Werckmeister harmóniák (2000) Reviews

• A challenging masterwork

  jandesimpson2004-11-23

  It is only after a third viewing that I dare venture some comments on this awesome film. That I was fascinated from the start was beyond doubt but its funereal tempo caused me to nod to the extent that even on a second viewing there were whole sequences I had missed. By the third attempt I feel ready."Werckmeister Harmonies" is one of the great artistic challenges of our age. I cannot begin to admit that I understand it fully but I do know that it carries those haunting resonances remaining long after the final shot, that I recently found in the Japanese "Eureka" and nearly half a century ago in Antonioni's "L'Avventura". As there is very little evidence that even the professionals have got to grips with the film's meaning - most are clearly as mesmerised as me but talk mainly about style, in other words how the director looks at his world, I will venture a few ideas even if they are erroneous. Bela Tarr's masterwork can only be understood as an allegory. In the 17th century the German musician, Andreas Werckmeister, conceived the idea of equal temperament thus enabling music to be written and played in any key. In doing so, according to the philosopher musicologist of the film, the purity of the natural cosmic language and inevitability of ordered sound became tainted. As a metaphor for this concept we are shown a small Hungarian town in mid-winter under the threat of civil chaos, The catalyst that brings this about is the arrival in the main square of a circus consisting of only one giant lorry containing a stuffed whale and a mysterious figure billed as the Prince who occasionally speaks but is never seen except as a shadow on a wall. The circus is a challenge to man's understanding of his safe familiar world and when, as here, there is a failure of comprehension the result is a crescendo into anarchy. A mob go on the rampage and, in a sequence of extreme barbarity, attack the local hospital beating up the defenceless patients. That the film works as an intensely human document is due to the fact that the director has given us a character with whom we can identify in the form of Janos, a young postman, whose odyssey throughout the wintry town we follow every step. As each scene takes place in real time generally in a single shot, a walk down a street is the length it takes to achieve. Thus Tarr builds into his structure that element of reflective time for the audience that is a hallmark of the cinema of Angelopoulos and Aoyami. We assimilate Janos's impressions for the time it takes him to experience them. As much has already been written about Tarr's use of the long take I will just add that the attack on the hospital is every bit as powerful an action sequence as the massacre on the Odessa Steps in "Battleship Potemkin". What however is so extraordinary about Tarr's great set-piece is the way it generates a similar power not by Eisenstein-like montage but by long tracking shots. Equally extraordinary is the use of silence. Not one of the victims cries out in distress, there is just the sound of furniture and fixtures being smashed. Whereas Eisenstein homes in on characters and faces, Tarr views his as a dark almost faceless collective. There is just one face recollected from a previous crowd scene to relate this terrible event to the casually familiar. The sequence reaches its climax when a curtain is pulled down from a bath to reveal in longshot the naked standing body of an old man, just flesh devoid of personality. This has the astonishing effect of taming the mob so that they gradually slink away in shame. There is a strange parallel here with our final glimpse of Janos sitting on a hospital bed, traumatised after his unsuccessful attempt at escape from the town. The only sounds he makes are quietly sung unrelated notes. His uncle, the musicologist is with him. He admits to the by now uncomprehending Janos that he has finally compromised by tuning his piano to equal temperament as the only way of perhaps selling the instrument. For the rest all is silence. The musician visits the square by now deserted to see for himself the whale abandoned outside its wrecked carrier. It is Tarr's haunting resolution of a nightmare vision of a world gone mad.

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• A Work-of-art

  thecygnet2003-02-05

  Put it simply, "Werckmeister harmóniák" is one of the most beautiful and haunting European film of the recent years, and maybe the best Hungarian film in decades. After the breakthrough of the acclaimed 7 hours long epic "Sátántangó" in 1994 it took 3 years to complete this masterpiece for Tarr Béla. "Sátántangó" and 'Werckmeister harmóniák" made Tarr one of the most acclaimed and adored directors of the contemporary film making. This mind-blowing story is told in only 37 shots (I counted it myself) some of them lasts for 5 or 6 minutes. Despite the small number of the shots, this film has one of the most effective editing of all time. Every edit is perfectly timed and has a meaning of its own. Kudos to the editor. The stark black-and-white camerawork is by Medvigy Gábor, and the melancholic music is composed by Víg Mihály. The most harrowing scene is the raid on the town hospital, the longest scene of the film, shot in complete silence. Frightening and senses-staggering, the picture of the naked old man burns into the soul. Highly recommended, a must-see for anyone who is interested in the recent history of Central-Eastern Europe and wants to understand it.

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• Demanding, but rewarding

  ian.lavery2000-08-21

  Imagine it. You spend four years on a project, with big funding hassles and changes in crew; and then, finally, after your film is very enthusiastically received at Cannes, the lab goes and destroys the only English-subtitled print before it's shown at the Edinburgh festival. Obviously Bela Tarr doesn't have his sorrows to seek. Some might accuse the film--which centres on a rural town riven by the arrival of a "circus" consisting only of a dead white whale in a corrugated iron trailer and a character called "The Prince" whose nihilistic and inflammatory remarks incite riots--of veering very close to a parody of miserabilist cinema. Okay, so it's in black and white; there's a lot of mud, rubbish, smoke and wetness; there's not much dialogue between not very attractive people; every take lasts between five and ten minutes; and there are many scenes of people trudging through cold and bleak landscapes. (You'll never see so much trudging in a film.) Lars Rudolph, as the hero Janos, looks like a cross between a young Klaus Kinski and Frasier's brother, Niles, and spends most of the film wild-eyed and harried. However, Tarr's distinctive style--exceptionally fluid and intricate tracking shots rendered in beautifully sharp monochrome--perfectly matches the grim story, which, as the director pointed out, explores the "boundaries between civilisation and barbarism". Any seemingly parodic moments are far outweighed by extremely powerful ones, notably the opening scene in a pub where the hero explains what an eclipse is using the sozzled bar clientele; the hero's deeply unsettling encounter with the "Prince"; and the mob's attack on a hospital. Although the narrative falls apart a bit in its closing scenes, the film's images stay with the viewer in ways unmatched much recent cinema. This film demands your time and concentration, but rewards them; it has a unique and mesmerising rhythm. And the music, by Mihaly Vig, is simply beautiful.

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• The Weight of Black

  tieman642009-11-24

  "I'm a man with a huge world-view, surrounded by microbes." – Woody Allen Bela Tarr directs "Werckmeister Harmonies". The plot? A circus act, consisting of a giant whale and a special guest called "The Prince", arrives at a small Hungarian town. With the circus comes a palpable sense of impending doom. Pretty soon, local townsfolk kick-start a violent uprising. They seem compelled by invisible, magical forces. One man, Janos Valuska, observes these mysterious proceedings with fascination. A figure of innocence and perhaps naivety, Janos watches as the circus causes violent gangs to form, some taking advantage of the situation and seizing power, others attempts to restore "order and cleanliness". The film begins with a beautiful sequence. Janos enters a bar and persuades a group of drunks to create a model of the solar system. Dancing in circles the gang reenact a solar eclipse, a ballet which is beautiful until one looks closely. The participants are all drunk and in a state of mental confusion, readily believing Janos' apocalyptic description of a solar eclipse. To Janos, an eclipse is not a scientific event, but a quasi-religious one which heralds the end of mankind. Instead of rational explanation, Janos and his congregation thus cling to irrationality and superstition. Later, when Janos sees the giant whale up close, he attributes its presence to God; surely only a powerful, supernatural being could create such a funny creature. Tarr then uses the whale as a metaphor for a kind of irrational, medieval superstition akin to blind, fascist obedience. No one in the film even considers taking a closer look at the whale, for if they had they would have noticed "The Prince" hidden behind it, a shadowy leader who represents nothing but an image onto which anyone can project whatever ideals they wish. Midway in the film, Janos overhears his uncle talking about Andreas Werckmeister, a musician famous for dividing the octave into twelve half-step tones. Werckmeister believed that maths, music and astronomy were linked manifestations of the harmony of the universe, a view held by Pythagoras, who argued that most euphonious harmonies resulted from tones that reflected the proportions of simple integers (2:1, 3:2 etc). But basing musical scales on simple ratios leads to contradictions and octaves that aren't true, which led to people like Werckmeister (and others) seeking to find an "equal temperament" or some form of "new musical system". By adopting this new system, Janos' uncle believes that mankind has deprived musical instruments of their divine tuning, replacing it with an artificial system which is nothing but an illusion; an illusion which western music is based on. Werckmeister is thus a sort of Promethian figure, taking the gift of knowledge/music away from God and handing it down to men. Janos' uncle thus believes that music, and by extension life itself, was better when it belonged solely to God. He longs for a simpler universe ruled by a sovereign Master Figure, and fails to acknowledge the vast achievements developed under the Werckmeister scale. As a musicologist he fails to appreciate the higher level of organisation and harmonies which "man's creation" has led to. The film's treatment of "order", "chaos", "anarchy" and "civilization", are thus reduced to musical terms; a three-way battle between order and symmetry (the unified world-view of classical Greece and the Middle Ages), superstition and mysticism and a more nuanced blending of the two. Consider again the first scene, in which Janos attempts to create heavenly order using the drunken bums. The bums fumble about, irregular in their movements, always falling out of position...and yet they are supremely beautiful, spinning in circles whilst the camera pulls back and the music swells. For Tarr, all quests for perfection must take into consideration humanity's imperfections; harmony depends on imprecision and compromise. But Tarr makes a larger point. Late in the film we're introduced to a gun waving police chief, his dictatorial children and his lover, a woman who seeks to use the escalating chaos of the village to acquire more power. Using these characters, and various symbolic sequences, Tarr then sketches a political allegory about the fascist's quest for order, and fascism's unstoppable tilt toward collapse. Hungary became a "Communist" (or rather, state capitalist) state after World War 2, the Soviet Union maintaining a military presence and enforcing Stalinist principles. This led to a revolt in 1956, which helped to topple authoritarianism and give birth to a kind of mixed ideology Socialism, a greatly liberalised approach to communism that lasted until 1989 (upon which democratic government and capitalism became the norm). But the film is not a strict allegory of Hungarian history, rather it aims to show how one political ideology can replace another when an aimless populace irrationally follows a charismatic demagogue. It is about how reactionary opportunists exploit superstition to gain power in the name of order, how people obsessed with "order" have contributed to disturbing the harmonic "disorder" of things and how impotent members of the intelligentsia often sit on the sidelines whilst the world burns. Indeed, it's no surprise that the first thing the violent gang does in the film is to raid a hospital, destroying scientific equipment in a crazy rage. With science dead they become slaves to lies; an irrational force, an angry mob which is only halted by the sight of a naked old man. This man, his body frail, his bones protruding from his flesh, forces them to confront a mass of paradoxes. Humbled and disgusted, they retreat into the night. But the damage has already been done. The old order has been destroyed and a new era has begun, Janos, the boy who believed in apocalyptic whales and the mysterious beauty of god, ending the film in a sterile hospital ward, misdiagnosed by science and branded an insane criminal. 8.9/10 – Though comprised of only 39 shots, this is perhaps Tarr's most accessible film.

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• A nightmarish vision of a town going mad

  howard.schumann2003-05-19

  It is closing time in a bar somewhere in Eastern Europe. Someone says, "Show us, Janos". A blank faced young man, Janos Valuska (Lars Rudolph), begins to organize a ballet of inebriated patrons playing the Sun and the Moon turning in their orbits. Valuska pleads, "All I ask is that you step with me into the bottomlessness." As the dance continues, the men are spun. They stop suddenly as the orchestrater tells us that "in this awful, incomprehensible dusk, everything that lives is still…" Then, with a push, the dancers carry on until the Earth emerges from the Moon's shadow. The eternal conflict between darkness and light begins again. Containing shots that last up to fifteen minutes at a time, Werckmeister Harmonies, the latest film by Bela Tarr (Satantango, Damnation), is a nightmarish vision of a society duped by political demagogues and distracted by circuses, being led into a cycle of violence and despair. Based on a novel by László Krasznahorkai, it is a powerful and disturbing film that, in its surreal depiction of growing madness in an unnamed town, is reminiscent of Roy Andersson's Songs From the Second Floor. The film takes its name from the theories of Janos' "uncle" Gyorgy Eszter (Peter Fitz), a musicologist who tells him of his obsession with the legacy of Andreas Werckmeister, a 17th century German musician who created the twelve-tone scale. Eszter believes that perfect order does injustice to the holiness of music, and says that the heavens move to their own music. As Janos leaves the bar and walks through the cold and half-deserted streets, streets that in T.S. Eliot's phrase "follow like a tedious argument of insidious intent", an enormous van drives up the main street and comes to rest in a great empty square in the town center. A circus is in town. The exhibit contains the world's largest whale, dead and stuffed with tiny staring eyes, and The Prince, a shadowy figure that we never see. The town is full of rumors of impending violence. Janos sees the whale and watches a growing group of seemingly unemployed middle aged men gather silently around fires in the square. He seems to know everyone in the town. To further her political agenda of "town cleansing" (read ethnic cleansing), Eszter's estranged wife, Tunde (Hanna Schygulla), sends the compliant Janos on errands. He is told to put the children of the police chief to bed but, as if presaging the coming violence, they stomp on their beds to a cacophony of noise while one shouts at Janos over and over again. "It will be hard for you". "It will be hard for you." He is also asked to listen to conversations in the square and report back to her, but he only hears the Prince saying, `What they build and what they will build is illusion and lies. What they think and what they will think is ridiculous'. When the signal is given, the men in the square come together and march towards us with growing anger in a hypnotic parade lasting five terrifying minutes. They go on a rampage, setting fires and ransacking a hospital, beating the sick in an unbroken orgy of violence. Patients huddle by their beds in silent fear. Suddenly a door is opened. Confronted by the menacing faces, an emaciated old man stands naked in a shower bathed in an amorphous light. Transfixed by what they have seen, the men abandon their task and retreat silently into the street. On the morning after, order is restored. The van is broken down and the whale is exposed as little more than an overstuffed balloon. The Sun emerges from behind the Moon to the swell of ineffably beautiful music. We have reached the end of the cycle only to begin dancing again when the next Prince calls the tune.

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