Movie Review – Sátántangó

Sátántangó (1994)
Written by Béla Tarr and László Krasznahorkai
Directed by Béla Tarr

Seven hours and thirty minutes. That’s what will stand out for most people when they learn about Sátántangó. That is certainly something that makes it unlike most films. A runtime that long feels overwhelming, and that’s the reason Béla Tarr made this movie. Based on the novel of the same name, the film’s structure is a piece of wonder modeled after the actual tango dance. Broken into twelve parts, the story does not move chronologically and follows the steps of the tango – six steps forward, six steps back. It’s a daunting cinematic challenge, but I found it a very fulfilling experience and felt things I never had before about films.

Somewhere in the desolate rural Hungarian environs, a collective farm collapsed. People are turning on each other. Futaki has been sleeping with Mrs. Schmidt behind her husband’s back. While hiding after Mr. Schmidt returns home early, Futaki overhears that the man is scheming with another villager, Kraner, to steal the remaining villagers’ money and flee to the other side of the country. He approaches Mr. Schmidt and later demands to be let in on the scam, or he’ll alert the villagers. That is put on the back burner when astonishing news arrives. 

Irimias, a charismatic villager thought dead for the last year, walks down the road towards the tavern. His friend Petrina is with him. The villagers do not know that Irimias and Petrina were forced out of town by the police, who wanted them to continue their criminal enterprise in a nearby city where the cops would benefit. A religious-like experience has caused them to adopt a nihilistic perspective, intent on destroying everything in their path. They are working with the teenager Sanyi, who spreads word of their return with a god-like awe.

Sanyi’s youngest sister, Estike, has returned from a time in a mental asylum following her father’s suicide by hanging. Her brother tricked her into handing over a bag of coins she’s saved so that he can plant them and grow a “money tree.” There’s something clearly disturbed in this little girl, and she eventually murders her own pet cat. Afterward, she returns to where the coin pouch was planted, only to find Sanyi digging it up and stealing the money. Estike crosses paths with the Doctor, asking for help, but the local physician is more concerned about acquiring more wine. 

Tarr employs profoundly long takes in the film, which will irk viewers more accustomed to the quick cuts of Hollywood movies. Because the film is so long, it lulls you into a trance-like state. Divided into three chunks via intermissions, the movie was taking on a far more textured and rich atmosphere by the second chunk. The sequence with Estike, titled “Unraveling,” was the most emotionally effective. This little girl’s descent into madness and eventually suicide is presented with both a distance yet still tender. Tarr has big emotions about this character arc but refuses to indulge in hollow sentiment. He’s not to make realist cinema at this point in his career; instead, he’s playing with nuanced stylistics.

Regarding those long takes, Sátántangó is composed of only 150 shots. The average number of shots in a two-hour film is 1,045 for comparison. These are intentionally long to convey a sense of space and the drudgery of existence in this place. While in Damnation, Tarr’s camera rarely stopped moving – whether it was a slow zoom out or a pan – in Sátántangó, he chooses moments to keep his camera static. There might be a character who walks towards the camera in real time or who walks away and we experience it all in real time. The opening shot clocks in at eight minutes and tracks alongside a herd of cows.

Tarr is extremely stingy with his cuts because he employs a lot of improvisation and wants the actors to have space to explore the scene and figure things out. There’s a stunning one-cut take in a tavern where the villagers devolve in debauchery. Tarr’s camera starts at a high-angle wide shot that takes in everyone there. The director then lowers the camera and moves in and around the scene, focusing on a person here or a conversation there. 

The nonlinear nature of the first two-thirds of the film allows this scene to be presented twice – once from Estike’s perspective as she peers through the window from outside and then from the patrons’ point of view. Tarr has explained that this tavern sequence was highly improvised; in fact, the script was never used on set and served merely to give the cast & crew a foundation to build on. His cast is drunk in these scenes, and with many of them being non-actors, it adds realism to an otherwise ethereal, ghostly film. 

As for what Sátántangó is about, it’s a study of a community’s collapse. Irimas is a completely craven figure who returns to the village merely to ruin it and its inhabitants. He does this through lofty declarations that he’s purchased property. He delivers the morning after Estike’s body is discovered and uses this to shame the villagers, telling them they all hold guilt in her death. He even shames them for lacking trust in each other while actively betraying them, leading them down a path of doom. It takes us back to the opening image of cows unknowingly being led to their slaughter. Eventually, Irimas convinces everyone it would be in their best interest to split up and go live in the corners of Hungary until he determines it is safe for them to return to the village.

Sátántangó is a film that ends in literal and figurative darkness. This is a reflection on post-communist Hungary, a place where hope is gone, where people turn on each other like wolves, and the sweetest words easily manipulate them. Tarr has gone on record saying he simply wanted to film his world and life as he knew it. He saw people who had no forethought and lived merely to please their moment-to-moment desires. They never thought about the kind of world their grandchildren might live in and were destroying everything around them. 

There is no hero in Sátántangó. While Damnation focuses on a decaying, ruinous urban environment, this film explores the vast wasteland outside of that. Tarr demands our attention and asks us to observe the world. We focus on a puddle on a dirt road, a crumbled old church husk, and a man methodically packing his belongings. If film is a type of voyeurism, then Sátántangó forces us to reckon with the beauty & horror of the mundane. This is an epic film, a remarkable achievement in the form. It could only come from someone like Tarr, who sees the world through a very particular lens. Yet, it would not be his greatest work. That, in my opinion, would be his next feature film.