Sátántangó

Satantango is such a specific film that it really isn't for everyone. But what must be acknowledged is that it's not just a seven-hour film; it's a film with substance, a film that communicates something. Moreover, it communicates it in a way that is often breathtaking (the scene with the horses) or in a way that moves you (the scene with the cat). But at the same time, there is much more to it. (2016.03.11)

Since rating a film is a highly subjective matter, I’m giving it only 4 stars. Tarr is probably a bit of a nutcase, and he manages to put the viewer to sleep in some parts of this seven-hour, sociopathic audiovisual onslaught in an utterly spiritual and fascinating way, but Satantango is simply so monumental and narratively advanced that it’s impossible not to stay awake. Tarr's minimalism can be annoying, likewise his detachment from his own characters or the disproportionate prolongation of plot-contained shots, but if there was one way to make a similarly magical and ambiguous parable, it was with his delicate and patient directorial hand. Although not much happens, the story is beautifully arranged in time, changing narrative perspectives in favour of lyricism and forcing the viewer to think about and make sense of the "twists". I even get the idea that I need to see it more than once, but facing the thought of another 400 minutes sitting on my ass while the future love of my life waits for me in the highest chamber of the highest block of flats, the idea loses narrowly on points. Sorry Béla, but you really exhausted me. (2016.12.14)

Oh, Beckett, Kafka, Nietzsche, and everything else – the whole European culture seems to have condensed into an image of Hungarian countryside, and in that lies the unsurpassable greatness of Tarr: namely, that through his images evoking total perceptual identification (i.e., the viewer’s complete immersion into the observed object through a perfect sense of combining the visual field and the atmosphere it emits), every single detail of Hungarian reality becomes fully connected to the all-European message. The camera flows perfectly slowly like a stream in the Danube, and yet we are watching a Beckettian drama about senseless waiting for salvation, a Kafkaesque no less anti-deep drama about subordination of man to the equally senseless will and eye of Power, which exercises an act of universal distortion of everything into its silly logic, and finally a Nietzschean drama about the spark of ego that refuses to be restrained by anything, and yet always ends up as a faint flicker between darkness and light – between the black and white of the black-and-white camera. (2019.05.14)