The Turin Horse
(2011, Béla Tarr)
Béla Tarr. The name stirs the passions of many a cinephile.
He is an auteur, visual poet, a storyteller who embraces the real, the gritty
as well as an element of the fantastical to fully bring his vision to the
screen. His reputation precedes him and among his devoted fans, Tarr is of one
the best filmmakers working today, especially outside the mainstream. His films
can be powerful and beautifully realized despite the often harsh subject
matter. Films the likes of Werckmeister
Harmonies, one of this reviewer’s all time favourites, is as grim as they
come, yet balances that out with some stunning positives qualities. After all
this is the man who directed the 7 hour long Satantango. Yes, a 7 hour film about a dilapidated Hungarian
village. His latest, The Turin Horse,
thankfully nowhere near as long, played at the FNC last weekend.
Tarr’s latest exploration of humanity’s miserable lot in
life begins with a strange story about renowned 19th century German
philosopher Freidrich Nietzsche and a horse in Turin. The animal was seen being
whipped mercilessly by its master, which caused such consternation on the part
of the German that it is said that, in a fairytale kind of way, the scene
caused his eventual mental breakdown. The viewer sees nothing of this, welcomed
only by a black screen with the sad tale provided by an unknown narrator. The
retelling ends by saying that the fate of horse went unknown. Finally images
appear on the screen before our eyes. A middle aged man named Ohlsdorfer (Janos
Derzsi) is sitting atop a worn down carriage, the transport module driven by a
horse, presumably the infamous Turin Horse. The wind blows relentlessly, as if
refusing to see the man, his horse and carriage advance any further. The
elements, all of them, are apparently against him. Soon enough, thanks in part
to the horse’s tireless efforts, the man reaches his home where his daughter
(Erika Bok) helps cooks, feeds and clothes him. This is the story of the odd
couple and the Turin Horse who henceforth refuses to do their bidding.
There is something about Béla Tarr’s style, from the visual,
the audio and the storytelling standpoint, that comforts this movie admirer. His
is a style that demands attention, and not merely for the more obvious reasons,
such as attractive cinematography, but genuine attention. You should be paying attention otherwise one shall miss
the real experience of watching the movie. This is perplexing given how the
director has a propensity to linger on certain shots, as is very much the case
here with The Turin Horse. Such a reality might make one believe that studious
attention is not required, but for those with the attention spans that can
handle a beast like this (and it is perfectly okay for one not to have such an
attention span. After all, Tarr truly does take
his time with scenes, which can seem like all the time in the world), the
rewards are more than worth it. Granted, his subject matters are almost always
harsh, grim, unpleasant, sober and ponderous, however if one is willing, please
give it a try, you won’t regret it. The opening scene described above, which
involves Ohlsdorfer riding his carriage against violent winds and dust, is such
a thing of beauty. Director Tarr does not cut once during these four or five
minutes, yet allows the camera to gently swing in different directions, sometimes
capturing the entirety of the carriage, while at other moments resting right in
front of the horse’s head, thus making it seem massive and fully showcasing its
struggles against the harsh elements. As this transpires, a sad, perhaps
melancholic musical piece fills the soundtrack. This same piece, the only piece
of music used at all in the entire film, returns a few more times throughout,
and coupled with the stark black and white cinematography, helps to fully
realize this terrible Hungarian world the two central characters live in. Werckmeister Harmonies, the other Béla
Tarr film I have seen, is characterized by quasi-identical elements. Maybe it
was the familiarity with the director’s sensibilities that helped the movie
wash over me, who can say. Regardless, the longer Tarr rested on a setting, or
the longer he guided the picture frame from inside the house to the well or to
the stable, relishing in all the little details, the greater the picture
became.
Plot is not of the essence in The
Turin Horse, even though there is one, sort of.
Among the wonderful details Tarr perfectly encapsulates on screen
is the father-daughter relationship, as well as the deteriorating state of
affairs in and around their home as the terrific wind outside refuses to
subside. The chores and rituals are strictly followed, such as the dressing up of
Ohlsdorfer in the morning and his undressing in the evening before bed, the
cooking, the walk to the well for what precious water rests down there, the
shot of hard liquor he drinks before his attempts to leave every day, the
easting of their potato, etc. These are repeated again and again with each and
every passing day, with Tarr always filming from a different angle. It makes
for a strangely compelling experience, one that could have people think back to
Chantal Akerman’s famous Jeanne Dielman,
23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles film, in which a single mother’s daily
chores are filmed again and again until the day she ‘snaps’ and changes her
habits. In this case, it is the furious elements as well as the slowly changing
behaviour of the horse which causes the ire of the couple, forcing them to
suddenly arrive at certain realizations, some rather harsh, such as the possibility
that their lifestyle, however traditional, may no longer be effectively
sustainable. There are even elements of bizarre comedy, perhaps unintentional, which
make the briefest of cameos, such as Ohlsdorfer’s frustration at the horse indiscipline,
which is demonstrated through angry snorts! The movie is literally filled with
these moments which relate to the greater mood and setting in which the world
exists.
If there is a single thing that does not work properly, it
might be a scene which transpires about halfway through the film, when a
neighbour (read: the closest person to them who still lives very far away)
arrives at their house in need of some liquor. He and the protagonist sit down
for a few moments, with the former explaining how he has come to the
realization that the world around them is changing. It is a pseudo-spiritual and philosophical
monologue which, unfortunately, hits the viewer over the head too strongly. The
smooth yet disturbing transitions which Tarr decides to show the viewer as the days go by in the story are much more
effective at creating a sense of unease and wonderment, not to mention developing
the many underlying themes. The acting in the scene is stellar, but it feels
like too great a rupture with everything else Tarr works so hard to accomplish
and succeed gloriously at.
The Turin Horse
should come as no surprise to those familiar with Béla Tarr. If you have seen
his work before and disliked it, there is, in all probability, no reason why
this film should win you over. On the other hand, if the director’s ‘slow burn’
type style and appreciation of dark, depressing subject matters are what
tickles your fancy, then discover The
Turin Horse at the earliest opportunity.
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