Directed by: Béla Tarr and Ágnes Hranitzky
Starring: János Derzsi, Erika Bók, Mihály Kormos
I would be lying if I said there was nothing good to say about this most recent film from Hungary’s master of molasses-paced miserablism. The film is beautifully photographed in black and white, and some of the camera movement is an amazing display of technical virtuousity. Also, at a mere 146 minutes, it’s considerably shorter than some of Béla Tarr’s work, but, best of all, Tarr has announced that he won’t be making any more films. This is the best news I can imagine, though the truth is that I had already decided it would be his last of his film as far as my participation as a viewer. I’ve seen three of his movies. That’s more than enough. Now, it’s only fair to note that there are people in this world who find these movies profound and consider Tarr to be one of the greatest of all filmmakers (and that we should all grovel before his greatness). If he’s a great filmmaker, give me an honest hack any day. I rarely say that I hate a movie. Hate is generally too strong a word to use — too much emotional energy to expend on a movie. I will make an exception with The Turin Horse. It put me in a bad mood for three days — and to no real point. I even briefly considered washing my hands of movies altogether (which would probably please some), but I got over that. The plain fact is neither Tarr nor his movie is worth giving that much power.
So what exactly is The Turin Horse? Well, it’s ostensibly tied to a story about Fredrich Nietzsche, but I think that’s a stretch — unless we’re to believe that the horse mentioned in the opening title is the same beast that ended up on the grim potato farm where the movie takes place. I suppose the case can be made, but this is one of those affairs where you could make a claim that the movie is about absolutely anything and no one could really disprove it. (Or prove it.) The first 30 minutes of the film are devoted to an old man (played with a complete lack of expression by frequent Tarr collaborator János Derzsi) driving his horse and cart home through a seemingly very localized windstorm. Then he and his equally expressionless daughter (another Tarr regular, Erika Bók) put the horse away, feed it and close up the barn. This is followed by her helping the old man change clothes. She then cooks potatoes, which they eat with their bare hands. (He uses salt.) Occasionally one or the other will sit and stare out the window at the barren landscape and the windstorm. Now, there’s only about two more hours to trudge through. This is about as exciting as things get. More potatoes are cooked and eaten. The horse, on the other hand, stops eating. Then…well, some say it’s art. In the words of E.B. White, “I say it’s spinach, and I say the hell with it.” You are at liberty to seek alternate views.
In Brief: Another adult-sized dose of pretentious miserablism from Hungarian filmmaker Béla Tarr. This one involves a horse, a couple of peasants, potatoes and the end of the world—all viewed in a detached manner and at a glacial pace. Some consider this profound. I am not among them.
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Mister Hanke, what do you think are the chances I will like this better than you did given that Werckmeister Harmonies was one of my ten favorite movies of the last decade? |
Aug 07, 2012 |
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at a mere 146 minutes, it’s considerably shorter than some of Béla Tarr’s work Ye gods! |
 Aug 07, 2012 at 3:51 PM |
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what do you think are the chances I will like this better than you did given that Werckmeister Harmonies was one of my ten favorite movies of the last decade? I wouldn’t hazard a guess. I did find Werckmeister interesting (though I have zero desire to see it again). This strikes me as more like Satantango, though it has the advatage of not being 7 hours and 15 min. long. I simply can’t guess. I am half-inclined to believe it’s a cumulative thing with me and that anything by him that came third would have been the Lucky Strike that broke the Camel’s back, since they all seem to be slow moving movies about people I’d pay money not to meet. |
Aug 07, 2012 |
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I am half-inclined to believe it’s a cumulative thing with me and that anything by him that came third would have been the Lucky Strike that broke the Camel’s back, since they all seem to be slow moving movies about people I’d pay money not to meet. This is almost exactly why I had trouble with Melancholia last year. Never seen anything from this filmmaker, but some of Michael Haneke’s work comes to mind, mostly The Seventh Continent I suppose. Probably the two aren’t really all that similar, but all the same I’m gonna take my inability to get excited about most anything Haneke as a sign to stay away. |
 Aug 08, 2012 at 7:10 AM |
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You came to the wrong guy for an argument about Haneke (careful with that spelling!), but he’s pretty fast-paced next to Tarr. |
Aug 08, 2012 |
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They trimmed this film by 200 minutes for American consumption. |
 Aug 08, 2012 at 11:36 AM |
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Maybe they should have eaten the horse. |
 Aug 08, 2012 at 12:27 PM |
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They trimmed this film by 200 minutes for American consumption. Too bad in a way, because if this had been handed to me and it had had a running time of 346 minutes, I’d never have watched it. Not after Satantango. |
Aug 08, 2012 |
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Well, the film certainly succeeded in making you depressed. Your critiques of the work seem to be more emotional than technical. Of course, you do criticize the minimalist (perhaps non-existent) storytelling and the gimmicky premise, but the technical details and even the dialogue remain untouched. When you make statements like “it put me in a bad mood for three days” and “I even briefly considered washing my hands of movies altogether”, I can’t help but wonder if that was Tarr’s intention. He’s evidently a pessimist (even though he’d say otherwise) and critical of western culture in general. If you take these two facts for granted, it’s no wonder that his intentions were not to create an upbeat work. I recently read an interview with Tarr in which he states that he enjoyed Kaurismaki’s Le Havre, a film which is brimming with as much optimism and love as anything by Yasujiro Ozu. The very fact that a renowned pessimist would complement his polar-opposite is telling to me. Tarr’s works (with the exception of his more operatic Werckmeister Harmonies) enhance the art of cinema in the same way that the fear of death enhances our desire to live full lives. Ozu and Kaurismaki would be worthless if it wasn’t for the suffering and darkness which are so commonplace in the art world, the same can be said about Tarr’s reliance on optimistic cinema. The Turin Horse is like a corpse, it evokes feelings of revulsion and disgust, while reminding us to hold on to what little beauty can be found in the darkness. I can understand your perspective though. Why pay so much attention to the dark monotonous underbelly of cinema? Shouldn’t a passing glance at this stuff be enough? Now, I know that I’ve probably taken this too far; you evidently recognize the greatness of works like Come and See and Diary of a Country Priest, works which are dark but not monotonous. So what is it that attracts so many to the monotony of The Turin Horse? I think that it is the very fact that monotony, something which we all experience in life, has always been avoided in the art world. The Second-Viennese school (Schoenberg, Berg, and Webern) set out to compose works which lacked a tonal center, something which most of their contemporaries were extremely critical of; the minimalist composers attempted to revert back to primordial repetitive beats; and the impressionist painters violated the principles of academic painting in order to better express their emotions. All of these movements attempted to express something which had been intentionally ignored up till that point. The final products are sometimes difficult to appreciate, but at least they are without precedence, and at least a minority were moved by their efforts. |
Nik Aug 08, 2012 |
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Well, the film certainly succeeded in making you depressed. Your critiques of the work seem to be more emotional than technical. Of course, you do criticize the minimalist (perhaps non-existent) storytelling and the gimmicky premise, but the technical details and even the dialogue remain untouched. I said the photography was good. I said his moving camera was masterful. That pretty much covers the technical side of this. There is no acting to speak of and only one patch of dialogue worth noting. When you make statements like “it put me in a bad mood for three days” and “I even briefly considered washing my hands of movies altogether”, I can’t help but wonder if that was Tarr’s intention. Oh, I fully suspect that Tarr would love the fact that I hated his movie. I don’t see the good in that, but there it is. I can understand your perspective though. Why pay so much attention to the dark monotonous underbelly of cinema? Shouldn’t a passing glance at this stuff be enough? Three doses is certainly enough for me. So what is it that attracts so many to the monotony of The Turin Horse? Define “so many?” The film barely got a release in this country. Yeah, sure, a group of critics and cinema fans think that all this nasty medicine stuff is art, but let’s face it, even though Tarr placed twice on that Sight and Sound list, it was with 30-odd votes out of 842 voters. (And it’s likely the same 30-odd voters in both cases.) That’s not an overwhelming number really—especially when you place it in a context of 842 people who ostensibly know something about film. Localize it some and tell me how many people came to Satantango and actually sat through all of it. (And, no, I don’t think its low turnout was because of me. I do not have that kind of influence.) The final products are sometimes difficult to appreciate, but at least they are without precedence, and at least a minority were moved by their efforts. Is being “without precedence” necessarily a good thing? |
Aug 08, 2012 |
