The Turin Horse (15) 146 mins ***
With
zippy superheroes having hijacked Hollywood’s imagination, world cinema is
fighting back with films that depict frailty, suffering, slow decline: you
know, what the rest of us see when we look in the mirror each morning. Those
awaiting Amour, Michael Haneke’s
Palme d’Or-garlanded
study of old age, will get a bracing kick from The Turin Horse, the doomy Hungarian director Béla Tarr’s final film
before retirement. Inspired by the anecdote that drove philosopher Friedrich
Nietzsche potty (or pottier), here are six days in the hardscrabble life of an
aging, one-armed farmer and his caring, compassionate daughter, eking out an existence
on a storm-blasted plain where food is limited to one boiled potato a night.
The sole form of entertainment: sitting at a window watching the leaves rustle
by.
It sounds
like a French & Saunders arthouse parody, but Tarr is unmatched at drawing
the viewer into these grimly forbidding environments. Long, detailed takes –
count ‘em: just thirty-odd shots in 146 minutes – allow us to register what
happens when the couple’s routines begin to go awry, sorely stretching their
reserves; the farmer’s stoic horse and the mocking, musical gusts rattling the
stable doors become supporting players in some timeless, quite possibly
apocalyptic struggle. Whipping up more wind than the campfire scene in Blazing
Saddles, Tarr transforms the sparsest of elements into a pretty remarkable
experience. Probably best to take a scarf, though: to wrap yourself up in, if
not to hang yourself.
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