OWN DEATH (HUNGARY/2008/PÉTER FORGÁCS)

In multimedia artist Péter Forgács’ fiction film Own Death, the protagonist is heard and often not seen, presented to the viewer through found footage and photographs as he describes his life after the near-death experience of a heart attack. The protagonist, assumed to be a publisher or printer, is very aware of his physical vulnerability and often refers to his reaction to his environment (sweat and muscular pains being particular favourites). But as he unravels each moment of pain or suffocation, the images suggest a secret joie de vivre, a longing to fulfil the dreams he had almost lost forever. Occasional segments of text, echoing the narration, appear across the screen in a typewriter serif.

Forgács’ interpretation of Péter Nádas’ novella is reminiscent of Peter Greenaway, creating a new text from several existing texts, and the bricolage of dozens of people’s lives hint at reincarnation or a desire to be anyone else. Newly shot footage flows adds motion to an otherwise sedentary slideshow, and intimacy is afforded to images of fingers and faces through use of gentle musique concrète, care of Béla Tarr’s frequent collaborator Mihály Víg. Whether deliberate or not, the narration is frustratingly anodyne and monotone, and one wonders if we are meant to celebrate the protagonist’s ability to articulate his pain, or to merely suffer with him. Moreover, the man’s thoughts often feel repetitive and steal the footage of some great mythic potential. An intriguing experiment, but one that never leaps off the screen as it should.

MILKY WAY (HUNGARY/2007/BENEDEK FLIEGAUF)

Advertising itself as an ‘ambient film’, Milky Way comprises a series of seemingly unrelated simple shots. The film starts with a shot of a wind turbine set against a deep blue sky, its spinning blades creating the only movement in what is otherwise a desolate, post-apocalyptic landscape. Next, we are on a hillside, watching two campers struggle to keep their tent on the ground. In the third shot, a narrow walkway cuts through a tranquil lake scene. A woman crosses the scene, abandoning a pram along the way. The fourth shot shows two cyclists practising tricks on a heap of rocks. The two stop briefly to gaze in wonderment at a nest billowing smoke. A group of old people relax in a swimming pool. A bouncy castle is set up in a car park. A dishevelled woman is rescued from a cargo crate. The film closes with the sight of two kids practising gymnastics against the night sky.

Each scene is pregnant with suspense, unsettled by some sense of disequilibrium – for example, an old man changes partners in the swimming pool, without reaction from anyone else. Not a single word is uttered throughout the film, as if spoken language were a redundant form of expression. The subtle soundtrack adds a dynamic dimension to the experience, recreating the deafening rumble of emptiness often experienced in cities. Many have dismissed the film for lack of apparent depth or purpose, but these are perhaps the same people who forget to dream at night.

JOURNEY ON THE PLAIN (HUNGARY/1995/BÉLA TARR)

Revered auteur Béla Tarr, renowned for his languid, unmoving shots, opens this non-narrative short with a minute-long meditation on a barren path as Tarr’s frequent lead actor Mihály Víg walks into the horizon. What follows is a series of recitations from the works of Hungary’s national poet, Sándor Petőfi, as Víg wanders through the titular plain, occasionally settling in crumbling buildings. Víg performs one of his compositions in the film on an organ at the back of a truck as the landscape flickers past.

In all honesty, this film should only really of interest to those already acquainted with Tarr’s oeuvre, as it doesn’t rank up there with his best films. There’s definite value to it, but it requires a great deal of patience and open-mindedness. Although there’s some outstanding framing, the photography is all over the place. At times it could be an excerpt from a high budget feature – the closing shot of an apathetic child on a swing is particularly stunning – at others it wouldn’t look out of place on a public access TV channel. The decision to work in colour steals the film of the ethereal magic seen in Tarr’s best works (all but one of his feature films are in black and white). Perhaps I have grown too familiar with his visual language, but there is definitely something discordant here. Conversely, Víg’s music, which is usually in keeping with the aching solemnity of Tarr’s films, is filled with quiet optimism, and illuminates this otherwise moody piece.

TAXIDERMIA (HUNGARY/2006/GYÖRGY PÁLFI)

Taxidermia is a beautiful film in many respects, and it never ceases to amaze me that this is only György Pálfi’s second film. Having seen his first feature Hukkle previously, it is clear that Pálfi pays great attention to detail, and perhaps places the greatest importance on sound design. A great example of this would be the scene wherein Lajos (Marc Bischoff) extracts his own organs – the visceral image of each individual organ sliding out of the body becomes infinitely more repulsive accompanied by the appropriate Foley sounds, deliberately amplified to draw us closer to the ‘action’. Amon Tobin’s skulking score helps to identify the tone as brooding.

Though I haven’t read Lajos Parti Nagy’s short stories, the source material from which each character originates, I loved the theme of animalism and the deadly sins. Each member of the Balatony family seemed to exhibit the physical and spiritual traits of an animal – Morosgoványi as the lustful rabbit (compare his hare-lip), Kálmán as the gluttonous pig (complete with truncated tail), and Lajos as the vainglorious bird (his gaunt face also brings to mind the skull traditionally seen in vanitas paintings). Pálfi enriches this theme by having each character physically deconstruct real animals - Morosgoványi has sex in the corpse of a pig, Kálmán gorges on various animals, and Lajos stuffs animals for a living. As each man dies as a result of his sin, one could suggest that Pálfi is criticising man’s hypocrisy for judging others without recognising his own flaws.