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Rating: "I can't feel the coldness, only their falseness..."
Of the entire filmography of the Hungarian master Béla Tarr (not very extensive, to be honest), this Oszi almanach / Autumn Almanac (1985) certainly constitutes the most singular episode for a number of reasons: first of all, we can consider it an excellent transitional work as, after an initial period that was visually crude and focused on family dramas, it lays the foundations for the refined, ponderous, and allegorical style (consolidated with the beautiful Damnation, from 1988) thanks to which Tarr created his absolute masterpieces in the years to come, becoming one of the best living filmmakers and gaining popularity among art cinema enthusiasts. Secondly, it is the last of his rare color films, and in my humble opinion, the best in terms of cinematography - and that is no small feat, considering the masterpieces produced in the following decades. Finally, it is surprising to note that it is his only film whose (non-)plot relies solely on dialogue, through which the dynamics between the characters as well as their most intimate reflections are revealed.
The entire story unfolds as if suspended in time, in a large and gloomy apartment where five protagonists live and interact: the wealthy and charming owner (Hédi), her greedy and violent son (János), the nurse (Anna), her boyfriend (Miklós), and shortly thereafter a mustachioed elementary school teacher (Tibor) with alcohol and money problems also joins them. Throughout the film, Tarr will put each of them face to face with the others (mother and son, Anna and Miklós, then mother and Anna, János and Tibor, and so on), building, more than a true plot, a dense network of situations, a merry-go-round of actions-reactions-reflections destined to have no definitive conclusion - as the initial Pushkin quote and the bitter and playful ending will suggest.
Still without the invaluable and constant contribution of writer László Krasznahorkai, who would later join with Damnation, Tarr himself handles a sober and repetitive screenplay, with a structure not too far (and here I will be heavily criticized) from that of a soap opera (!), but not for that reason immediate: the characters' flow of thoughts is often wavering, elusive, suggestive, and their intentions are not always clear; after all, it is a psychological drama aiming to expose the contradictions, weaknesses, degradation, and fickleness of the human being, foreshadowing the apocalyptic and devastating tones of future masterpieces while remaining on an exquisitely intimate level.
The physical environment, the cinematography, and the filming techniques reflect and enhance the content: the apartment takes on the role of a confessional, in every room everyone reveals themselves to the other and to themselves, cries, even laughs (it's quite something to hear laughter in a Béla Tarr film), smokes, drinks, gossips, sometimes opinions are exchanged, and sometimes the dialogue becomes a true monologue, and there are moments of physical violence. Despite the calm and subdued tone of the narration, the environment is often claustrophobic, aided by the complete absence of exterior shots and any natural light, while the use of colors is hallucinatory. With Autumn Almanac, Béla Tarr finally achieves perfect, absolute command of his means: his camera explores the rooms and their occupants from every possible angle, first peeking in cautious long takes, then circling, then lingering on faces, rising or lowering to ground level, all with precision worthy of a surgeon, indicative of an extraordinary aesthetic taste. The fight scene between Miklós and Tibor, filmed from beneath a glass sheet on which the actors perform, deserves mention; a 360° study of framing, in the truest sense of the word.
As mentioned, the cinematography (requiring no less than three directors!) is incredible and among the best I've ever seen; initially, I thought the top spot belonged to Apocalypse Now (recently re-watched and it hasn't lost an ounce of its power, visually and otherwise), but after this Autumn Almanac, I have to reconsider: what might be an essentially sparse film is transformed into an absurd game of colors bordering on expressionism, without sacrificing even a hint of image sharpness, especially in the darkest scenes or those with the most challenging colors to manage. Thus, in the same narrative sequence, we will see one character illuminated in pale green and another in red, and the cuts will seem to divide two seemingly distant places; or the same protagonist will be bathed in blue and red lights; or scenes will be immersed in blue, reminiscent of early Picasso paintings! A feature that, regardless of aesthetic pleasure, only enhances the ambivalence of relationships built and then destroyed (never completely) throughout the film. It is incredible to note how at times the light sources are so uncertain as to make the characters appear illuminated by their own light, as if it were an aura, almost to emphasize that, despite fears, conflicts, and disillusionments, there remains a trace of human warmth to hold onto.
In short, masterful direction, an excellent finishing job despite the simplicity of the mise-en-scène, while the barely sketched music is negligible - Mihály Víg will be much more incisive in the future. I won't go beyond a great score because, rightly so, the best was yet to come and because, despite the richness in form and substance, in 115 minutes one can still get a bit lost in the repetitiveness of situations and the weightiness of certain dialogues. Nonetheless, this is the classic hidden gem that admirers of the director should rediscover and at least appreciate for its uniqueness.
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