Although the inspiration is clear, there is no film quite like Sátántangó. Building on the vision and style of Andrei Tarkovsky, in this film, Tarr attempts to create a completely different experience of cinematic time. The best way of illustrating this is with this fact: the average time between cuts in a typical Hollywood film is 2.5 seconds, the average time between cuts in this film is 2.5 minutes. The shots are complex, they travel through landscapes, they track along buildings, they typically settle on closed doors or zoom into characters' backs. The screen often becomes filled with blackness; the viewer is like a curious child waiting for movement, waiting for the opportunity to see again. Until, eventually, he is able to see again, and he is grateful for the return of his vision. With each shot, the film is redefining and developing the viewer's perception of cinematic time and space.
If it seems I'm focusing too much on how the film is composed as opposed to what the film is about, there's a reason for that: it's not so easy to discern exactly what the plot of the film is. It's set in a Hungarian village. The villagers have acquired money and are considering betraying one another. There is a mysterious prodigal son, who has a preternatural hold over the villagers and manipulates them seemingly at his will. Police officers are involved and there is a potential spy-element taking place within the narrative but, essentially, the plot is secondary to the way in which the film represents sheer experience. The experience of the life of various villagers is presented unedited, unfiltered. There are long scenes involving a disturbed, neglected child and her abused cat; there's a drunken, reclusive doctor; there are drunken villages dancing an inebriated, tortured tango.
The film, for all of its representation of everyday experience, never feels like a documentary or even cinema verité. There's a jagged quality to the film, something foreboding and nightmarish. It feels constantly unsettling and is captivating as a result. The way in which the film blends the quotidian and the surreal is utterly unique. Yes, once again, it is clearly inspired by Tarkovsky's work, but the film takes this in a new direction, a direction which seeks to blend artifice and experience to the point where the gap between the two becomes indiscernible.
Oh, by the way, did I mention that it's 7-hours long...
If it seems I'm focusing too much on how the film is composed as opposed to what the film is about, there's a reason for that: it's not so easy to discern exactly what the plot of the film is. It's set in a Hungarian village. The villagers have acquired money and are considering betraying one another. There is a mysterious prodigal son, who has a preternatural hold over the villagers and manipulates them seemingly at his will. Police officers are involved and there is a potential spy-element taking place within the narrative but, essentially, the plot is secondary to the way in which the film represents sheer experience. The experience of the life of various villagers is presented unedited, unfiltered. There are long scenes involving a disturbed, neglected child and her abused cat; there's a drunken, reclusive doctor; there are drunken villages dancing an inebriated, tortured tango.
The film, for all of its representation of everyday experience, never feels like a documentary or even cinema verité. There's a jagged quality to the film, something foreboding and nightmarish. It feels constantly unsettling and is captivating as a result. The way in which the film blends the quotidian and the surreal is utterly unique. Yes, once again, it is clearly inspired by Tarkovsky's work, but the film takes this in a new direction, a direction which seeks to blend artifice and experience to the point where the gap between the two becomes indiscernible.
Oh, by the way, did I mention that it's 7-hours long...