“Werckmeister Harmonies”, the 2000 film made by Hungarian filmmaker Béla Tarr and his co-director Ágnes Hranitzky, feels like a homework to do at first and then becomes something much more than that. Yes, this is one of the quintessential examples of “slow cinema”, but you will be captivated and then mesmerized by how it is about even though you will also often scratch your head on what it is about.
In fact, I also remain baffled about what it really is about even after watching it twice, so I will simply try to describe what I observed and felt during my viewing. Right from the very first scene which sets the overall tone of the film, the movie is brimming with a subtle sense of artistic confidence, and you will find yourself gradually impressed and then engaged in what is being so dexterously and effortlessly presented on the screen.
On the surface, the opening scene of the movie is just a sudden impromptu moment inside a bar in some unknown Hungarian village in a rather unspecified period background (We can only vaguely guess that the period is around the later stage of the Hungarian communist regime era, by the way). When the bar is about to be closed at late night, many of its drunken customers are not so willing to leave, and then a bright lad named János Valuska (Lars Rudolph) comes to make a little insightful speech on time and universe. During his speech, some of the drunken customers act as the Sun, the Moon, and the Earth, and the mood is lightened up a bit as almost everyone at the bar moves and rotates under his instruction.
What does his speech exactly mean or reflect? Now I am reminded of how inconsequential our existence on the Earth is in the vast darkness of the universe – how meaningless our concept of order and system can ultimately be in terms of space and time. Sure, we have tried to study, define, and understand the nature and the universe for many centuries, but, let’s face it, both the nature and the universe have not cared about our existence at all from the very beginning, and that will remain same as usual even when we all are gone forever someday.
Mainly through János, who incidentally works as a local newspaper carrier, we slowly begin to feel the unnerving sense of doom around the village and its residents. While the village looks mostly empty and barren, several villagers phlegmatically tell János some disturbing incidents including the sudden disappearance of a whole family, and the mood becomes all the more ominous when a mysterious circus visits the village. In a darkly striking unbroken shot, the movie simply observes the arrival of the big circus trailer truck along with János, but that is more than enough for disturbing and intriguing us.
The main show of this circus is a big stuffed whale, which is kept inside that big trailer truck along with an elusive figure called “Prince”. This surely come to draw more attention from János and many other people in the village, and the movie does not disappoint us when he gets a close look on the whale at one point early in the story. Patiently accompanying him during next several minutes, the camera observes more details from the whale, but its presence feels as ambiguous as that monolith in Stanley Kubrick’s “2001: A Space Odyssey” (1968). Regardless of whether it is merely a part of circus show or not, the whale somehow causes more anxiety and confusion in the village along “Prince”, who is incidentally never shown throughout the movie.
In case of an old man named György Eszter (Peter Fitz), who is also one of few people close to János, he simply prefers to focus more on honing his musicology philosophy associated with the harmonic principles of the 17th century Baroque musical theorist Andreas Werckmeister, but he also finds himself pushed and then cornered by whatever is happening in the village. His ex-wife suddenly returns with a certain demand, and he cannot possibly say no because she threatens to live with him again in a rather absurd way involved with a suitcase of hers.
Around that point, we become more confused just like János, but the movie just throws more chaos and confusion before eventually arriving at what can be regarded as the inevitable collapse of the existing order of life. There is an overwhelming crowd scene which culminates to another impressive extended scene unfolded inside a local hospital, and what is so plainly but powerfully shown around the end of this moment will lead you to more musing. I wonder whether this is an allegoric element associated with one of the most atrocious aspects of World War II, but, again, the movie does not give us any easy answer or interpretation.
I was not so surprised to learn later that the movie actually consists of less than 40 shots despite its 145-minute running time (Its average shot length is 3.7 minutes, by the way). This may sound quite boring to many of you, but the result is not so boring at all. Mostly being static in its steady position, the camera also fluidly and subtly moves for several different modes including long shots, tracking shots, closeups, and framing shots, and this makes us all the more immersed in the distinctive atmosphere and details on the screen, which are enhanced further by its starkly crisp black and white cinematography.
On the whole, “Werckmeister Harmonies”, which is based on the 1989 novel “The Melancholy of Resistance” by Nobel laureate László Krasznahorkai (He also wrote the screenplay with Tarr, by the way), surely requires some patience from the very beginning, but it is certainly worthwhile to watch as one of the best works from Tarr, who sadly passed away early in this year long after announcing his retirement with his last work “The Turin Horse” (2011). Although only watched “The Turin Horse” before watching “Werckmeister Harmonies”, I can tell you that he deserves to be mentioned as one of the great filmmakers in our time, and I also assure you that you will not easily forget whatever you observe or experience from this fascinatingly enigmatic piece of work.













































