'Don't be influenced by anybody.'
-Béla Tarr
It isn't very often a living legend stands in front of you.
Today, The New York Film Festival premiered (in the US, at least) The Turin Horse, the final film from Hungarian filmmaker Béla Tarr. Mr. Tarr, who began his career in Communist-era Hungary making social realism and slowly transitioned to films of a more allegorical and metaphorical nature, is a unique individual in the ranks of world cinema: a self-described 'autocrat', he makes film in black and white, uses endlessly long takes (his film Werckmeister Harmonies runs 145 minutes and contains 39 cuts) and hasn't gone near a digital camera in his storied career. In the eyes of a less discerning public, his work almost feels like a joke, a goofy representation of European artsy-fartsy miserablism, what with the austere camera work, hopelessness, and focus on the poor, uneducated, and marginalized of our world. It would be nearly impossible to take Béla Tarr seriously if he didn't take his work so seriously.
I mean this as the highest praise possible. Mr. Tarr is fully committed to film as art form. In today's discussion, he called it 'the seventh art.' He has created a body of work that no other filmmaker could ever make, and every frame is his own.
I've only encountered Mr. Tarr’s work in the past few years, and I fully admit to not having seen all his films. It took me three tries to finish Werckmeister Harmonies (indeed, I didn't get past the FIRST shot initially). Once I did, I was hooked. Fairly recently, on a hot Friday in July, a cinephilic friend and I committed to Sátántangó, Mr. Tarr’s 7.5 hour film about the disintegration (and manipulation) of a collective farming community. It was a mesmerizing, provocative, and sometimes boring experience, but unlike any other I’ve had watching a movie in my home. I’m sure I didn’t understand everything, and I know the film isn’t for everyone, but I’m certain it is a worthwhile experience.
That’s how I felt at today’s screening of The Turin Horse. A portrait of six days in the life of a horse driver (an infamous one, based on the title) and his daughter, it’s not an easy film. At times it’s downright trying, but as I felt the film coming to its conclusion, I felt a deep sense of loss. Despite occasional restlessness, and a desire to escape that theater, I didn’t want the film to end. I didn’t want to leave the world Mr. Tarr created for me. I wanted to sit and watch the family of two eat their potatoes, drink their palinka (Hungarian brandy), and struggle with the wind.
Part of this could have been because Mr. Tarr has publicly declared The Turin Horse would be his last film. When asked why at the film’s pre-talk, Mr. Tarr said we would all understand when we had seen the film. When the same question was asked at the post film talk, Mr. Tarr just pointed at the screen and smiled.
I think I understood. Mr. Tarr has made a film of incredible simplicity. It is an articulation of everything that has come before it. This is a film of beautiful images and painful truths expressed by a man whose artfulness and directness is astounding. I have now had the opportunity to hear Mr. Tarr speak, and it wasn’t at all what I expected. I expected someone harder, someone less articulate and certainly someone with a smaller sense of humor. Mr. Tarr is funny (he asked why we were indoors on such a beautiful day), and he seems ultimately hopeful. As the screening began, he said he hoped we would love the characters as he loved them. I walked out loving them.
And him, in a way. Mr. Tarr may be one of the last of the true filmmakers. He shoots in black and white 35mm, utilizes long takes, edits in camera, and seems deadly serious about what he wants to say. But, finally, what I have in my mind after a day of memorable images is a smiling man dressed entirely in black, pointing his thumb at the screen.
If that isn’t someone who lets their work speak for itself, I don’t know who is.
