Every film from Roger Ebert's "Great Movies" essays.
This story takes place in a small town on the Hungarian Plain. In a provincial town, which is surrounded with nothing else but frost. It is bitterly cold weather — without snow. Even in this bewildered cold hundreds of people are standing around the circus tent, which is put up in the main square, to see — as the outcome of their wait — the chief attraction, the stuffed carcass of a real whale. The people are coming from everywhere. From the neighboring settlings, even from quite far away parts of the country. They are following this clumsy monster as a dumb, faceless, rag-wearing crowd. This strange state of affairs — the appearance of the foreigners, the extreme frost — disturbs the order of the small town. Ambitious personages of the story feel they can take advantage of this situation. The tension growing to the unbearable is brought to explosion by the figure of the Prince, who is pretending facelessness. Even his mere appearance is enough to break loose destructive emotions...
Why do I hold Werckmeister Harmonies aloft as the greatest film I have ever seen? A huge part of it, admittedly, and the thing that makes me think it will remain my favourite film to the day I die, is its profound personal relevance. I first saw the film about 5 years ago now, at a time when my interest in cinema was in the very very earliest stages of blossoming. It blew me away. Takes that long, images that symbolic, music that intoxicating, scenes that spellbinding, meanings that elusive... it was far too much for my uninitiated mind to deal with, but I knew that it was changing me. What's funny is that I encountered it entirely by mistake:…
There is no comfort in the worlds created by Bela Tarr. He has the unique ability to create his very own universe within the stories he chooses to relate. Otherworldly, yet real, Tarr's earth is a singularly harsh and unforgiving place, a place in which he chooses to explore what we are and where we are headed.
Werckmeister Harmonies is no different. In harrowing black and white we are transported to an anonymous Hungarian town, out of which life is slowly seeping away. It is a desolate place, struck by poverty and inhabited by people for whom life is very hard. While we follow mailman Janos (the focal point of the story), we slowly pick up snippets of how bad…
PTAbro's World Tour Stop 11: Hungary
"The world has gone completely mad. Now it's not down here, but up there where something's gone wrong."
János is a simple man; a servant and an idealist. Always being tasked with jobs no one else wants to do, like putting unruly children to bed or delivering an ultimatum to his closest friend from his conniving ex-wife, it is poetic that what he's actually paid to do is deliver the news that no one else wants to hear. Everyone around him refuses to hear the truth, and since it is his job to do so, he is relegated to a gopher in order to delay his inevitable announcements until it is too late. It's…
Part of the 30 countries festival. Hungary
"For as Jonas was three days and three nights in the whale's belly; so shall the Son of man be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth." – Matthew 12:40
Werckmeister Harmonies... Three days in the life of János, three days in the making of a revolution in a small Hungarian town, three days of threat, darkness, ignorance, duplicity. A three day eclipse of the sun/Son.
"And just imagine, in this infinite sonorous silence, everywhere is an impenetrable darkness. Here, we only experience general motion, and at first, we don't notice the events that we are witnessing" – János Valuska asking three drunks to play the sun, the moon…
Revolution rolls through the hidden towns and villages of Eastern Europe, leaving a trail of destructive mythology in its wake. Like the countless dictators that have come before it this dark, moving force holds captive one of the wonders of the world, God's magnificence held within a giant steal container. Wherever it comes to rest its unsettling presence moulds chaos from tranquility.
The omnipotence of a higher power lingers behind the framing of Bela Tarr's slow hypnotic takes taking in the fragility of man still so easily shaped and corrupted by elements beyond our control. His camera moves gracefully around the town following Janos through his routine in the first half of the film in sequences that induce a dreamlike…
Part of Lise and Jonnie’s What A Wonderful World: May 30 days, 30 countries.
Film 5 – May 5 – Hungary
My initial reaction after watching Werckmeister Harmonies ( besides running up to the cold dark attic and burying myself in whatever fodder I could find ) was to chicken out and toss off a non-review as I had done with The Turin Horse. Maybe a quip about the Prince, maybe an observation that Giant Whales coming to town is never a good sign. No, I’ll try to at least put down some impressions without any time to contemplate.
Since there is no way to compare Werckmeister to any film that I’ve ever seen except my only other Tarr, I’ll…
Part of Next Projection's series "Apocalyptic Poetry: The Films of Béla Tarr"
Since the passenger train connecting the icebound estates of the southern lowlands, which extend from the banks of the Tisza almost as far as the foot of the Carpathians, had, despite the garbled explanations of a haplessly stumbling guard and the promises of the stationmaster rushing nervously on and off the platform, failed to arrive (‘Well, squire, it seems to have disappeared into thin air again . . .’ the guard shrugged, pulling a sour face), the only two serviceable old wooden-seated coaches maintained for just such an ‘emergency’ were coupled to an obsolete and unreliable 424, used only as a last resort, and put to work, albeit…
Decided to kick myself up the ass and watch at least one bucket list film a week, of which this Bela Tarr movie was the first.
It's so gorgeous yet so desperately sad.
Lush black and white photography drag you into the isolation of postwar Hungary, as we listen intently to the concerns of a town who are visited by the circus and a whale - an intriguing metaphor for the political system.
Not just a movie, but a cathartic experience, able to ignore any ideal that we have film.
A work so deep that it is hard to describe with mere words, we voglono multiple visions to express an opinion concise and worthwhile.
Tarr is perhaps the greatest living director, an artist able to go deep in the heart of the viewer.
Creeping evil. Creeping camera. Slow take. Long shot. Immaculate. Make a pot of coffee and watch this one in the middle of the day. Bela Tarr's flick is slow and bleak and trains you into a patience and apprehension. We watch postman Janos make his rounds with the sense of some hidden presence beneath the membrane of the quotidian. Tarr is priming us for a confrontation with it when it comes, without the distancing effect of spectacle. Good flick.
"That's enough! Out of here, you tubs of beer!"
The opening sequence of this film is the best thing I have seen for quite a while, and it stands among my favorite moments in all of cinema. I was amazed and perplexed by the film, and I regard it as absolutely a masterpiece, but I probably need to watch it again before I form any kind of take on it.
Srs nonsense. Very avant garde, in the sense that you could honestly say to someone, "hey, want to see a film that makes absolutely no sense", and have them not be even slightly let down by the calibre of absolute.
Some weird stuff happens, and deliberate attempts are made to imitate (so as to be mistaken for) a film made in the 1960s. But this is way too drawn out, and content sense is way too low, to make me not annoyed. It's almost arrogant to use up that much time and not say anything except an esoteric homage to Dadism and pure cinema. Film equipment should be kept away from people libel to make these sorts of things.
Dear Avant Gardists
Sometimes, symbols, in keeping with their definition, represent things.
You know the old story about the dwarf, the whale, and the end of the world, don't you? Well, Tarr tells it as if you should, which is why this movie feels so primordial. Tarr's talent and temerity resides in his insistence on going the full distance, making big statements about being human and being weird that suggest someone who wants to be spoken of in the same breath as Gogol, Goya, and George Herriman.
Tarr creates individual scenes that contain more ideas and more pretensions than many director's entire body of work, and then finds ways of filming those scenes in ways over-designed to make you feel impressed, constructed top to bottom to make sure nothing can be mistaken…
"What they build, and what they will build, what they do, and what they will do is delusion and lies. What they think, and what they will think is ridiculous. They think because they are afraid, and he who is afraid, knows nothing." -The Prince-
This is what happens when a director decides to create a work of art, and knows exactly what they're doing. Werckmeister Harmonies was my introduction to the work of Bela Tarr, and after watching the long, flowing shots that are meticulously planned, the high contrast black and white photography that is perfectly composed, the thought provoking dialogue that is well written as well as intellectually stunning, the patient pace that creates an authentic and honest…
It's a strange feeling when you know you've just witnessed greatness without fully understanding what the hell just happened.
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most recent update - Friday, November 22, 2014
The letterboxd crew has unveiled a new feature that allows users to…
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