For years, Béla Tarr was the much-discussed fugitive genius of high European cinema, hiding deep in the jungle of ideas, but his work was unavailable
For years, Béla Tarr was the much-discussed fugitive genius of high European cinema, hiding deep in the jungle of ideas, but his work was unavailable in the UK.
But in the 80s and 90s, his films began to be shown in Britain, and connoisseur audiences were stunned or puzzled or electrified by his extremely long movies, often adapted from the equally revered and difficult novels of Hungarian modernist László Krasznahorkai, co-directed by his wife Ágnes Hranitzky, and featuring the music of Mihály Vig.
Tarr retired from film-making in 2011 to run his film school, film.factory, in Sarajevo, but his work is being revived this summer in a major new retrospective at London’s BFI Southbank, so newcomers can beam down to the surface of his bizarre, vast planet of weltschmerz, black comedy, and slo-mo noir.
His films feature unbroken, sinuous camera shots of great length, mostly in black and white, showing gloomy people, often trudging endlessly across featureless plains in a bleak, stark world, sometimes getting despairingly drunk in squalid pubs and dancing unsteadily together, a knees-up of the undead.
When I interview Tarr it is via video call, the camera on his laptop is not working, and he speaks to me from a rectangle of darkness, the metaphorical properties of which are upended by his warmth and wit.
I ask if he enjoys teaching young people as much as he enjoyed making films, and he replies heavily: “No. Film-making is like a drug, and I’m still a junkie! But I want to work with the young people because I just want to push them to be themselves, to be free, to be more revolutionary than I was. My slogan is very, very simple: no education – just liberation!”
So why did he quit directing after his film The Turin Horse in 2011, which imagined the destiny of the horse that Nietzsche tearfully embraced before his breakdown? And how did he come to establish a school abroad?
“It was simple. I had a feeling. We had made everything we wanted. The work is done, and you can take it or leave it. It is not my business any more. I wanted to be a producer, working with the new Hungarian cinema. We had a production office, and you wouldn’t believe my desk. A minimum of 10 different projects on it! I loved to work with those people. But then we got this government, this shit, this rightwing shit. They said very clearly we have to apply for the new conditions, and we have to fulfil expectations, and by the end I said: ‘Fuck! Better if I hand over all ideas and projects and scripts and I leave the country because I have a feeling it’s hopeless.”
This brings me to the political force of his movies. The retrospective suggests something new: a parable of power worship, group hysteria, and suggestibility, uniquely intuiting both the personality-cult politics of the Soviet era and the world of nationalism, fascism, and Viktor Orbán still to come.
Tarr’s reply is thoughtful: “It is not only about fascism – it’s about all populism. You know, this is the difference between Hungary and the UK. Hungary is still proud of this shit. It was a nightmare and it is still a nightmare. Unbelievable in this 21st century. To see the people dependent on it is a real hell. This is why I am fortunately working abroad, working with young people between 20 and 30.”
One of my favourite scenes from Tarr is the moment when the mysterious, corrupt police captain in Sátántangó suddenly unburdens himself of his view of existence: “Human life is meaningful, rich, beautiful, and filthy!” It could be a description of his films. But how does he feel when people call them pessimistic?
His voice achieves a new gravelly basso profundo: “If you are really pessimistic, you go up to the roof and hang yourself, not wake up at four in the morning and go into the countryside to film! I only ask this – how did you feel when you came out of the movie theatre after watching my film? Did you feel stronger or weaker? That’s the main question. I want you to be stronger.”
The honest answer, for me, would be both stronger and weaker in a ratio about three to two. But you emerge sure in the knowledge you’ve seen something utterly different from anything else in cinema.
Conclusion
Béla Tarr’s films are not for the faint of heart. They are dense, complex, and challenging, but also rewarding and thought-provoking. His unique style, which blends elements of black comedy, film noir, and European art cinema, is a reflection of his fascination with the human condition and the struggles of modern society.
FAQs
- What is the significance of Tarr’s black and white cinematography?
- His use of black and white is meant to emphasize the bleakness and starkness of the world he depicts, while also creating a sense of timelessness and universality.
- What is the theme of many of Tarr’s films?
- His films often explore the themes of hopelessness, despair, and the search for meaning in a seemingly meaningless world.
- Is Tarr’s work pessimistic?
- While his films may appear to be pessimistic at first glance, Tarr believes that his goal is to challenge and provoke his audiences, rather than to simply present a bleak vision of the world.
- What is the tone of Tarr’s films?
- His films often have a dry, deadpan humor, which serves to underscore the absurdity and tragedy of the situations he depicts.
- Can I watch Tarr’s films at home?
- Yes, many of Tarr’s films are available on DVD and streaming platforms, although be warned that they are often challenging and demanding viewing experiences.
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