Satantango ★★★★★

Finally, after nearly three long years, I return to the desolation of Satantango. Once again, it reduces me down to a child, reminds me that I know nothing and that I am nothing. Amidst all the rain and the mud, though, under the nonexistent sun and ever-present clouds, there is something resembling a life. It's not much, but it's all we have left, and we have to cherish it. Whether by dancing or walking or drinking or just plain looking, life on Earth has something for us. Even though we have no control, even though it may seem bleak, and even though it all feels fated to fail, the bells are ringing somewhere.

Watching Satantango (at home, at least) really makes you appreciate what a day means. Anton, Aristotle and I started this film in the afternoon, the Sun blazing through the shutters and glaring off the screen. As the film wore on, the Sun slowly began to fall - I felt its glare on my back, then just a glimmer on my hands, and then it faded into obscurity. By the end of Satantango it was the film itself that illuminated the room, the sounds of its unearthly score echoing in the apartment and rumbling my measly little sound bar. The day passed before our very eyes across the seven hours of Satantango, reminding that there is something to each and every moment in life, no matter how slow or how fast it comes.

There are bits and pieces of this film that deserve to be parsed out in great detail, and certainly by a better writer than I, but I fear I have written too much about this movie. It's time instead for me to let it fester, allow it to seep into my subconscious and remain there until the next time I decide to unearth its wonders. I pray that that day should come soon, and that I find it in a theater amongst strangers in the dark.

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