Werckmeister Harmóniák (2000)

Frank awakes. He had been dreaming that his beloved Miriam had been shrunken down to the size of two inches and, since that, he had finally encouraged her to requite his love, so he kept her safely in a cheese box inside his jacket. Thus he was able to love and protect her in a very sort of concrete way. And though still not able to consummate the relationship, it was no more ridiculous than his feelings for her anyhow. Frank yawns. Steve Riley and the Mamou Playboys were still refusing to vacate the Scène Lafayette Stage for the Merci Solidarité Acadie-Louisiane hurricane tribute performance. No matter. For the X year in a row, He has once again had more than enough Cajun music than he could stand at the Festival International de Louisiane. So he folds the program and the copy “Confederacy of Dunces” (Toole 1980) in his lap, shoves them into the side pocket of his linen jacket and heads off to get a café-au-lait at the Mellow Joy. As he heads over to Lee Avenue to get his Impala, he has the urge to pop over to Convent Street and mediate a bit at Toole’s old 2-story apartment building from the 1960s. Of course they moved it over to Girard Park (and destroyed Toole’s place in the process) back in 2001. Of course he could always go over to St. John’s and meditate instead upon the Cathedral Oak. But that would be somewhat trite and besides at this time he’d have to squeeze his meditations in among like-minded Nova Scotian tourists. His best bet would be to go over to the UL student union and watch the screening of Béla Tarr’s Werckmeister Harmóniák (2000). If you have the patience, lack of rancor, and time on your hands, Tarr’s film can be a beautiful experience. If you need a quick movie fix, don’t bother. (Much of the film is played out in “real time”—Frank has both praised and cautioned about this cinematic device prior.) Werckmeister Harmóniák is a tale about how everything goes to hell in a small Hungarian village after a circus plops a dead whale in the town square. If this is a premise seems to you to be “so crazy it just might work,” then: A. You’re just as off-kilter as Frank. (Way to go!), or B. Go out and buy it. Renting is probably out of the question. It was widely released by Facets Video February 28. The price is a bit dear at $26.99. So read a few more reviews than just Frank’s before you pick it up. Anyhoo, the film follows János (Lars Rudolph, something like a Klaus Kinski in Herzog’s Woyzeck [1979]), an agreeable courier as he tries not to become implicated In the events unfolding in town: men are marching on the hospital, his aunt wants to host a “cleansing” committee while fooling around with the sheriff, the sheriff’s kids are very bad and very loud, windows are broken, cars are on fire, etc. Don’t expect to see everything. Much is picked up through dialogue. But what you do see is disturbing enough. And at the core of all this is the mysterious whale in truck in the center of town, and his keeper of-sorts, the Prince, a shadowy rabblerousing midget.

But it’s not all dark. The eleven minute opening shot is quite beautiful in its way: here, János, upon command, sets the patrons in the local bar up in a shuffling celestial ballet as he explains the movement of the solar system. The sound track, a haunting piano is the perfect evocation of the scene. Watching it for the first time, Frank could only compare it to Fellini’s La Strada (1954), just tragically beautiful with music that tears at the heartstrings. La Strada, BTW, is about the first film Frank can think of that shares this very complete feeling evoked by scenes such as the Werckmeister intro. “Symphonic” is the best word Frank can think to describe it. Gaspar Noé’s Irreversible (2002), also pokes the viewer in this direction however, this film relies on a whole hell of a lot of digital manipulation, effects, etc. As always there are a few flaws. The Hungarian dialog track is often very out of sync if not wrong, though most of us, intent on the subtitles will never notice this. But subtitles are a problem in several scenes too. The 1.66 aspect ratio forces the white subtitles unto the frame, rather than below. These become unreadable in scenes with white backgrounds, such as a tablecloth, under the subtitles. It’s hard to complain much, though; Tarr gets the whole shebang done in only 37-38 shots (depending on who’s counting). Accomplishing this took some positively heroic scene blocking and stedicam work. The story may not be for everyone, but the technical achievements are amazing by any standard. A great, endearing performance by Rudolph as János sweetens the deal. The booklet included with the DVD is entitled “Béla Tarr: Cinema of Patience.” That says it all. Werckmeister Harmonies is definitely worth the effort if you give it a chance. Frank is certainly going to seek out his other films, even the uncompromising surreal 7.5-hour epic Santantango (1994). But for now, Frank sighs, dodging a blue tercel that doesn’t know they streets are closed, while crossing Lee and searching for his car keys. Pawing inside his jacket he one or twice hopefully thinks he feels his magic little cheese box.