The Turin Horse (2012)
Critic Consensus: Uncompromisingly bold and hauntingly beautiful, Bela Tarr's bleak parable tells a simple story with weighty conviction.
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Critic Reviews for The Turin Horse
No movie could possibly live up to the monumental, forbidding grandeur of The Turin Horse's lengthy opening shot, but [Bela Tarr]... goes ahead and attempts the impossible, and comes frighteningly close to succeeding.
"The Turin Horse" is a parable, which means it's both very simple and very weighty. It's not about event and emotion, but duration and endurance.
It feels like the creation story in reverse -- a terrible, unavoidable walk into the dark.
Through Tarr's meticulous vision, these ordinary hardships take on cosmic weight; this is tedium vividly rendered.
An intentionally monotonous look at the lives of a farmer and his daughter. Strange events signal the end is nigh, but it approaches at the pace of a lethargic inchworm.
Audience Reviews for The Turin Horse
Dialogues (and monologues) have never been Tárr's forte, so it is wonderful to see him make a mostly silent and simple portrayal of the burden of existence in thirty hypnotizing long takes - the most visually and narratively well polished film of his career, yet ironically his last one.
The Turin Horse offers all of the fun of burying your grandmother, without the comfort of having the rest of your family near. Bleak, full of mysterious beauty that is hard to put your finger on, and endlessly-bordering on obnoxiously-long. And once it is done one thing is for sure, you hope you never have to experience it again.
It's quite the season for ambitious but disappointing high-art cinema in New York. On the heels of Nuri Ceylan's "Once Upon a Time in Anatolia" comes the NY release of the highly avant-garde "The Turin Horse," from Hungarian bad boy Bela Tarr. The two films have a lot in common. They can now add to their long list of commonalities that they received a 5 rating from me. In my write-up on "Anatolia," I described it as dirge-like. "Turin Horse" is even more funereal. Whereas "Anatolia" depicted human society in tatters, "Turin Horse" contemplates the end of life itself, much as Lars von Trier's "Melancholia" did, a third dirge-like high-art film on the worldwide festival circuit in 2011. Why is the European male avant-garde so depressed as of late -- and why are their films so disappointing? "The Turin Horse" is set in the late 19th century, in a very remote corner of Hungary. A middle-aged male peasant and his adult daughter live alone. Their only livestock is a horse. These three creatures go about their daily life with their heads down, performing one mundane task after another and eating one meal a day. The horse eats hay; the humans eat (with their hands) one boiled potato per day. Tarr has us watch them eat on several occasions. Rarely have humans been compared to livestock more effectively. But something is very strange in this world. An enormous wind storm makes it almost impossible to go outdoors. The long opening sequence shows the man and horse struggling to travel along a muddy dirt road with the massive gale at their faces. Eventually they make it back to their hovel, where the daughter silently feeds them and gets them ready for bed. The next morning, the wind hasn't died down at all. Lucky us, we get to watch these wretched creatures wordlessly go about their daily routines for a couple more hours (total running time of "Turin" is two-and-a-half hours) while a short, annoying piece of dissonant music plays ceaselessly on the soundtrack. It resembles the sound of sick cows whining (or over-educated male intellectuals whining about their lives lacking fulfillment). I think it plays about 50 times during the screening, adding to the Chinese-water-torture quality of the film. Also on the mind-numbing soundtrack: the incessant sound of the wind. A couple things happen at the end of "Turin Horse" that break the monotony and provide some dramatic resolution. I won't give away the details, but there is a change in the weather finally -- not for the better. Awkwardly wrapped around this maddeningly minimalist film (which is shot in black-and-white, incidentally) is a contemplation of Friedrich Nietzsche's famous breakdown in 1889 at about the age of 45 when he was visiting the Italian city of Turin. As legend has it, the quasi-demonic philosopher witnessed a horse being brutally whipped by its owner. In a fit of rage and pathos, Nietzsche threw his arms around the horse, sobbing inconsolably. Unable to (or refusing to) regain lucidity, he was taken to a mental hospital and never returned to normal life. He remained in the daily care of relatives for the last 10 years of his life, considered to be mentally ill. For years, most thought his mental state was caused by syphilis, but that has been drawn into question recently. Tarr didn't just title the film in a way to demonstrate this reference to Nietzsche, he also begins the film with a narration that briefly describes the philosopher's breakdown. Tarr may not be a great artist, but he is an authentic one. (I would say the same of Ceylan and Trier.) Thus there are some interesting things to contemplate here. On one level, it seems that Tarr is experiencing some kind of break with bourgeois civilization in a way that reminds him of Nietzsche's experience. On another level, it seems that Tarr feels that capitalist civilization is literally destroying life, a sentiment I certainly share, at least on some levels and at some times. But while there are interesting ideas behind the project, "Turin Horse" doesn't capture these ideas very effectively. Spending two hours watching livestock (human and otherwise) on a death march is not artistically enriching for me. I'd rather spend that two hours reading Nietzsche's "Antichrist."
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