[No. 3016] Mud and the Sound of Bells—The Cinematic Horizon Opened by 'Sátántangó'

7 hours and 18 minutes danced in tango steps

Béla Tarr's 'Sátántangó' (1994) is a monumental work of 438 minutes (7 hours and 18 minutes) that took nine years to prepare, two years to shoot, and four years to complete. Composed of an astonishing 150 long takes, it is based on the novel of the same name by László Krasznahorkai, who won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2025. The title means 'Satan's Tango' and consists of 12 chapters corresponding to the tango step 'six steps forward, six steps back.' The first six chapters depict the events of a single day while moving back and forth in time from multiple perspectives, and the latter six chapters depict the period after Irimiás returns. Finally, it is revealed that this story is circular.

Story Progression: A Village of Despair and the Arrival of a Savior

A village in Hungary, economically stagnant and draped in an apocalyptic atmosphere. The rain has begun to fall. It will not stop until spring. Covered in persistent rain and mud, the collective farm has collapsed, the church is in ruins, and the villagers have fallen into mutual suspicion.

The farmer Schmidt tells his wife of a plan to team up with his friend Kráner and run away with the villagers' savings. However, Futaki, a villager having an affair with the wife, was eavesdropping. Futaki decides to join in on the plan. Just then, there is a knock at the door, and the woman who arrives says something unbelievable: 'Irimiás, who should have died a year and a half ago, has returned.'

Hearing of Irimiás's return, the villagers gather at the tavern and begin a heated argument. However, the discussion eventually turns into a drinking party as the night deepens. In the middle of the film, a long dance scene unfolds in the tavern. This is the 'Sátántangó.' Exhausted men and women dance endlessly. The philosopher talks on and on, while a tired man touches a woman and continues to dance. The prostitute cannot avoid the men, and the laborer keeps carrying bread. A world where only the musician can keep playing.

However, a tragedy that the audience already knows lies in the background of this dance scene. From the beginning to the middle of the film, a certain girl and a cat are depicted. It is a wicked and sorrowful tragedy. The girl is shunned by the adults in the village, abuses the cat in her loneliness, and eventually takes her own life. Knowing of this girl's death, we watch the dance in the tavern. It is precisely because of the calmly yet carefully depicted beginning that the Sátántangó appears even more gloomy. The death of that girl emerges in the background of that long, long tango.

The next day, Irimiás returns to the village just as the woman said. Like a savior, he speaks of a vision for the village's future. Let's build a new farm, let's rebuild the community, there is still hope. The villagers decide to follow Irimiás's words. They collect their savings, abandon the village, and head toward the new world Irimiás points to.

But the truth is different. Irimiás is a police informant who earned money by monitoring and reporting on the villagers. After taking the villagers to a new estate, Irimiás abandons them and leaves. The villagers were, in the end, merely trapped in another desperate place.

The story finally returns to the doctor who appeared at the beginning. He had been observing and recording all the events in the village from his room's window. The doctor, who has boarded up his windows to shut out the outside world, continues his records while listening to the sound of bells in the darkness. The circle closes. There is no salvation. Only the sound of the bells rings out.

Innovation: The Materialization of Time

The innovation of 'Sátántangó' lies, above all, in its treatment of time. The 7-hour and 18-minute runtime is not merely a provocation. It is an expression of the perception of time that Béla Tarr reached. Time in his films is not a container for carrying the story, but is experienced in itself. The audience does not 'watch' the story, but 'lives' the time.

At the beginning, a scene of a herd of cows walking slowly through the mud continues for several minutes. The scene of horses running through the square and the sight of people walking away are all presented in lengths close to real time. This demands patience, but it is also a meditative experience. Béla Tarr materializes time. Mud, rain, wind. All of these have the weight of time.

Martin Scorsese says, 'Béla Tarr is one of the most courageous filmmakers, and Sátántangó is a true cinematic experience that you can keep ruminating on in your heart.' Gus Van Sant says, 'His work is very close to the true rhythm of life, and it is like watching the birth of a new cinema.' Jim Jarmusch stated, 'Béla Tarr's films remind us of the beautiful and strange possibilities that film can tell, hidden behind ordinary customs and forms.'

And the writer Susan Sontag highly praised this work as 'devastating, with every one of the seven hours mesmerizing. A masterpiece I would like to watch every year for the rest of my life.' Even now, more than 30 years after its production, it continues to maintain a 100% rating from critics on Rotten Tomatoes. In 2012, 'Sátántangó' was ranked 36th in the top 100 masterpiece films selected by the British Film Institute's magazine 'Sight and Sound.' It is the only Hungarian film on that list.

Structural Ingenuity: Multiple Perspectives and the Circle

The narrative structure of 'Sátántangó' is also innovative. The first six chapters depict the same day from multiple perspectives. A scene seen in one chapter appears from a different angle and with a different meaning in another chapter. We pass through the same time many times, but each time a new layer is revealed. This is also an experiment showing the relativity of cinematic time.

And the circular structure. The setting where the doctor observes and records the village from his window has a meta-dimension. He is the author's alter ego and the audience's alter ego. We, too, observe and record (remember) the village through the window of the screen. At the end, when the doctor boards up the window, the story is completely closed. However, the sound of the bells continues to ring. That sound continues to echo in the audience's head even after the film ends.

The Aesthetics of Monochrome and the Long Take

The visuals of 'Sátántangó,' shot entirely in black and white, possess an overwhelming beauty. The footage captured by cinematographer Gábor Medvigy was described by The Village Voice as 'the most magnificent monochrome shots in film history.' Rain-slicked cobblestones, people walking through mud, and dilapidated buildings—all of these acquire a sculptural texture through the shades of monochrome.

Composing 7 hours and 18 minutes with only 150 cuts means the average shot length is about 3 minutes. In reality, however, there are multiple shots exceeding 10 minutes. For Béla Tarr, the long take is not merely a technique, but a way of seeing the world. The camera keeps moving, but it does not sever time through editing. We are forced to share the same time as the characters.

A Prophecy for the Present

What is interesting is that this work, produced in 1994, appears like a prophecy for modern society. The figure of Irimiás and the villagers moved by his words are truly reminiscent of what is happening in contemporary society. Agitators posing as saviors, crowds unable to see the truth, betrayal, despair, and history that moves in circles. While set in post-communist Hungary, this film has become a fable applicable to any era and any place.

Conclusion: 'Sátántangó' as a Cinematic Experience

Watching 'Sátántangó' in a theater over 7 hours and 18 minutes is not merely watching a film. It is a kind of ritual, a discipline, and a revelation. After the screening, the theater is enveloped in a unique atmosphere. A sense of solidarity emerges with the strangers who spent the time in the seats alongside you. The sound of the bells continues to ring in your head.

With 'Sátántangó,' Béla Tarr reached the extreme north of cinema. And from that extreme north, he pointed toward new possibilities for film. Materializing time, listening to silence, and continuing to stare at despair—all of these relate to the essence of the art of film.

'Sátántangó' chooses its viewers. But once you have stepped into its mud, you can never return to the same place. Because the question of what film is, is rewritten from its very foundation.