Long scenes, long takes, little dialogue and bizarre in parts but extraordinarily beautiful. The opening scene alone was just mezmerizing, as the character Janos tries to explain an eclipse of the sun to a bunch of drunkards in a bar. There are Tarkovsky like values to this style of film-making and parts of it feel other worldly and poetic. It's poetic in its' visuals and dialogue and strikingly shot with great use of camerawork and light.

Tarr refuses to be drawn on what it all means but I'm torn somewhere between a sense of European history and remorse of what went on during the 'great wars', and a cautionary tale of sorts as to how capitalism / modern society can ruin a country's people. There's also a theme of man being responsible for his own actions, and the phrase "He who is afraid, knows nothing" is uttered poignantly as if to remark on it's importance.

The music in this film is also pretty incredibly and used so well. The lead piece by Mihaly Vig is lovely, and you have to assume the slightly out of tune piano is purposefully recorded that way, given the subtext in the film.

Does Janos represent the state of Hungary after these events? In need of being nursed back to health. The title of the movie suggests that the sequence mentioning Werckmeister's music is key - so we might then take that as a reference / analogy to the elderly composer's desire to create a less rigid way of life. As is the case with many great films, it is up to the viewer's interpretation.

My first ever Tarr movie. And it's probably in my top 100 movies of all time. I just wish it was available on Blu Ray. The DVD I had was fine but didn't do the beautifully shot images justice.

Béla Tarr's 2000 film The Werckmeister Harmonies deals with troubling events in a small town in Hungarian's eastern plains. After an opening scene showing simpleton postman János demonstrating to a bar full of drunks how the Earth and moon rotate around the sun with the help of three of the old geezers, he does his rounds in the early morning. Posters put up advertise the arrival of a giant whale with special guest, the Prince. This traveling circus, however, fills the townspeople not with eager anticipation but with dread. Indeed, when the Prince does appear, all hell breaks loose.

Based on the novel The Melancholy of Resistance by László Krasznahorkai, the plot of this film is a transparent allegory for Hungary in the 1930s and 1940s: unable to keep its house in order, and falling for the demagoguery of fascism, Hungary brought on itself its long nightmare of Soviet domination. Tarr has curiously stated, however, that he is not offering us a historical allegory. By that I can only imagine that he is turning the allegory into a parable, using a reference to mid 20th-century Hungary as way of exploring more universal themes. Perhaps the central tension in the film is between a natural order, the ecstatic cooperation of free human beings, and an order dictated by a manipulative leader. I don't want to spoil anything that happens here, but Tarr's depiction of a mob let loose is harrowing.

I was very moved by this film the first time I saw it, and on repeat viewings there has been much to appreciate. I feel, however, that the film is greatly weakened by Tarr's decision to use German actors for two main roles. Lars Rudolph, who plays János, and Fassbinder mainstay Hanna Schygulla as the sinister "auntie Tünde" give physically commanding performances, but they were presumably speaking in German while acting, and Tarr has had them clumsily dubbed into Hungarian, no synchronization between their mouths and the voices.