"Tarr’s cinema at its best, as in his newly restored 1994 magnum opus, Sátántangó, transcends the notion of an observational cinema... Observation is the work of the scholar, the anthropologist, the scientist. Yet, watching a Tarr film isn’t an intellectual exercise, as much as it is a bodily exercise."

I wrote about cinephilia and the sensory/bodily pleasures of viewing Tarr’s Sátántangó for photogénie's dossier on long films, “The Eye of Time.” You can read my piece here:
Ways of Seeing: Sátántangó and Records of a Cinephilic Encounter

If I were to teach a film class, especially a filmmaking one, I’d start the class with a screening of this film. No words, no introductions, no afterthoughts or ensuing discussion. Simply:
“That’s all for today. I will see some of you next class.”

Some day, I swear, we're gonna go to a place where we can do everything we want to
And we can pet the crocodiles

Feels extremely appropriate as the last film to watch on the big screen before the announcement of the closure of theaters in LA. 
Like the dying light in The Turin Horse, the projector in the theater went black, and so will my life be devoid of the only light that could save me right now. Like the father and daughter in the film, I, too, am shrouded by a darkness that I can’t seem to escape. 
And how could I have imagined a more fitting and definite ending to a chapter (the best chapter) of my life? 

Goodbye, City of Angels

After the film ended, before the Q&A started, I walked past Robert Pattinson, Willem Dafoe and Robert Eggers in the theater hallway leading to the exit, and had to pee so bad that I completely ignored them. In fact, I ignored them so hard that Dafoe said “I wanna know where that guy is going.”

Believe me, you don’t wanna know Will