Werckmeister harmóniák

A few days ago we watched an open air screening of "Werckmeister harmóniák" (Werckmeister Harmonies). It was my first Béla Tarr film, which is a bit embarrassing for a self-proclaimed cinephile to admit. 

The story, featuring a travelling circus, a whale carcass, an elusive "prince", and a music composer of restless intellect, progresses through long-takes of meticulous geometry and purposeful rhythm. Can it be read as a meditation on the forces that drive the human species towards art, noble causes, lofty ideas, and cruel violence, often intermixed and hard to tell apart? Perhaps, though it would be a shame to reduce the rich symbolism on display here to a single interpretation.

A familiarity with the nuances of Hungary's culture or political history would probably shed some light on connections with real events, but ignorance in this regard did not prevent me from appreciating the apparent artistry of the black-and-white compositions or the music by Vig Mihály. It's unmistakably the sign of a capable storyteller when the telling goes beyond a mere recounting of plot points and the localized idiom is mapped to a universal truth or collective experience. Simple moments, like a man walking in the street at night, and more esoteric interludes, the scenes with the whale, are saturated with a persistent poetic sensibility. As we follow the descent of an unnamed Hungarian town into chaos and the spiritual collapse of timid János (the aforementioned composer's nephew), we can't help but relate and reflect, to unearth meaning in ideas and gestures foreign to ourselves.

Béla Tarr passed away this year on January 6.