How do we appreciate Béla Tarr’s Sátántangó, a hit since its premiere in 1994? One could argue that it pushes the boundaries of modernist cinema. The film is extreme and radical in its style, going well beyond typical limits. In doing so, it challenges the very definition of cinema. Despite this, Tarr’s radicalism unfolds over a lengthy marathon of a film, making it hard to distribute commercially.
We will be watching for seven and a half hours, which requires a huge investment of time and effort. This kind of viewing experience is different from the quick, comfortable entertainment we get from mainstream commercial cinema. In contrast, fast-paced Hollywood films are digitally focused and action-packed. Sátántangó, however, is more than just an experiment in narrative and style.
In every way, it’s a self-proclaimed extreme counterpoint with a palpable spin. But it’s worth the investment. In the same year, the film won the Age d’Or award at the Brussels International Film Festival and the Caligari Prize at the Berlin International Film Festival. Many critics and scholars continue to attend special screenings.
A lot has been written about this epic film, which is extraordinary for a low-budget, black-and-white Hungarian film. It has a sparse plot and develops at a slow pace. Despite this, it became a cult classic in the emerging global art cinema scene. It speaks to the slow erosion of experimental cinema in Europe, especially since the rise of New German Cinema. However, it does not just offer a bleak outlook for contemporary international cinema; it also challenges the boundaries of art film.
Although Tarr’s style is similar to Jim Jarmusch, Andrei Tarkovsky, and Rainer Werner Fassbinder, all of his films embrace the narrative aesthetics of modernist cinema. At the same time, the complex economics of social position, which is familiar in avant-garde cinema, is also present. When studying Sátántangó, German Expressionism plays a crucial role. Historically, German Expressionism marked the peak of Berlin’s technical vision, producing stunning masterpieces after WWII.
After the world faced an emotional crisis and financial collapse, the cinematic backlash in Europe began to subside. At that time, Italian neorealism emerged, offering a form of expression that was both sad and powerful. It had a cathartic effect, turning into a new movement at the most unlikely moment.
Even though these movements had lasting effects, new forms of filmmaking emerged, marked by experimentation. Sátántangó could be seen as the result of a major filmmaking shift—a successful failure. In the end, cinema became a nearly referential art form, paying homage to the silent beauty of the Soviet Union, thanks to Tarkovsky. Additionally, the film noir genre continues to offer black-and-white art in the UK and the US.
Clichés, but with a melodramatic touch, Sátántangó indoctrinates the audience into feeling part of the Golden Age of Cinema by combining all these elements into one feature film, the cinematic experience completely scattered audiences before the new millennium arrived. In 1994, cinema witnessed the best forms of art and expression fading away, much like life itself. Tarr created one of the longest-running films in history.
Apart from being one of the longest feature films the director has ever made, without splitting it into episodes, the way Tarr shoots each frame shows that a true master arrived at just the right moment. The motivation and goal in Tarr’s mind remain one of the most obscure aspects of the film. He has the right to avoid offering any explanations.
Visually, Sátántangó takes place in a remote Hungarian village in the 1980s. All the residents hope to get cash payments by starting personal life journeys. With financial support, greed naturally becomes a recognizable part of the human ego. As a result, they even plan to receive their money earlier. The film establishes that, in the end, it is capable of recognition.
People have never fully appreciated the director’s genius. However, the film’s effects will last for decades. It offers an unconditional, truly immersive cinema experience. Tarr may have yet to fully realize the striking brilliance and poetry that governed his mind. Like Alejandro Jodorowsky, few filmmakers have such epic prowess. It is a huge surprise that the film manages to do all this without pretense, even though it is slow and repetitive.
Unlike Jodorowsky, Tarr is not concerned with whether his work could be better. Tarr, on the other hand, is an expressionist. He describes the relativity of time in the human condition and life. By pooling emotions or thoughts, people can create concepts or processes where each frame of consciousness exists independently of specific actions. In private thoughts, no one can see the world or fully understand their mentality.
Essentially, Tarr urges the world to see life as he does. His mental attitude goes beyond what is considered “correct.” By considering these aspects, the consequences fully express his vision. Still, the language of cinema is how it is used. Like another extraordinary director, Tarr tries to translate his ideas through images. Federico Fellini, however, combines images with dialogue. Tarr, instead, uses frames like pictures, successfully making the audience see life itself without needing to confirm any specific goals.
Even in its soullessness, the premise of Sátántangó is clear. Its consequences are likely to hypnotize the audience through its visual style. Rather than focusing on the plot, Tarr inevitably pays homage to the cinematic techniques that came before him. Every hour, the film moves from one resident to another, each getting a chance to live the village life the residents hold so dear.
He watched from a different perspective. Usually, a nostalgic feeling fills the air—one of the divine opportunities Tarr himself offers. The story weaves together seamlessly, showing a higher power at work with the sole intention of fate. As a result, it gathers confused and selfish souls.
Each character experiences the same situation, suddenly disappearing mentally but slowly fading away. Intentionally, each character reflects people the audience recognizes. We feel empathy, creating a cathartic sensation that is both frightening and even devastating. Loneliness, arrogance, or greed lead to catastrophic results. The characters’ perspectives highlight one of their flaws.
At its core, life is life; we cannot escape it. Gábor Medvigy, the cinematographer, created some of the most stunning visuals in film history. The attention to detail never feels overdone, and the technique closely follows the character. Thanks to Tarkovsky’s influence, it emphasizes the stillness of a balanced shot. Like Scorsese and Van Sant, the film becomes an influential piece of filmmaking, no matter where we look.
The question is, does cinema that shows a character looking up at the sky without knowing what they are thinking to reduce the psychological complexity of the human experience? Does it glorify the spiritual qualities that set it apart from other films? In short, the threads may be hard for us to follow, but we can still understand them. It is intense when it sustains the weight of a chain reaction and a series of events.
By watching it, we can feel these tiny details and create our own retrospective view of reality itself—a truth that convinces audiences that this film is a colossal tribute to classic cinema. Little detail after little detail, praising the five senses—the film’s wisdom is not the only thing we should celebrate. Likewise, when it uses symmetrical construction from various angles, it mirrors the path we walk daily.
Ultimately, power and the human condition destroy the character, symbolized in a scene where a charming little girl torments a cat, both mentally and physically. The lack of control or independence from other creatures or people forces the cat to face the same fate the girl decides. However, she draws strength from witnessing the suffering and actions that could affect weaker beings facing the same fate.
It makes a difference because of how degraded the city is. The reason behind her actions stems from her constant deception and shattered illusions. However, this pushes a key element that shows up in future Tarr films. Children become a symbol of original innocence, something humanity had before society misled them.
The doctor has a religious epiphany, which shows the village’s destruction in the final sequences. Each character experiences an epiphany, both surreal and memorable. The film’s title comes from the series in which it is shot. The villagers eagerly await one of the characters while everyone dances in their drunken stupor. In this way, Sátántangó creates a universe mediated by film cameras that function at the level of the human eye.
Although the film doesn’t provide a clear interpretation of reality, it repeatedly references the act of seeing. However, the characters’ gazes are mostly unfocused or indifferent. At best, they are foggy, and it is hard to tell what they are looking at. This defines the overall perspective in the film and describes how the camera angle acts as something transcendental throughout the story.
With some exceptions, Tarr’s transcendence is painfully slow, as the title suggests—if not Satanic. In fact, gaze does not lead to knowledge or action. In one particular sequence, there is no acknowledgment of what we rely on, but it still inspires a response from us. The camera often contrasts with how passive or active the protagonist seems.
It often stays static, unlike classic films that follow characters’ movements and actions. These positions and film perspectives have parallels in recurring motifs. For example, when characters wander aimlessly, mostly looking out the window, they settle in a way that blurs their focus. This, more or less, points to the camera and reflects the automatism or inertia of the characters’ actions.
In many scenes, Tarr heightens the sense of mediation with optical devices. Partially transparent materials interfere with or enhance the view, such as flies on the camera lens, glass on a window, rain on curtains, or the lens of binoculars. Tarr does not narrate the film from the perspective of a transcendental observer.
Instead, the narrator is as human as the doctor, who embodies the powerful force of the story. Neither inertia nor automatism plays the role of indifference, but neither is there much compassion. It gives the film its true meaning. The variations of the human condition make the doctor a spectator—not the author, who appears at the end.
Shifting weight from one activity to another is a classic example of visual translation from one semiotic system to another. Looking directly at the object of interest often disrupts the composition of certain shots. It usually involves semi-transparent materials, jets of water, or glass barriers. There are many instances where the protagonist’s attention is passively diverted across a vast landscape with no clear purpose.
This shift of attention to the landscape through a window or still life is quite different from Tarkovsky’s shot of spilled milk. Tarkovsky’s films have motion and phenomena, almost like sound recordings, with painstaking care but no visible source. They suggest the existence of transcendental entities or parallel universes. In contrast, Tarr’s films often offer a look away, responding to human shortsightedness.
In such moments, the phenomenon that keeps the camera focused summarizes the world’s stalemate. The images reflect a clear mindset in which melancholia plays out as a form of sloth and passivity.
References
- Bale, M. (2016). Film and Philosophy: The Mind and Body in Modern Cinema. Routledge.
- Brill, H. (2009). The Lingering Camera: Cinematic Time and Space in the Works of Béla Tarr. Film Criticism Quarterly, 28(1), 34-48.
- Ebert, R. (1994, September 23). Sátántangó Review. Chicago Sun-Times.
- Griffiths, P. (2011). Modernist Cinema and Its Antecedents. Oxford University Press.
- Hoberman, J. (2000). The Decline of Narrative Cinema: A Study of European Avant-Garde. University of California Press.
- Kline, S. (2002). The Aesthetics of Stillness in the Works of Tarkovsky and Tarr. Journal of Cinematic Arts, 12(4), 45-62.
- Packer, A. (2012). German Expressionism and Its Influence on Modern Cinema. Cinema Journal, 51(4), 55-72.
- Roiphe, A. (2018). The Art of Slow Cinema: A Critical Analysis of Béla Tarr. Film Quarterly, 71(2), 15-30.
- Tarr, B. (Director). (1994). Sátántangó [Film]. Kino International.
- Thomas, B. (2003). The Rise and Fall of Experimental Cinema in Europe. Cambridge University Press.
