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Graham Barnfield
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Since Family Nest (Családi tüzfészek, 1979), Béla Tarr's reputation as a key figure is European cinema has been gathering momentum. The subject of a recent retrospective at London's National Film Theatre, it is clear that Tarr's uniquely downbeat take on the human condition is one to be reckoned with. His early movies reflect a form of Socialist Realism once made as a matter of policy in Eastern Europe, albeit with hippie protagonists and a less than rosy take on private life in the old command economies. Recent releases like Werckmeister Harmóniák (Werkmeister Harmonies; 2000) and the seven hour, demented-sounding Sátántangó (1994) lean towards a grim and symbolic pessimism enforced by long takes and repetitive human movement. An important bridge between these extremes can be found in Damnation, re-released in March for a round of European screenings. The piece is truly remarkable, trying patience and concentration through the gruelling inactivity of those on screen. Plot matters little - something to do with a man named Karrer (Miklós B. Székely) ensnaring a love rival in a smuggling operation, while a cloakroom attendant (Hédi Temessy) straight out of David Lynch dispenses deadpan advice. As these lost souls congregate at the aptly named Titanic Bar, it is apparent that over a decade ago Tarr had begun developing tools for turning pessimism into an art form. Thus we see excruciatingly long takes, peering out of Karrer's window at a coal dumping cable car system, of the sort more likely to be seen in Get Carter than in Western industry these days. Cabaret entertainers fail to entertain, warbling continually on brass instruments instead. Packs of dogs roam the streets - their stories matter too, says Tarr - and it pisses with rain in the manner of Skegness on a Bank Holiday Monday. Imagine listening to a wildtrack and watching an establishing shot until you miss the last bus home. On paper and online, Damnation must read like an endurance test dreamt up by sadistic statisticians - perhaps a fair metaphor for the Stalinist authorities under whom this movie was made. On screen it works. Grimly audacious, it casts landscape as a central protagonist and gets away with it. Go and see this film, before talk of its miserable content puts you off savouring the delicious form.
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