of emails between  Dan Jardine and Ben Livant – two enthusiasts debate Tarr, Tarkovsky, etc, fresh from viewing  Satantango

Sean and Padric wax  lyrical at blog Reviews from the Couch

Reviews

Take a sentence here, a phrase there, cut and paste a super-view.  (Or, Many Minds Make Film Understood)

• Many of these reviews are quite old and did not have the benefit of frame-by-frame using the DVD. When I watched the Youtube extracts way back, pause and replay made it possible for me to examine how these shots were made. Clearly, anyone coming to long takes for the first time, will want to think about how the content is delivered by Tarr compared with how it might be presented though cutting.

I do not agree this sort of film has to be seen in a darkened auditorium.  There is something to be said for being able to stop watching for a moment when things get tough or re-wind to take in what has been seen. I have watched it on TV and PC. The software I use has a mouse-wheel  5 second forward and rewind facility, which has proved invaluable.

• There are many links to reviews of Sátántangó in the first Bela Tarr post, so some of them might overlap with the collection here.

The World According to Bela Tarr By András Bálint Kovács in KinoKultura

Essay on whole oeuvre.

Three posts from Waggish:

Bela Tarr: Satantango

Bela Tarr: Satantango [2]

Bela Tarr: Satantango [3]

He refers to

Sátántangó: And then there was Darkness

By Donato Totaro

Satantango (Bela Tarr) 1994 Jeremy Heilman    MovieMartyr.com

Lateral Sculpture: Béla Tarr’s Sátántangó Ryland Walker Knight in blog The house next door.  Starts by comparing Tarkovsky and Tarr.

Satantango (Hungary, 1994, Bela Tarr)

Extememely long and discursive post in Cinemania. 10 stills.

Partisans in the persistent and hopeless fight for human dignity: Sátántangó

Sátántangó (Satan’s Tango  /  Hungary  /  1994)    Rumsey Taylow

TANGO marathon David Borwell

Shall We Satantango? Cullen Gallagher in The L Magazine:

Tarr’s extended long takes (many lasting several minutes) invoke an almost out-of-body experience in the viewer, as real-time blends with Tarr-time and the minutes on-screen encapsulate something both intimately specific and profoundly universal. Time has rarely been used more wisely in cinema than in Satantango, which is, along with Andrei Tarkovsky’s Stalker (1979), one of the most resolute cases against wearing wristwatches during a movie.

Nine Minutes of Cows blog Spectacular Attractions

9 stills.

Satantango DVD review by John Adams.  Thinks it’s about time and texture.

Satan’s tango Richard Warburton in a Warwick University blog, True Contradictions.

On DVD: “Satantango,” “Eagle Shooting Heroes” reviews two films.

Dancing in the dark with Satantango Kathie Smith

Satantango (1994) Darren Hughes, at blog Long pauses….

Satantango (1994) A Film by Bela Tarr Film blog “are the hills going to march off” (Carson Lund)

Bela Tarr’s Slow Burn Ed Salter, The Village Voice.

Opening Shots: “Satantango” (Bela Tarr, 1994)

Blog Out 1: Film from the Inside Out

On Sátántangó Initial thoughts blog:  Drifting / David Lowery

Sátántangó (Satan’s Tango) – Béla Tarr by Srikanth Srinivasan:

….in these shots, you see a very ordinary picture, say of bar-room dance or a group of cows grazing. As the length of the shot increases you’ll feel a bit edgy, waiting for a cut. When the shot further prolongs to unimagined lengths, you’ll start noticing finer details in the images that you failed to pay heed to in the previous minutes. You’ll gather a lot from the still life of the shot and from objects and events that appeared to be banal till now. And as you slowly get enthralled by these tableau-like images, Tarr cuts to the next, leaving you craving for a longer shot! In a way, each cut seems like a turning point in the seemingly simple plot.

The Spiders’ Webs (on Bela Tarr’s Satantango)
Green Integer Blog
Contemporary Obscurity: Satantango Mike Dawson

Béla Tarr’s bedeviled magnum opus Michael Garberich
Partisans in the persistent and hopeless fight for human dignity: Sátántangó

David McDougall Chained to the Cinemateque.

The long take extends time. Each shot spends so much time observing a character that it becomes a sort of presentation without judgment. The experience of watching each shot is meditative; as a result, the viewer spends most of the film in his/her own head. For me, a typical experience of watching a single shot in the film might go like this: I identify the action and the character. I process how it relates to what I’ve seen. Then I get an idea of what it means. I then have time to contradict my thoughts and construct an alternate – or opposite – meaning. I then am struck with the weight of time, and the length of an action as it occurs. This time then forces me to be aware of the moment presented as a component of life, an event that exists but then fades away (both on screen, and for me). I then think about the limitations of time, and about my impending death. I then return to the scene and feel empathy for the characters even as they commit morally questionable acts. Finally, I’m left watching them, seeing them as they are: striving, flawed, human.

Rain Man by Michael Atkinson

…Sátántangó is a vast lake you explore for its endless depth, not a narrative river you ride from plot point A to point Z.

…it’s an epic trance state, a massive portrait of a withered universe.

Within this fraught structure, Sátántangó wanders, dallies, and watches, exhaustively, as the individuals worry and doomsay their way into one dead end after another (alcoholic ruin, cruelty, suicide, thievery, sodden despair), a plethora of scheming, paranoid human beasts playing out their final act in a godless world.

Satantango

Martin Drouot.   This is an automatic translation from the French, so make allowances.

Satantango: A film by Bela Tarr

Another French view from Pierre Grise Distribution: note how it is possible to re-adjust the translation by running the mouse over these translated texts.

Notes

Having watched the film at least three times including re-winding, I am slowly coming to come to the conclusion that Tarr made Satantango primarily for  his own satisfaction and pleasure, and his friends, but is happy for anyone else to watch it and make what they will of it.

This might also explain why he is so tetchy about explaining the film or how he made it. Doing so in any detail would spoil his own immersion in the film, what went into making it, and the journey he, as a person, went on in the process.

1. Structure.

A review by Tim Wilkinson, The devil has all the good tunes, of the book on which the film was based, Satantango by László Krasznahorkai, who co-wrote the screenplay with director Bela Tarr, explains the novel substantially, including the structure, based around the tango steps. Six out, six back, represented by the 12 chapters of the book and the film.

A simple way to show  how the film works it to draw a horse-shoe, open end at the bottom,  arrange 12 nodes, chapters 1 and 12 at the ends, and then use arrows to link each node. Each to his own. I chose  to concentrate first  on chronology/overlaps, linking any one scene to even with the slighest reoccurence in another. For example, I/R/S appear fleetingly at the end of the doc’s Chapter 3. Know Something.

2. Book and film.

[1] As soon as I finished reading Wilkinson, I wondered if the book was more effective than the film.   Or, rather if the film lived up to the book. There is no way of telling without having read it, but once I got the idea that the book might have hard to translate into film, it wouldn’t go away.

There are plenty of others that fall into this category. My favourite {unfilmable/hard-to-film} is Mann’s The Magic Mountain.  Reading  the quotes from the Krasznahorkai’s book which turn into narrative voice-over in the film, I got the feeling that the  length of Tarr’s film was a reflection of  his desire to capture  the ‘interior’ of the book:  the thoughts and feelings of the characters which are rarely effectively translated into film. Standard montage films can’t achieve this effect. If you want to cut, cut, how to show long stretches of text which contain the mental activity?  Tarr gives a demonstration of how it is possible with the doctor writing his reports. It’s as if he started with the doctor and had to make the film 7 hours long to accommodate the rest without Doc. looking too bloated!

[2] Tarr and book author Krasznahorkai co-wrote the screenplay. Tarr apprently saw the book before it was published in 1985.

László Krasznahorkai Portrait

László Krasznahorkai was born in 1954, in the town of Gyula in the east of Hungary, close to the Romanian border.(source : almost and island ).

The first three chapters of László Krasznahorkai‘s Satantango, translated by George Szirtes, are available online which are useful to partially see how it has been possible to make the book into film. Fun to see which parts have been left out and major differences.

Book chapters:

I. The News of their Coming

II. We are Resurrected

III. To Know Something

HTML version (all three chapters)

One glaring difference between book and film is ‘the summons’. {Chapter 2. Rise from the Dead.}  The description of the interaction between Irimias, Petrina and the Captain in the book is radically different from the film. (Unless there is more of this in the book elsewhere…). In the book he swears and bullies them, forces them to become informers, and sends them packing. In the film he breaks into a measured speech, trying to quote Pericles on freedom and order, which is partially transcribed in my ‘script’.

Chapter III of the book begins:

At the end of the palaeozoic era the whole of Central Europe begins to sink. Naturally, our Hungarian homeland is part of this process. In the new geological circumstances the hill masses of the palaeozoic era sink ever lower until they have reached rock bottom at which point the sedimental sea inundates and covers them. As the sinking continues the territory of Hungary becomes the north-western basin of that part of the sea that covers Southern Europe. The sea continues to dominate the region right through the mesozoic era.

In the film Doc reads from a reference book:

“It is fascinating to see….the erosion caused by water and wind at the edge of the Ponticum, when the sea on the Great Plain had receded. It looks like a shallow lake, like Lake Balaton does now.”

Lake  Balaton.

Map of Hungary showing position of Balaton.

{SEE  Note 13. Locations.}

3. Repetition (and the long take)

[1] I have transcribed the whole dialogue from Chapter 6 of the film  to see what it might have looked like on paper at the start.  One suspects that such a post-transcript is not identical to the working script. And how would the book read?

Having watched the scene you can laugh more at the text.  (Bela Tarr Notes from Adrian Chan’s  blog The Listening Ear, has something to say on repetition: “…the slow, repetititive passages invite the viewer to think about the priciples of repetition.”

On paper, the bare dialogue including The Conductor’s ‘plodding, plodding’ loop looks like  reading a Beckett play.  On film, the others pay no attention to what he is saying, which I have not fully indicated in my ‘script’.  Not one person turns to listen to what he has to say. On the one occasion when he directs his speech to someone that person looks towards him but does not repond. No one tells him to shut up.

Although this may not be what Tarr intended, a long think about this scene suggests, to me, perhaps the plodding, plodding, plodding, though expressed orally – received aurally – can represent what is going on in the heads of the people in the pub. So, if you like, it is as if Keleman has said this only once (or twice!)  and the rest is the dread, the keywords, the re-formulations running through the minds of the people in the room, who at the same time are  pretending it doesn’t bother them. They can’t, in any case, let on what they think of the news of Irimias’s possible return because they each have their own agendas which they do not wish to dislose to others.  Have the two at once – the repetitions and the sense that it is also teeming through the heads of the otherwise inscrutible – and pow!

The repetitions, watched and listened to, are irritating, but one can see something is going on despite the irritation, if one asks why he says it so often, why the others do not respond, what relation it has to the immediately next, long dance shot, remembering at the same time that in the other pub scene everyone stops and looks to the door – they expect it to be Irimias but it is only the girl’s mother.

[2]

Partisans in the persistent and hopeless fight for human dignity: Sátántangó

argues, “The long take extends time.”  He constructs a scenario for how he might watch a long take:

….a typical experience of watching a single shot in the film might go like this: I identify the action and the character. I process how it relates to what I’ve seen. Then I get an idea of what it “means.” I then have time to contradict my thoughts and construct an alternate – or opposite – meaning. I then am struck with the weight of time, and the length of an action as it occurs. This time then forces me to be aware of the moment presented as a component of life, an event that exists but then fades away (both on screen, and for me). I then think about the limitations of time, and about my impending death. I then return to the scene and feel empathy for the characters even as they commit morally questionable acts. Finally, I’m left watching them, seeing them as they are: striving, flawed, human.

Note 10. Mechanical time, has been put separately. The term came from reading Dan and Ben.

4.  The cow shot.

A set up shot, yet it is also documentary footage.  Some comments: Béla Tarr’s Long Takes (an education in film).

The introductory cow shot could be seen as documentary because the cows actions are uncontrollable, despite the mis-en-scene being planned and the structure introduced by the use of a long track.  An example of the ad hoc element in filming is when the boldest cow comes quite close to the camera (it can’t be a long lens because of the wide-angle of the shot) and then moves to the right. The camera turns leftwards, as if an instant decision has been made to exclude the cow it is at that point half in / half out of shot) for a more tidy frame – it is disrupting the mid and background activity of the other cows. In the end the cow is left half in the frame because to move the camera too far to the right will begin to remove the centre of the herd from the centre background of the frame.

When The Conductor pushes the drunk doctor up onto his cart at the end of chapter 3. Know Something, there is a kerfuffle with a box being used to help him step up. This involves the actor first putting the box one way, then, when he  realises the doctor won’t be able to get up from that height, laying it side-on to make a higher step.

5. Cows and horses.

Cows at the beginning, and later a horses clatter on the cobble stones into the market square of the town where they Irimias and Petrina  visit the authorities.

Cows and horses probably pinpoints the locale pretty accurately for a Hungarian.

I’m no expert, but  it does take long starting from wiki: Hungary to find such things as Puszta

For those saying the film is about the collapse of communism (said not to be because of whenthe book was written), I would suggest cows and horses suggest a longing for some past Hungary.  But other keywords suggest the very complicated history of Hungary: in other words whose  past Hungary?

6. German Names

Schmidt and Steigerwald – suggesting something about Hungary’s history. To Hungarian audiences many of these things will have a meaning the non-Hungarian audiences miss. I picked up on it after a few re-watchings of selected scenes.   I tried to remember what I had seen and read about Hungary, particularly around the Second world war, but nothing specific came apaprt from it being part of the Austro-Hungarian empire.  Reading around, and noticing later in a one of the manor house shots, someone  says, “…damn Swabian …”.

wiki:Swabian

In parts of the former Yugoslavia (i.e. Slovenia, Slavonija in Croatia, and Vojvodina in Serbia), the term Swab (locally Švab, from Шваб) is somewhat applied to all German peoples who lived in those regions until shortly after World War II, and many of their descendants; it is even occasionally used as a slang term to refer to all Germans as well as Austrians and Swiss German speaking people.

This seems to be a theme of the film. Though study Hungary’s history and it is apparent there are dozen of ethnic groups, and re-alignments of borders etc, so why the Swabians?

One line of thinking is the roll German Hungarians  played in The Second World  War.

Wiki: Danube Swabians

wiki: Swabian Turkey

wiki: Swabia

History of German Settlements in Southern Hungary by Susan Clarkson

{SEE note 8. Bells}

7.  Music/sound.

Mihály Vig, who plays Irimias, composes music for Tarr’s films and is in Hungarian band Balaton.

Watching the scene at the end of the film quite a few times revealed something about overlap  in sound.  which echoes and helps to tie together some of the overlaping pov.

{SEE  last three paras. of note 8. Bells.}

{SEE   Bela Tarr’s Sound Images: Cinema of Proximity}

8. Bells

The mention of  “Tthe Turks are coming!”  by the bell ringer suggests something to do with  Ottoman / Austro-Hungarian empire.

Blog Gladsome Morning is the only post reviewing Satantango I have so far found which  suggests the historical point.

There were waves of German immigration over the centuries {History of German Settlements in Southern Hungary}  The Germans seemed to suffer disproportionately at the hands of the invading Ottomans. {SEE note 6.}

Learning more about the location of the ruined mansion { SEE note 13.} it seemed quite clear that this part of Hungary which author of book came from, bordering on Romania, , was the bit that was overrun by the Turks centuries before.

In the final part of Chapter 12, as the doctor arrives at the bell tower, the sound changes from the deep drone, first heard in the cow shot,  to the more tinking sound of a smaller bell, and then to a more metallic sound, created by the ‘madman’ banging what almost looks like a suspended gas cylinder, as doc. enters the tower, and is seen to touch the ‘bell’.

As the camera lingers on the ‘madman’ (a fantasy sequences or real?) endlessly repeating his “Turks are coming! “, the deep drone reappears  under the sound of the more tinkly banging. Through a  glassless window directly behind the ‘madman’s head in close-up, the horizon can be seen, and on it the vague outline of woods, or even what might be a building such as the ruin where the girl killed herself. By this stage, one suspects that every shot has a reference to another in it. It’s as if Tarr had designed this film with lines of sight from one shot to another in a chain.

In the next shot, as Doc. returns to the settlement – the bell tower  receeding to his left – both the banging of the ‘bell’ and the drone continues, but slowly, as he gets further away from the tower, the bell sound diminishes, leaving, just for a few moments only, the eerie drone, till in the end there is no sound at all, just Doc. waking on to a fade to black.

In the book:

I. The News of their Coming

One morning near the end of October, not long before the first drops of the mercilessly long autumn rains began to fall on the cracked and saline soil on the western side of the plot (so that later the stinking yellow sea of mud might render footpaths impassable and put the town too beyond reach) Futaki woke to hear bells. The closest possible source was a lonely chapel about four kilometres south-west on the old Hochmeiss estate but not only did that have no bell but the tower had collapsed during the war and it was too far to hear anything at that distance. And in any case, it was not of distant bells these ringing-booming triumphal sounds reminded him but something quite close (“ It was as if they came from the mill…”) swept along by the wind. He propped himself on his elbows on the pillow so as to look out of the mousehole-sized kitchen window that was partly misted up, towards the faint blue dawn sky but the field was still and silent bathed only in the ever fainter bell sound; and the only light to be seen was that percolating from the doctor’s window among the other houses set well apart on the far side, and that was only because its occupant had for years been unable to sleep in the dark. He held his breath because he did not want to lose a single stray note of the rapidly fading clangor in order to know the truth (“ You are bound to be asleep, Futaki…”) and in order to be assured of it he needed to hear every single sound, however isolated.

Doc in Chapter 12. :

A cosmic wirtschaft*. My hearing…is getting worse.

which seems to translate as business.

and soon after:

I’ve mistaken the bells of the sky for the sound of the knell.

9. The Doctor’s record

[1] Dan and Ben are not enamoured with it his scene.

[2] Ric Olson has done a marvellously titled little post called Binocular Aesthetic, in his blog Coosa Creek Cinema, including three  ‘binocular stills” and at the end 4.20 mins. of the shot, ending with a cut to shot 2 of  the Doc.  in side view looking through his binocs.

For some reason when I played this shot to see where it ended, there was no sound. It looses a lot however, by not having the sountrack. This fortuitous soundlessness in Olsens extract is a serious mini-essay on film sound.  For me, in silence, the shot seems just what it is, a filmic conceit: a camera movement that tells us it is what a man saw. Without the eerie booming bell sound, which creates such an emotional reaction, focusing the mind as much on the sound as the image — even working to suggest there is someone behind the view a silent version tends not to — it just looks like a complicated pan and tilt: no human eye moves so slowly over a set of objects. The word saccade comes to mind. If you had asked set of people to look at this camera trajectory from a diagram, and then perform it on the mise-en-scene, there would be an almost universal tendancy to go back and forwards, to stop on particular items of interest for longer than others, and even to depart from the diagram at certain points.

What in fact happens is both a pre-ordained camera movement and additional  movements which are dictated by events as the shot is being filmed (as in many other shots, but particularly the cow intro).  For example, the dog is in the frame, and then moves out of it, so the camera locks on to it for a few seconds before letting it leave the frame, to concentrate on the water trough and tap which happens to behind the dog at the moment it exits right.

[3] Tarr needed a device to mirror the way the novel achieves this. {How did the novel do it, I wonder?  Was the description in the book like the shot in the film?}

Having him mumbling what he is writing down get’s round the necessity to have more narrative voice over. We don’t need to see what he is writing. We are shown he’s writing.  If the director chose to show us only once that this character was writing down his observations, what does he then shoot?  What is the point of the camera filming what the man sees if he is describing it? In reality, we get a bit of both which is what makes film so much fun for the people making them!

There are other ways of  packaging the information in these scenes. But they would require many cuts and might temporarily de-emphasise the man himself. (cf. Hitchcock’s, Rear Window)  The shots of what is going on from various angles would take the place of the explanation and exploration of the doctor in long takes.

On several occasions the camera records what the doctor sees (= we see it) through the window and then what the doctor records and says. This enables us to see how he interprets what he sees.

Overall, it may be saying something about film,  about how it can or cannot translate a book’s ability to do the milieu interior.  In the main, directors are always playing with and demonstrating what film can do. But then so do the authors of novels.

[4] There is something which is mentioned in several of the reviews listed above and by  Chris Robé in Sculpting through Movement:

While sitting at his desk and staring out his window at his neighbors’ houses, he pours out brandy in a glass. He then pours water into another glass. Into a third glass he mixes them and drinks.

When Futaki (Miklós Székely B.) runs from Mrs. Schmidt’s house (Éva Almássy Albert), he shuffles through his pile of notebooks, opening one and writing what he sees. He remains sitting, breathing heavily, every movement underlined by grunts. He repeats his drinking process until Mrs. Kraner (Irén Szajki) enters his house and informs him that she can no longer work for him. After she leaves, he shuffles through more notebooks and then writes down what transpired as well as his belief that something shifty is going on in the town. He repeats his drinking process.

Without any background information, we nonetheless learn that the Doctor parcels out his life through distinct routines. Nothing is left to chance. Even the unexpected moments must be reworked into habit by capturing them within his notebooks. It is a sad life that his drinking attempts to soften but only becomes yet another routine further burying him within his house, in his chair, underneath his belabored breaths.

If the doctors activity is closely observed, perhaps missed on a first viewing, he can be seen to be meticulous in where he places things.  For example, when the lady brings his lunch and places it on his desk, he angrily asked her to move it, then carefully reorganises his pencils. In the scene where he drains the last  few drops of brandy from the flagon, he uses a funnel from the cupboard at his feet, then puts it back in the cupboard.

He carefully records the goings on observed through his window, yet while writing down about Futaki’s activities, doesn’t notice The Man with the Glasses (and what looks much like Harold Wilson’s Gannex Coat) walk straight past his window right to left.  But we see him. The camera sees him. We see Doc. does not see everything.

In a previous scene, Janos (Gannex Man) is see walking right to left in the background, which is past the doctors window, shot from outside the Schmidt’s house.

10. Mechanical time

Dan and Ben:

Bergson was so openly hostile to the mechanical measurement of time replacing what was for him our authentically human sense of duree

wiki: Duration (Bergson)

[1] There must be a simple way to say this for film. When a director gets two men to walk off into the horizon, and watches them continuously for the 5 minutes it takes to do, and then asks them to repeat it while he films it, he becomes aware of the difference between the two and fancies demonstrating it.

Film of course, asks the audience to fill in what is missing. Tarr asks us to imagine watching the two men disppearing over the horizon while watching his shot of it in real time. (As we watch we say, Yes, he is filming it in real-time, but at the same time we say, This is not real.  When we think of such things, we know that we would rarely watch anyone continuously for  3-4 minutes, in real life, as they walked away – except perhaps a much-loved one who we thought might never return!  Many of us have watched the train (and the person waving from the open window) get smaller and smaller, till it disppears round the bend.  Though we could be distracted – someone on the platform might get in the way – and perhaps come back to the scene in visual doses of our own chosing  (“Have they disappeared yet? No. Then I’ll look at something else till they do.”)

In film, we are directed, within a frame, to watch such a shot. We don’t have to, but the convention – the unwritten contract between film-maker and film-viewer – is that we do so. Anyone who makes such a long continuous shot knows some of the audience will watch without a break, while others will not. Some will watch intently, others will drift off into the examination of detail, others into personal memories.

[2] Does a director (or script writer if not the same) wonder what happens after you have left the cinema?  Of course he does.  He has come out of the dark into the light many, many times himself. He knows no two people will have seen the same film even though they have been in the same cinema at the same time. And will be delighting and annoying  each other with what they thought they did  and didn’t see as they walk down the theatre steps and into the street.

11. Narrative, chronology, p.o.v.

My first post on Sátántangó was based on a Youtube extract of the opening cow and the later tango scene. This seemed like a good exercise while waiting to get the DVD:  nothing but to concentrate on the scenes as film without worrying about the story which they formed a part of.

Watching the whole film on DVD, with these two scenes already in the pot, didn’t spoil the viewing, which is a demonstration of the way he has structured the film.

At one point, in the girl and the Doc. exterior night scenes, faint accordion music in the background — rain sheeting down, a paultry exterior light forming a weak glow over the entrance to the pub — was enough for me to re-imagine the drunken dancing in the pub seen in full in YouTube months before as I was watching this different perpective.  A strange, pleasing sensation that the two characters themselves at that point knew less than me. I knew what was going on in the pub in great detail having seen the full 12 minutes and Doc. didn’t know a thing! Not that I knew exactly what the drunken dance meant out of context in the YouTube extract.

In her scene, the girl moves to the window to watch the dancing.  Doc.  pays no attention to the sound of music in his scene, which also shows the girl in the background looking at the dancers before she runs to the doctor.  Doc. does not see the girl at the window. But we do. Or might do.

By chapter 3, which starts with the doctor looking through his binoculars, we recognise we are reprising chapter 1. In the girl’s chapter (5) we see the Doc., already seen in 3, and are thrown back perhaps to Futaki in 1.  Doc. 3 pressages tango dance at 6, through the sound of the accordion, but we do not get a view of the dance through the window till the girl looks in at  6.

Doc. drunk trudges outside near the pub. He falls down, gets up. A young girl approaches and calls him Doc. Scared of him, she then runs away. Doc falls down in the mud then gets up to call after her.

Chapter 5, from the p.o.v of the young girl, ends with two shots of the girl: one looking into the pub watching the adults dancing to accordion music, the other a static close up of her face framed by the misty window from inside the bar.

The girl’s scene starts much earlier in daylight outside her house. The doctors scene also starts earlier with him in his room. It is only as one watches the second scene, questions arise if both sccnes represent exactly the same block of time or overlap in some way.

Pub scenes in Chapters 4 and 6 are continuous, starting with Keleman entering in 4 , and ending with the dance in 6.

Knowing the pub tango scene and its looped accordion music  from the YouTube extract, something happened that was not meant to when I watched the DVD.  Though the bar dance had not happened yet in the film, having watched all twelve minutes of it in YouTube,  months before, I could visualise the whole scene from outside in the dark as I ‘stood behind’  the characters trudging about in the rain.

We do see what is happening inside the bar, when the girl goes to the window, but the action does not last as long as the full 12 minutes of the dancing shot from within the room.

Some bright spark in one online assessment  writes of cubism, which is a neat analogy. For this to work in film, we need persistence of memory. Whether one could be clever enough to claim Tarr is applying analytic rather than synthetic cubism, I cannot say.

12. Subtitles.

Tarr was reluctant, it seems, to bring Satantango out on DVD.  I wonder what he thought about subtitles. Having watched the film, whole and part, it was only when ignoring the subtities many of the visual details were noticed. Thankfully there isn’t much dialogue, so it can be an eye-centric experience, with half an ear (= eye on the subtitles) on what is being said. Those shots where the words are important to grasp the story, for example, the Captain’s speech,  the visuals can be almost be ignored.  What can be learned from watching the captain’s face as he delivers his ‘speech’?

The ultimate for me – to be able to understand more of what  Tarr was trying to achieve – would be a well-done English dubbed version, so that the non-Hungarian gets the full Hungarian experience through listening to what is being said. There are quite a few words which by themselves without anything else, flesh out a greater terrain than the film covers visually. {SEE: quite a few of the other notes.}

Many of those reviewing the film after a cinema viewing, claimed it was the only and best way to watch it, debating whether the DVD would do the job the director intended.  I have only watched it on DVD, and unlikely to get an opportunity to see it in a cinema.  An example of what you get with DVD that you might not catch otherwise is my description (real or fanciful?) of the final bell sequence in note 6.

13. Time, Location, Locations.

Tarr has said that he considers time and location to be characters in his films, on the same level of importance as his human actors.

According to Harry Tuttle, there were 10 separate locations. I’m a location freak, so if you have any detailed info about this, let me know. For example, did Tarr film in or near his home town, Pécs.

László Krasznahorkai was born in 1954, in the town of Gyula in the east of Hungary. This photo of the puszta comes from that page. Even more fun, from here, we get to this intriguing oat tower, at  Mezőhegyes, which is SW of  Gyula. Imagine that being used for the bell sequence.

I’m putting my money on locations around Gyula. This ruin at Póstelek, {2} {3}, about 5 miles NW of Gyula,  looks much like the  place where Estike kills herself:

The view in the film would be the back of the photos. When the girl is inside the building arches can be seen but these do not identify the building well from the outside.

This Hungrian map shows the position of the ruin at Postelek ( The Gyula-Postelek Castle).  And there a clear aerial photograph of the mansion, which pretty much clinches it from the arrangement of trees and paths which can be correlated with several of the shots.

Gyula Pósteleki kastély

[2] Location as character.

Clearly this is true in Satantango. This is partly explained by the re-visiting of structures and objects.

The route the doctor walks from his house to replenish his brandy flagon is almost the reverse of the final tracking shot in the introductory cow scene.

In Sebald’s own case, I think book jacket blurbs played a critical role in helping expand international awareness of his writing. And it was all because of of one book review – Susan Sontag’s “A Mind in Mourning” (Times Literary Supplement February 25, 2000) – and the resulting blurbs by Sontag that appeared on some of Sebald’s subsequent editions in English.I know that I picked up my first book by Sebald because of her imprimatur on the cover.

Sebald’s first published blurb seems to have been for Foreign Brides by Moscow-born journalist and author Elena Lappin, which was first published in London in a hard cover edition by Picador in 1999, to be closely followed that year followed by an American edition from Farrar, Straus & Giroux. Both contained the somewhat ambivalent jacket blurb by Sebald: “A wonderful story collection set between one place and another and shaped by a fearless sense of comedy.” When the British-based Lappin’s next book The Nose came out in 2001, Picador simply trimmed down and recycled the crux of Sebald’s earlier blurb on the front cover: “A fearless sense of comedy.”

The next occasion for a blurb seems to have been for the Hungarian writer László Krasznahorkai’s The Melancholy of Resistance (NY: New Directions, 2000). Appropriately, the two blurbs on the back cover are from Sebald and Susan Sontag.Sebald’s blurb reads: “[The Melancholy of Resistance] is a book about a world into which the Leviathan has returned. The universality of its vision rivals that of Gogol’s Dead Souls and far surpasses all the lesser concerns of contemporary writing.” The book was first published in English as a paperback by Quartet in London in 1998, apparently with the same blurb by Sebald although I have not seen a copy myself.The connection between Sebald and Krasznahorkai was made by Sebald’s friend the poet and translator George Szirtes (born 1948), who has written in the Hungarian Quarterly of his experiences translating The Melancholy of Resistance and other books from the original Hungarian: “Asked by Quartet as to who might provide a suitable endorsement of the book, I gave the name of W.G. Sebald, then forgot to mention it to the man himself; so when he rang up one day to announce he had received the typescript I was full of apologies. He was not at all put out: he thought it was a marvellous book and was pleased to provide a few sentences.” (George Szirtes, “Foreign Laughter.” Hungarian Quarterly XLVI, No. 180 Winter 2005.)

Most likely Sebald’s last true blurb was written for Norbert Gstrein’s novel The English Years, which was published shortly after Sebald died (London: Harvill, 2002). Sebald is quoted on the front cover of the dust jacket: “An exceptional work of prose fiction: carefully crafted, unpretentious, and accomplished at the same time.” The connection between the Austrian writer (born 1961) Gstrein and Sebald may well have been the translator they shared during 2001, Anthea Bell.

With the rediscovery of the writings of the German Gert Ledig (1921-1999), instigated in part by Sebald’s discussion of his “unjustly forgotten” books in On the Natural History of Destruction, blurbs by Sebald have become standard issue as Ledig’s books are translated into English and released on both sides of the Atlantic. By comparison with his brief earlier blurbs, the quotation on the back cover of Gert Ledig’s Payback is a generous fifty words or so in length. In this case, however, the blurb is actually a patchwork quotation carefully extracted (and ever so slightly massaged for clarity) from a three-page span of Sebald’s On the Natural History of Destruction (see pps. 94-6 in the Random House edition). In addition, the top of the book’s front cover is emblazoned with the two word quote from Sebald: “Intense, uncompromising.”Payback (London:Granta, 2003), issued as a paperback original, was the first English-language appearance of Ledig’s Vergeltung (1956).

Ledig’s The Stalin Organ, also released as a paperback original (Granta, 2004), reduced Sebald’s contribution to two words – “Intense, uncompromising” – but left them dramatically at the top of the front cover. This was the first English translation of Ledig’s Der Stalinorgel (1955).When the New York Review of Books released this in America in 2005, the title was changed to The Stalin Front and the publishers reverted to a lengthier, albeit significantly different, quotation from On the Natural History of Destruction - and once again the transcription from Sebald’s original book into blurb was rather loosely but strategically massaged.

Undoubtedly there are more blurbs by Sebald to be found and more to come as publishers mine his critical writings and his fame.