The Enduring Legacy of Béla Tarr: A Tribute to Slow Cinema's Master

The genre of slow cinema, with its glacial pacing and unhurried, unbroken takes, has become a defining characteristic of certain visionary filmmakers over the decades. Among them, Béla Tarr stands out, pushing the boundaries of cinematic speed further than any other. His unique style creates an almost hypnotic experience, drawing audiences into his world through extensive, static shots where characters often appear engaged in a wordless dialogue with the universe around them. Tarr’s films operate on a different plane of time—an 'uberslowness' that resembles a colossal ship navigating dark, still waters. Such pacing is often met with disbelief or despair from viewers, yet, for those willing to invest their attention, there lies hidden layers of dark humor and profound commentary. It is a self-reflective process where the audience finds both the intoxication of engagement and the disorienting aftermath of contemplation, resulting in a state akin to both drunkenness and a hangover. Though his cinematic world might be soaked in bleakness and despair, the man behind the lens had a sharp wit and an unyielding spirit. In a 2024 interview at the BFI Southbank, on the occasion of a retrospective of his work, Tarr spoke about his transition to teaching at a film school in Sarajevo. He expressed excitement in guiding young filmmakers, encapsulating his philosophy with the motto, 'no education, just liberation.' This perspective exemplifies his desire to encourage uninhibited creativity, uninfluenced by traditional constraints. The world of cinema mourns the recent passing of Tarr, which is marked by the concurrent recognition of Hungarian novelist László Krasznahorkai with the Nobel Prize in Literature. Their creative paths were interwoven through remarkable collaborations, including the cinematic adaptation of Krasznahorkai’s novel 'Sátántangó'—a sprawling, seven-and-a-half-hour exploration of a rural community gripped by a cult-like fascination with a deceased figure. This film's limited availability over the years has contributed to its legendary status, leaving audiences with a haunting, almost traumatic impression. Another pivotal film, 'Werckmeister Harmonies,' continues exploring themes of collective despair, this time woven through a narrative that critiques the dangerous allure of fascism. Within its haunting black-and-white frames, viewers witness a community’s susceptibility to manipulation by an enigmatic outsider—an allegory drawing parallels to contemporary society's vulnerabilities. Tarr's oeuvre also includes 'Damnation,' a haunting black-and-white film that echoes the complexities of the human condition, reminiscent of the works of Beckett and Tarkovsky. His last film, 'The Turin Horse,' speculates on the aftermath of an act of compassion witnessed by Nietzsche, transforming philosophical musings into a lived experience of sheer suffering and desperation in central Europe. Yet, Tarr’s interests were not confined solely to the realms of slow cinema. He had an enduring appreciation for thrillers and film noir, a passion reflected in his 2007 adaptation of Georges Simenon’s 'The Man from London.' While it initially presents a conventional thriller narrative, Tarr ingeniously layers it with a slow-burning tension, exposing the grotesque realities hidden beneath surface-level excitement. In discussing his work, Tarr often alluded to the duality of dark humor present in even the most tragic moments, akin to the playwright Shaw’s sentiment: 'Life does not cease to be funny when people die any more than it ceases to be serious when people laugh.' His films possess an acerbic comedy that blends seamlessly with the shadows of human existence, evoking a bittersweet laughter amidst the prevailing darkness. As the slow cinema genre reflects on the legacy of Béla Tarr, it becomes evident that his contributions to the craft go beyond mere storytelling. They venture into the exploration of time, existence, and the human condition, urging audiences to confront discomfort in artistry. His works remind us that amidst despair, there can be depth, complexity, and even laughter—and that cinema's slow and patient pacing can lead to moments of transcendent beauty. Related Sources: • Source 1 • Source 2