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A Londoni férfi (2007)

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15 out of 17 people found the following comment useful :-
Quality cinema that forces us to look at the art form in a different way (even if you're patience is tried in the doing so), 15 August 2007

Author: Chris Docker (eyeforfilm) from Scotland, United Kingdom

When you were a kid, did you ever hear the phrase, "You'll understand when you're older"? This weighty, grinding, almost intimidatingly lugubrious film from iconic filmmaker Béla Tarr may make you cringe in your seat as if it is all just too awful to understand.

The Man From London is interminable hours of the most hauntingly composed black and white photography you could see for a long time. There's slow symbolism dense enough to sink the Titanic. You'd beg them to crank the movie faster, but daren't in case it's a masterpiece. As a stylistic exercise it leaves you gasping, but working it all out is another matter. There's a Wagnerian majesty to it. A dignity that defies intellectual comprehension. At least until it has had time to sink in at a deeper level.

The opening shot made me think of that boat that ferried the dead across the River Styx. We see the hull of the ship. It is drained of colour and sunlight. Eventually waves of darkness drift down across the screen like eyelids closing. We are forced to contemplate it. The shimmer of lamplight on the damp dockside. Looking out through the lattice squares of a window, train lines frame the noirish scene. Low key lighting and oblique angles evoke a sense of dread.

We have panned back to take in more of the ship in the desolate jetty. This could be somewhere in Eastern Europe. Somewhere you pull your coat collar around you tight to keep out the damp, dank feelings permeating everything. Somewhere you'd rather not be alone.

Diagonal foreground lines of an overcoat collar intersect our view. We look over the shoulder of someone (Maloin) watching the scene below. There, men dressed in black woollen overcoats and hats. Only their faces highlighted. Steam issuing from between the wheels of a waiting train. A wordless conspiracy over a suitcase. Feel the cold, clammy atmosphere of undetermined threat.

The Man from London proceeds not at the speed of hell freezing over. More like a hell frozen over long ago and never to thaw. Ever. A place from which there is no escape. A god-forsaken wasteland.

The plot, what there is of it, is taken from a story by Simenon. It involves the discovery of a suitcase of money that railway switchman Maolin fishes out of the drink. The corpse comes later. The dosh was stolen. But the mystery, while satisfyingly concluded in its own good time, is little more than a pretext. Enigmatic justice dispensed by a police inspector takes our mind off to unexpected pathways. Hope, hopelessness, redemption (and without any simplistic religious overtones). Justice and humanity. But the real power of the film is in its formalist rejection of cinematic convention. There is a plot, but it is not plot-driven. The landscape, the bare-furnished rooms, are all protagonists, as much as the sullen and uncommunicative characters.

The cinematography cuts the air like a Baltic ice-axe and supports the film's main theses. We first see Tilda Swinton, Maloin's wife, almost as a hidden part of this surly man's own persona. The camera pans up slowly from behind Maloin, revealing her slight figure as she sits opposite him. In another scene, she goes to the window and is totally engulfed by sunshine for a brief second until she closes the shutters to let him sleep. Inside Maolin and his humdrum existence is hope for dignity, for something better. But it seems so unlikely that he can barely face the possibility. Precisely focused shots draw attention to tiny, grimy detail (often further enhanced by use of 'chiaroscuro' deep-shadows lighting). The grain of wood or the lines on skin, or even fingernails. We feel Maloin's almost invincible acceptance of his lot at a painfully deep level.

Compositions have the breathtaking precision and deliberateness of such Tarkovsky masterpieces as Andrei Rublev, but with the megalithic slowness that is one of Tarr's trademarks.

Apart from forcing us to contemplate much more deeply than we are used to in a world of fast-moving, CGI-enhanced cinema, the slowing-down reveals other interesting effects. In one scene, there is a long, unmoving head-shot of the murderer's wife under questioning. She says nothing for several minutes, but we see the gradual build-up of emotion in her features (the scene is reminiscent of Andy Warhol's Screen Tests, which are fortuitously exhibiting in the Edinburgh Festival at the same time as the UK premiere of The Man From London).

The forlorn beauty of The Man From London might inspire you to question the assumptions we make about cinema, instilling a deeper appreciation of the aesthetic possibilities of this wondrous art form. Or you may leave disenchanted, claiming that, however wonderful the characterisation and deep-stage photography exhibition might be, it seems rather less than the sum of its parts. Either way, the coldness of the atmosphere will have eaten into you to such an extent that you long for a bowl of hot soup or a mug of warming coffee. Your body wants to escape the implacable struggles and silences, the constant dirge-like accordion, the austere minimalism, and dialogue designed as much for its audio qualities as its content. And if you do, I hope, like me, you will look back and treasure what you might almost dismiss.

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14 out of 17 people found the following comment useful :-
Stylish, visually compelling cinema - an ode to noir, 13 August 2007

Author: Paul Martin from Melbourne, Australia

I saw this at a sold-out screening at the Melbourne International Film Festival and was surprised at how good it was, considering I'd heard some negative or indifferent murmurs about it. It goes to show that you never can judge a film until you've seen it yourself. This is my first Béla Tarr film.

The Man From London is clearly a highly stylised homage to film noir of the 1940s. The lush black and white photography, using classic noir shadows and imagery is a feast for the eyes. The camera work is slow, fluid and dynamic, with very long takes in which little seems to happen. Combined with a mesmerising score slightly reminiscent of Angelo Badalamenti's sounds on Twin Peaks, a mood of ever-growing suspense and menace is created that powerfully engages from start to finish.

The basic premise of the film is that Maloin, a night harbour worker (played by Miroslav Krobot) witnesses some treachery between a disembarking passenger of a ship (the man in the title) and another man on-shore. A death may have occurred and when Maloin investigates, he becomes involved in an intrigue from which he cannot extricate himself.

Tilda Swinton plays Maloin's wife, though her voice is dubbed over in Hungarian. The film was part-English produced, so maybe a name known to English-speaking audiences was required to market the film. The role was small, and I always find Swinton an interesting actor, so it was a curiosity to see her in this role. In general the tired and worn-out characters looked terrific on film, with a timeless quality that matched the aesthetics of the decaying town.

This is not a film for everyone, as it requires some patience and appreciation for aesthetics over action, and there is not a whole lot of the latter. While the film's major strength is its visuals, they serve to subtly drive the slow-burn suspense. I was surprised when people started walking out of the film, first one by one, then after an hour about twenty or so walked out in unison. I estimate 60 people left, around 10% of the audience. I was equally surprised that so few walked out of Inland Empire (I counted only four, about 1% of the also sold-out screening a few nights earlier).

Still, what's a good film or a good film festival without walk-outs? Many of my favourite films have had them. I have read that this is not one of Tarr's best films. Well, I loved it and must seek out his others.

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7 out of 8 people found the following comment useful :-
Tarr's Noir, 21 September 2007

Author: MacAindrais from Canada

The Man from London (2007) ****

After 7 years Bela Tarr makes his return with an adaptation of a Georges Simenon's story. That Tarr has chosen to make an adaptation of a noir novel means that he has chosen to make his own, very unique take on film noir. That in itself has created one of the first rifts that has become evident in the criticism the film has received from fans of Tarr's previous films.

The film opens with a slow pan up from the water to the bow of a ship. The camera slowly climbs up and through the hatch of a watch tower. We stop behind Maloin (Miroslav Krabot) as he watches a conversation between two men on the ship. The camera follows as they leave. One of the men meets someone else on the docks and they get into an argument, and eventually a fight. One falls in the water, taking a case with him that had been thrown from the ship to the other man, Brown. Brown, stunned that the man isn't resurfacing, takes off. Maloin watches, then goes down and fishes the case from the water. He discovers that it is full of money and then meticulously dries out each bill.

This sets up the plot to which the rest of the film will adhere. This is the first major departure from classical Tarr films. The film is dedicated to this plot and the affect the money and crime has on Maloin. After stopping at the pub for a drink Maloin walks home through a beautifully framed alleyway. He sees a young woman mopping the floor, her dress barely covering her behind. We think he must be gawking, only to discover that he is angry that she, his daughter, is forced to mop the floors at work where everyone can "look at her arse." He hides the money from her and his wife, played by British actress Tilda Swinton.

Tarr creates a surprising amount of tension through out the film. Brown, watches Maloin leave his tower and assumes he must know something. He will follow Maloin for much of the rest of the movie. In the aforementioned scene in the ally, we think the camera might stay with Maloin's daughter (Erika Bok) but it only stops to look, and then whip back as we discover Brown is following.

Mihaly Vig's excellent score and the slow, very deliberate camera movements work wonderfully. One particular scene, which done by any one else, may have came across as quite conventional, but the way it is shot and the brooding score transcend it - Maloin awakes from sleep, he walks to the window, , and looks out. Far below on the street is Brown standing in the only lit spot, under a lamp post. He stands there while the camera slowly zooms in. He then walks off.

The film is filled with many transcending moments, and the camera while moving in typical Tarr fashion, also I think is different in a very important way. In Tarr's other films, the camera moves along as a participant. In The Man from London, the camera is simply an observer. This point is evident in one pivotal scene where Maloin will walk into his shed to confront someone while the camera is forced to wait outside. Long takes and slow movements follow the actors wherever they go. Swinton is captured in one particularly beautiful shot as she is totally absorbed into sunlight light, creating an almost ghostly image. Edits are said to be events in themselves in Tarr's films because they occur so rarely. The fades and extended black screens between takes, though different from his other work, I think work perfectly to capture a distinct mood.

It is important that the acting in the film be mentioned. Though all performances are good, perhaps the best comes from Brown's wife, who has only a few lines of dialog. She is confronted by the police inspector who knows that Brown stole the money and has committed murder since the body has now washed up. The camera stays on her face for several minutes as the inspector describes her husband's crimes and what she must do. She displays such a disciplined level of sadness that is truly incredible. No reaction shot has ever seemed so real or so affecting.

Criticisms I think are based in that the film is so similar in style to Tarr's other films that is somewhat confusing to accept that this is essentially a different film. Tarr claims to be making the same film over and over, but there is a very different tone here. He is essentially making film noir. Many have argued that this is a minor work. I disagree. I think this is a very accomplished piece of film. I truly believe that it will be widely accepted as a great film given time. I don't necessarily think that it is as good as Werckmeister Harmonies, or Satantango, but I think it is overall better than Damnation. That said, I must say that I've loved all of Tarr's films.

Of course there are simply those who cannot handle Tarr's endurance test films. One woman declared loudly that it was the worst film she's ever seen. I think this woman needs to see more films. Tarr makes films outside all convention, and I think that The Man from London is outside of his thus far established work. Any great filmmaker will be judged against his previous work, which I think is a shame. Each film should stand on its own merits, and this has not been the case with The Man from London. Herein lays the answer to its criticisms. If you see this film, forget all you know about film, even Tarr's. Sit, and wallow in the film's magnificent black and white shadowy cinematography; allow yourself to become nothing more than what the camera is asking you to.

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5 out of 5 people found the following comment useful :-
The Essence of the Human Condition, 21 August 2007

Author: Stanislas Lefort from Vevey, Switzerland

*** This comment may contain spoilers ***

The storyline is taken from a Georges Simenon novel, L'Homme de Londres (1934). In an interview in 2001, Béla Tarr avowed: "I believe that you keep making the same film throughout your whole life." His most recent work upholds this declaration, placing itself squarely in line with his previous feature-length films, especially Damnation (1988), Sátántangó (Satan's Tango) (1994) et Werckmeister Harmonies (2000). These four films share identical layouts of the credits, black-and-white film, minimalist dialogues, long scenes, and stories that are more suggestive than narrative in nature. Most of Tarr's actors are not professionals and several appear in different films, notably Erika Bók who is Estike in Sátántangó and Henriette in The Man from London. As for the handful of foreign actors, they are dubbed into Hungarian.

If it was amusing to see Gyula Pauer play the innkeeper in two films, his third appearance in The Man from London indicates that the choice is deliberate. Same with the role of Henriette (Maloin's daughter), assigned to Erika Bók, who appeared as Estike (the child with the cat) in Sátántangó. In all of Tarr's stories, the innkeeper appears as one, single person. This is also true of Estike and Henriette who share a common destiny as child-victims. And yet Tarr only winks at us across the characters of different films; the most ordinary actions are equally allusions throughout all his works creating a universe of apparently insignificant habits. Maloin drinks in accordance with the same ritual as the neighbor-informer of Sátántangó. And when he throws a log on his fire, the stove in the first image of Werckmeister Harmonies springs to mind. So many habits in which the insignificant becomes significant because the images and the characters of Tarr's ceaselessly question one another: their existence is a succession of futile, routine gestures whose repetition bears witness to their vanity. Habits are simultaneously both their prison and their lifeline in the labyrinth of existence, giving them something to hold onto while, at the same time, preventing them from escaping their condition. True, the protagonists seek to purify their existence (Valuska), to change their destiny (Karrer, Irimiás, Maloin), to reverse the course of History (Eszter and his theories of sound). But they are inevitably reeled back in and crushed.

Though the decor and the ambiance are consistent with classic film noir, the unraveling of the plot is so exact that two viewings are necessary in order to begin to understand. But, at the base of things, the story doesn't really matter. What Tarr shows us is less a criminal entanglement than the poles between which the characters oscillate. First there is the black and the white, admirably opposed in the first scene where half of the ship's body is illuminated. The screen is black at the beginning of the film; it is white at the end. The music is also bipolar. From the first notes of a long arpeggio, we believe we hear an organ, then realize it is the sirens of ships. In Homer's Odyssey, the song of the Sirens, inaccessible feminine creatures, threw the sailors off-course so that their ships ran aground on the reefs. Here, the song of the sirens is like a requiem. This dirge contrasts with the accordion ritornello, reminiscent of the inns in Sátántangó and Damnation. With Tarr, bistros are always places of escape where one re-creates the world, gets drunk, and devises the most absurd projects. The melody, acting as a setting for these hallucinations, allows death to be forgotten, but which the arpeggio obstinately calls back to mind. Its minor key and its infinite nostalgia only make it less able to elude destiny.

Where does The Man from London fit into Tarr's works? In the first scene – a shot twelve minutes in length – the lens surveys and captures the entire space in a way unknown to the tracking in Tarr's other works, and shows, by its fluidity and freedom, at what point the characters are prisoners of their own gravitation. The camera seems to have wings so it may better watch the men and love them, without ever judging them. In this way, it is sister to Damiel and Cassiel, the two angels of Wings of Desire (Wim Wenders, 1987). Like them, Tarr's camera leisurely insinuates itself, beyond concepts of time, and penetrates the heart of beings, ready to capture each of their convulsions in a world where the only certainty is death, humanity's habit par excellence. Looking at the earlier films, several of the characters in The Man from London bring an unexpected contrast. Such as the Inspector Molisson, who seems above the law and alone brings justice. No other film of Tarr's has a main character so tenuously attached to the human condition. His behavior with Maloin and Mrs. Brown is Christ-like, in a manner of speaking. He consoles; he cleanses sins; he tries to console. In comparison, Mrs. Brown seems like Anna Schmid, Harry Lime's mistress in The Third Man (Carol Reed, 1949). Both women were used to entrap the man they loved. Both women, in the last images of the films, refuse compensation and disappear, dignity intact. In the end, Maloin, marred by sudden wealth, seeks redemption by turning himself in. He isn't sure if Molisson's pardon will allow him to find peace once again. The glass harp that punctuates the siren arpeggio as Molisson re-enacts the toss of the suitcase greets only Molisson's discovery of the truth. The final notes of the film, still played on the glass harp, mark the end of the inspector's work and the end of the riddle. Life continues for Maloin and Mrs. Brown with both their doubts and failures. But what makes The Man from London a new development in the works of Béla Tarr is the fact that this film brings together so perfectly cinematography, music, and plot line, creating a complete and emotional spectacle about the human condition.

(Thanks to Jessica Alexander for the English translation!)

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A relatively more accessible film, after a 7-year wait, from Bela Tarr, 3 April 2008
Author: Harry T. Yung (harry_tk_yung@yahoo.com) from Hong Kong

*** This comment may contain spoilers ***

I watched this film in the Hong Kong International Film Festival where director Bela Tarr, in a brief appearance to an audience of close to 1,000 before the film started, graciously thanked them for coming to watch "a tragedy in black and white" while there are so many vying choices to spend the evening. He then pleaded with the audience (indeed he used the word "beg") to, while watching the film, think of the people therein not just as characters in a film but as real people who well deserve our sympathy despite their shortcomings. It's not for me to second guess the master auteur, but I just thought that because some of his admirers focus so much on his inimitable style and awe-inspiring technique, perhaps he wished to remind them that there is certainly a lot more to his work.

I confess that I have only watched one of the master's films, "Panelkapcsolat" (Prefab people) (1982), one of his earliest work and the first one in which he used professional actors. Depicting the strife and frustration of a working-class family, that film was a harsh reminder of how unpleasant life could be, whether by destiny or by choice. After his widely acclaimed "Werckmeister harmoniak" (2000), his loyal followers had to wait seven years for another full-length feature, "The man from London", which was received with mixed feelings. Some view the noir crime story as a welcomed attempt to be more accessible to the general audience. Others do not like the master's departure from his social and spiritual (not in a religious sense) agenda.

But first of all, the stunning visual is probably still the dominating aspect of this film. Coincidentally, I've very recently watched, belatedly, Akira Kurosawa's "Kagemusha" (1980) and posted an IMDb comment with a summary line "Does Kurosawa really need colour". I am certainly happy that Bela Tarr didn't. The mood created with the marriage of black and white and long shots is absolutely unique, which nobody else can offer. The torturously (or delightfully, depending on the viewer's perspective) long (12 minutes) opening shot from railroad worker Maloin's POV from his monitoring tower will be the talk among Tarr admirers for a long time to come. My particular favourite however is the shot of the protagonist's walk to a store to take his daughter home from an exploitative employer. This one is only a few minutes SHORT, but the camera angle is as close to magical as anything you can find on a movie screen. And one must always remember that there is no editing or cutting in these long shots throughout the film. Come to think of it, the film does not require editing – a good way to cap the budget?

As mentioned, "The man from London" has a plot, a simple one. In the opening sequence mentioned above, we see how Maloin (mostly through his own POV) witnesses a murder and fishes out a briefcase with sixty thousand pounds. The story then develops along two lines: investigation by an inspection from London and Maloin's internal struggle and family problem (Maloin's wife is played by Tilda Swinton, whose appearance unfortunately is close to being cameo). There are other supporting characters, including the murderer and his wife.

Heeding the director's opening remarks, I did pay attention to the characters. One review I subsequently gleaned, talking about the protagonist's misguided greed, compares him to the character played by Billy Bob Thornton in the Coen Brothers' "The man who wasn't there" (2001). But despite my conscious effort to relate to the characters, I found myself mesmerized by the auteur's style and technique above all.

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1 out of 4 people found the following comment useful :-
Don't blink! Or you might miss a shadow..., 11 October 2007

Author: Rabieshot from United States

*** This comment may contain spoilers ***

In retrospect… I am a bit more appreciative now, at the time of viewing not so much.

My retrospect tells me there is a lesson here- "good things come to those who wait", I got that because Maloin didn't spend the money in the briefcase that he harpooned out, but in the end got a small monetary reward- I'm pretty sure that in the end he figured out that the "old guy" wasn't a cop, and thus changed the meaning of the briefcase altogether.

I am sorry but I do not remember the "old guy's" name, he had INCREDIBLE bags under his eyes- that is really the only reason I kept watching him.

A lot of the arduous black and white shots at the beginning were seamless, which was really awesome- but I guess made it a little harder to follow the plot and I really didn't know where I was in relationship to the boat that set up the beginning.

I really couldn't visually SEE what was happening at first, and I never blinked for a second. I put the pieces together only at the end, although I wish I had seen whomever was in the shed one last time because it would have allowed me to enjoy the irony of the situation more. The irony is that the whole wife spiel wasn't even necessary because Maloin was already fulfilling his destiny in returning the briefcase... But that scene served as a segue and an excellent example of good on-screen crying.

I enjoyed the deliberateness of the details- down to Maloin's money arranging and the way he picked up the bag of food, fabulous.

I wondered if people use pounds in Hungary, but I suppose it doesn't matter.

I think a lot of the problem for me was that there was too much distraction from the plot by the terrible dubbing. Not just the dubbing (which completely ruined Tilda Swinton's performance, she should have just learned Hungarian) but the post-production studio sounds, adding in the footsteps, etc. I hate this whenever it's too obvious, and it was way too obvious.

Sure, the noir plot was cool in theory- but the dialog translated terribly and the beginning was not built up at all in an effective way, causing me to completely not care what happened to any of the characters in the end, whatsoever!

Tilda Swinton and Maloin also had really no chemistry at all as husband and wife. It seemed to me that all the women in this film were helpless and angry except Maloin's daughter, who confused me with her lack of loyalty towards her father in the store but ultimately made me happy in the end because she was not a materialistic character, nor a beautiful Hollywood actress.

Lastly, there was a typo in one of the subtitles, shame on whomever proofread that, or didn't.

This was my first Tarr film in full (I don't think seeing clips counts), obviously something does not deserve excessive praise just because it's what's expected, but it also could have been a lot worse.

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3 out of 11 people found the following comment useful :-
Slightly disappointing effort from Bela Tarr, 22 October 2007

Author: zetes from Saint Paul, MN

Tarr returns after a long absence. Unfortunately, it's not up to par. Well, I should say, I have much of the same problem with this film that I do with all of Tarr's films. I'm certainly not his biggest fan anyway. I love his aesthetic, and would definitely call him a genius just for his visual prowess. It's so extremely original. And he's so good at setting mood, although I should say that the mood of all of his films, at least his later, more well known films, is pretty close to the same. Dark, cold, lonely, the drudgery of life, etc. But as soon as the characters start to speak, I stop paying attention. I find most of the actual words of Tarr's films uninteresting, and, when the characters are talking, I start to realize that I don't find these people that interesting. They may look interesting, as Tarr captures their essence in severe close-ups, but they never say anything interesting. The Man of London unwisely adds plot to the mix. Tarr's earlier films have a wonderful meandering quality, where it feels like he's just capturing people going about their lives. That is true here to an extent, but this one has a pretty clear plot structure, and one that's been told often before: a man finds a pile of money that belongs to crooks, and he pays for it. It's not plot driven by any means, but that skeletal plot is followed, and it makes the film less interesting than Tarr's other films. Also, Tilda Swinton shows up as the protagonist's wife in what amounts to a cameo (she has about five minutes of screen time in this 2 hour and 12 minute film), and it's pretty distracting. There's a cute little nod to Satantango at one point, where people in a bar dance like they did in that behemoth. Also, the little girl with the cat from Satantango shows up as the protagonist's daughter. It's weird, because she looks exactly the same, except she's a woman now. A very, very creepy woman. Who probably still kills cats when nobody's looking.

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