Almanac Of Fall

There's something kind of strange about going through a filmmaker's work in reverse. It allows you to see the evolution of their style, what they thought worked and what failed. While not entirely intentional, this is basically what I've been doing with Bela Tarr, ever since I first saw Werckmeister Harmonies last year, which is now my favorite film (I only saw 2007's wonderful Man From London a few weeks ago, but that was because it wasn't released here until then). In fact, after watching his vastly underseen (even in the realm of Tarr, whose films are all vastly underseen) 1982 film Almanac of Fall this afternoon, I'm confident that I can now call him my favorite filmmaker. Period. Almanac is an interesting film, forming the bridge between his supposedly realist earlier films (remember, I haven't seen them), and the more difficult, allegorical films to come. It's also the only color feature I've seen from him, and his skill with the full color palate nearly reaches his abilities with black and white. The political allegory and Tarkovsky-esque camera work of his later films is here, but in a younger form, and his other influences, especially Bergman and Antonioni (and, maybe, to a much lesser extent Fellini) are more obvious in this film than in his subsequent works.
The entire film takes place in one large, dilapidated mansion. The outside world is barely shown, only intruding for two brief moments of violence. There are only five characters, and the entire film consists of their interactions. The house is owned by Hedi, a woman of about 60 and her 30 year old son Janos. There is also Hedi's nurse, Anna, who lives with her lover, Miklos. Miklos has recently invited his poor friend Tibor, a teacher to move in as well. The five of them spend the two-hour run-time manipulating and hurting each other, all of them trying to gain money and power over the others, all blaming the others for their problems. Hedi and Anna need each other, but they are always competing, and neither is comfortable with the other. Janos wants Anna, but is far too lazy to accomplish anything. Miklos is an angry man, abusing Anna and manipulating Hedi against the others. Tibor owes money to an undisclosed figure, who sends two men in to beat him. This is shown from the floor's point of view, as the entire sequence (of course done in one virtuoso shot) is shown happening on top of a glass pane. Eventually Tibur pawns Hedi's valuable gold bracelet, which further pulls everyone apart, and eventually breaks up the group, who demand a sacrificial lamb before they can return to their twisted normalcy.
It must be made clear that this is an unpleasant film. The characters cruelty and actions would seem at home in something by Von Trier, whose debut feature had been released the previous year. This has turned off many critics (many may be an overstatement given the film's obscurity, but that is unimportant), but it is necessary. The chamber-play setup as well as some of the character actions, especially the manipulative relationship between Hedi and Anna, shows Bergman's influence on Tarr. The expressive and always changing color palate was created entirely with artificial light and reminded me a bit of Fellini's Juliet of the Spirits, but this may be a stretch. The loneliness of the characters, as well as their isolation within the frame as the film uses more wide-shots in the second half, recall Antonioni. Some have seen the film as a critique of the family in general, and the isolation of the characters, especially during the requisite dance scene at the end (if you've seen another Tarr film, you know what I'm talking about) does support this, but there is more to it.
The main themes of the film (as well as the pervasive long-takes) are what I've come to expect from Tarr. The characters are all unable to accept responsibility for their actions. Tibur blames his financial woes on the situation around him, even though he was the one who borrowed from a shady character in the first place. Janos blames his lack of work on alcohol, not on his own inherent laziness. Miklos seems to blame his problems on Anna, but in reality, he's just not a good person. Anna sleeps with all three men, but says that society is at fault for any problems that it may cause. Through all of this, Tarr is saying that man is always responsible for his own actions, but, with the events at the end of the film, he is saying that human nature always calls for a scapegoat, even when the problems are everyone's fault. Given the strong political undertones of his later films, this could be interpreted as him (correctly) predicting that, while at the time people blamed communism for their problems, they would eventually blame capitalism, and the cycle would go on, with people only shifting the blame and not actually doing anything for themselves. There are a lot of long takes in this film, with each conversation usually being made up of only one or two shots, but Tarr does no rely on them as heavily as he would later. The camera work here is interesting in a different way, as Tarr and his cinematographers shoot from every angle and distance imaginable, as a way of saying that the actions of the characters, and therefore humanity, may not make any real, logical sense no matter how one looks at them. I would not put Almanac Of Fall on quite the same level as Werckmeister or Satantango, but I think I would rank it third among the master's films, which means that you really should see it as soon as possible.
Rating (out of ****): ****