I: TARR | INTRODUCTION
Tacitly acknowledged by contributors of the original Unspoken Cinema blog was a prevailing sense of aesthetic cohesion within even its intense diversity, one paradoxically as nebulous as it was intuitive. And in the terms minimalism, slowness, non-narrative, plotlessness, and parametrics we find only a few of many attempts to render concrete its contemplative elusiveness – some more successful than others, but always devised for convenient signification. Now in journal format, Unspoken invites contributors and readers alike to return to explorations of this cinema in its raw inconvenience, to take up the challenge, once again, of accounting for its open-ended and unarticulated cohesion in an interdisciplinary manner. This shall be undertaken an issue at a time, occasionally with a set theme. Our first foray dedicates itself to the stark and implacable visions of Béla Tarr – upon the imminent completion of Turin Horse, and his speculated retirement from filmmaking entirely. And of his selected (post-Damnation) works, our contributors have sought various ways of describing and re-thinking what creates their unmistakably monolithic presence.
Edward Howard uncovers a series of intricate details that produce Damnation’s ’sensually heightened realism,’ and compares elements of the film’s sound mix and visual diction to that of the mantra-like rock of The Doors, and, film noir metaphorically subjected to microscopic scrutiny. Then, Sátántángó is treated to two different but complementary critical engagements. In the first, Robert Davis initiates a lateral investigation of the film’s self-reflexive resonances, tracing devices and phenomena back to sources in other films such as Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window, and even the real world experiences of cinema going itself. And in the second, Matthew Flanagan applies a rigorous Bordwellian narratological analysis that gives rise to unexpected insights to its construction, and affinity with experiments more often associated with avant-garde film. Ian Johnston negotiates the thematic concerns of Werckmeister Harmonies, mobilizing the notion of ‘order in disorder’ to examine its mise en scène whilst paying careful attention to Tarr’s self-declared suspicion against allegorical interpretations of his films. And, over two contributions, András Bálint Kovács takes on The Man From London. In the first, he shares with us a previously untranslated conversation held between himself, Tarr, and his wife Agnes Hranitzky, which touches upon topics ranging from free will to the addictiveness of Hitchcock videos, in a relaxed yet revealing manner. In the second, Kovács assesses, in essay form, the efficacy of Tarr’s long cultivated ’signature techniques.’ Then, in the place of a conclusion, guest-editor Yvette Biró casts her typically lyrical eye over two brief excursions on Tarr. In the first, the subject is Tarr’s little discussed short Prologue, in which she argues that it invokes what she calls ‘existential apprehension.’ And in the second, she shares a pertinent excerpt from her recent book Turbulence and Flow, which outlines running themes of materiality and timelessness in Tarr’s films. Accompanying them, Edwin Mak opens the journal’s annexe section with an article review of Turbulence and Flow, focusing on the book’s origins in vitalist philosophy, and recapitulation of Deleuzian thought in its application of ontology, and temporality in film theory. Finally, to close the annexe, Pacze Moj and HarryTuttle each offer a backward facing glance at Tarr’s early work Family Nest, the former wrestles with its sociological underpinnings, the latter isolates the near-subliminal close-ups of hands and faces.
We hope you enjoy our maiden issue, and warmly welcome suggestions, correspondences, and other ideas on future contributions.
Edwin Mak