What makes Béla Tarr the unrivaled master of dread is his oneness. His characters sulk across squalid plains, plagued by endless winds, shot in gloomy black-and-white with extremely few but extremely graceful takes. With his final film, The Turin Horse, his focus is on the pointless human routine, depicted in an alternate past where the apocalypse approaches. The depiction of the inevitable end is minimalistic, showcasing no fancy Emmerich-tier special effects as the world simply surrenders to the void. The effect is a little more long-lasting than, say, the roller-coaster of a doomsday promised by 2012.
The film supposedly takes place after an event in 1889 where Friedrich Nietzsche, according to some, descended to madness after having witnessed the abuse of a disobedient horse on the streets of Turin. Somehow, this was the cruelty that pushed him over the edge, leading him to only speak four more words for the rest of his life: "Mutter, ich bin dumm"
When Hungarian novelist László Krasznahorkai, a frequent collaborator of Tarr, first heard the tale during the making of Sátántangó, he simply mused "So what happened to the horse?"
Know that this is a purposely slow and repetitive film, as is relevant for its message (not the most fun or optimistic pick for a movie night either), but this does not mean it is without value. As mentioned, it is outstandingly well-photographed (by Fred Kelemen) and the sense of dread is tangible, not to mention constant, thanks in no small part to its lighting and imposing sound design.
In the film, the world is facing destruction as some sort of perpetual storm is moving through the land. Its wind is heard constantly in the distance by the Stableman and his daughter (János Derszi and Erika Bók, both of Sátántangó); when it eventually stops, the silence is deafening and we somehow realize what must come next. Mihály Víg's depressing music isn't bad either, although perhaps overused.
The movie relies almost solely on the elements I mentioned above. Its dialogue is virtually non-existent and there isn't much to the characters - even though we feel their need to persist, fruitless though it is, and there is never the sense that they are simply actors. As we watch, we have very much entered an alternate past, one that is slowly putting an end to man and his daily existence. Some will get bored; others will see the purpose of the slowness, and despair. Or, as it might turn out, worry a bit less.
It is said that The Turin Horse is Tarr's final movie because he feels he has done what he can to change the world with his art, even stating that he no longer holds any such faith in his creations. He had come to realize that problems are too complicated for that and The Turin Horse is simply a reminder that the only certainty is doom (he has denied that this mindset is necessarily WHY he no longer wants to make movies).
Maybe this is a good reading of The Turin Horse. It is a movie that invites endless pondering, mainly for those who sit through it. I will say this: my guess is that those who do sit through it will find themselves enveloped by its distinctly bleak universe (its cinematography, sound design, and overwhelming atmosphere will make up for its repetitive scenes, purposeful and poignant as they may be) and discover a strange comfort in it.
The film supposedly takes place after an event in 1889 where Friedrich Nietzsche, according to some, descended to madness after having witnessed the abuse of a disobedient horse on the streets of Turin. Somehow, this was the cruelty that pushed him over the edge, leading him to only speak four more words for the rest of his life: "Mutter, ich bin dumm"
When Hungarian novelist László Krasznahorkai, a frequent collaborator of Tarr, first heard the tale during the making of Sátántangó, he simply mused "So what happened to the horse?"
Know that this is a purposely slow and repetitive film, as is relevant for its message (not the most fun or optimistic pick for a movie night either), but this does not mean it is without value. As mentioned, it is outstandingly well-photographed (by Fred Kelemen) and the sense of dread is tangible, not to mention constant, thanks in no small part to its lighting and imposing sound design.
In the film, the world is facing destruction as some sort of perpetual storm is moving through the land. Its wind is heard constantly in the distance by the Stableman and his daughter (János Derszi and Erika Bók, both of Sátántangó); when it eventually stops, the silence is deafening and we somehow realize what must come next. Mihály Víg's depressing music isn't bad either, although perhaps overused.
The movie relies almost solely on the elements I mentioned above. Its dialogue is virtually non-existent and there isn't much to the characters - even though we feel their need to persist, fruitless though it is, and there is never the sense that they are simply actors. As we watch, we have very much entered an alternate past, one that is slowly putting an end to man and his daily existence. Some will get bored; others will see the purpose of the slowness, and despair. Or, as it might turn out, worry a bit less.
It is said that The Turin Horse is Tarr's final movie because he feels he has done what he can to change the world with his art, even stating that he no longer holds any such faith in his creations. He had come to realize that problems are too complicated for that and The Turin Horse is simply a reminder that the only certainty is doom (he has denied that this mindset is necessarily WHY he no longer wants to make movies).
Maybe this is a good reading of The Turin Horse. It is a movie that invites endless pondering, mainly for those who sit through it. I will say this: my guess is that those who do sit through it will find themselves enveloped by its distinctly bleak universe (its cinematography, sound design, and overwhelming atmosphere will make up for its repetitive scenes, purposeful and poignant as they may be) and discover a strange comfort in it.