Review: Werckmeister Harmonies

Béla Tarr’s Werckmeister Harmonies is a musical of sorts. Do not, however, go in expecting any show-stopping song-and-dance routines; it’s not a conventional example of the genre by any stretch of the definition, but the stylistic lineage nevertheless lingers like a vestigial organ—albeit subtly. This is a film of sublime rhythm and exquisite movement; the camera floats gracefully and fluidly through the barren, desolate streets in which the story unfolds, observing the action in a series of meticulously choreographed tracking shots. The blocking and composition are executed with immaculate precision, accompanied by a mournful, somber score that perfectly complements the narrative’s stark, cold, foreboding atmosphere.

The plot is almost secondary to the visuals—until, of course, it isn’t. The setting is a remote village, where the threat of civil unrest hangs heavy in the air, thick as the fog that blankets the town square. Rebels hungry for a pretext to riot and opportunistic authoritarians desperate for a convenient excuse to subjugate the masses lurk at the periphery of the conflict, barely held at bay by the edges of the frame. The intrusion of a mysterious traveling circus—its arrival preceded by an ominous, creeping shadow that insidiously envelops the surrounding architecture like an oil spill—may just the be the catalyst that ignites the embers of violence into a raging inferno. Our protagonist, János—a youth with the soul of a poet and the weather-beaten facial features of a 19th century dockworker—navigates the political turmoil plaguing his community, serving as the viewer’s Dickensian tour guide. Usually, he’s merely a spectator, watching the chaos from a distance; occasionally, he attempts to play the mediator, searching for compromise amidst extremes. Regardless of the role he inhabits in a particular scene—passive audience surrogate or active participant in the drama—his experiences gradually erode his optimism and naïveté; nothing kills a dreamer quite like reality.

Gorgeously photographed, thematically rich, and deliberately paced, Werckmeister Harmonies epitomizes “arthouse” cinema. I’d love to further dissect the movie’s symbolism, figurative imagery, and satirical subtext—but I fear that any interpretation I offered would reveal more of myself than I’m willing to share. It’s like staring into the dead, glassy eye of a preserved whale carcass; what do you perceive in that vast, expansive abyss beyond your own reflection?