I was watching Krasnoholkaj's "Satanic Tango" recently, and the wet text brought me back to that sticky afternoon of Beratar's "Satanic Tango" eight years ago.
It was a cloudy day, the air humidity was high, and the dark clouds were full of rain but refused to fall. My boyfriend at the time and I were tired of living in a rented studio and didn't want to do anything. It is a space rich in species. We are often pleasantly surprised to find millipedes, tide insects, geckos, cockroaches and other creatures in the cracks and corners of the walls, plus our dog Oscar, and because we have not cleaned moldy food for a long time. fungus, bacteria and mites accumulated on the thick dust, he paints splashes of paint, mud, broken wood, rags, iron wire, various tools, painting materials... plus the dim lights all year round to save electricity , there is no public heating, and I am reluctant to burn more coal, and because of the cold for a long time, the limbs cannot be fully stretched, and we always keep our necks shrunk.
In short, unknowingly, we created a perfect space to watch Satanic Tango. And let me in this weather, in this space, in this seven and a half hours, this seven and a half hours when nothing happened but a hoax, became a frequented stop in memory, or some kind of lackluster life called a milestone The place. After all, the disintegrated memory is the majority, and there are not many places that can be frequented. I think the same for him. He was in the midst of a frenzy and depression of fame, at least “Satanic Tango” made it clear to us that the imagination of the movement dissipates in itself, taking us back to the beginning (Jacques Rancière), that a certain frenzy is It's a recurring devil's dance in a trap. At that time, I bought a 29-inch old TV, which is the kind of picture tube TV, the kind of thief. With a DVD player, combined with my quirks in collecting DVDs, we were in this flickering, stuck in tattered, insect-infested sofas, reading countless films. But it is true that there are not many films that can become a station like "Satan Tango", and my more than 2,000 DVDs have also become the pain of every move. It's really painful to move the book, but at least it can be displayed for decoration, and the DVDs are really embarrassing. I'm currently watching Krasnoholkaj's Satanic Tango, the original Beratar movie. Now that I see this passage, I think I must share with you the "long sentence of Krasnoholkaj". Laszlo Krasnoholkaj said that his favorite poet is Li Bai. I don't know if it was because Li Bai was an alcoholic, but Laszlo also decided to use the drunken nagging to speak. In his opinion, short sentences were too boring. Don't use periods, just say one sentence a night. But just like Li Bai is not an ordinary alcoholic, Laszlo's long sentences are also outrageously beautiful, and critics are generally at a loss for words and can only describe it as "epic". Of course I can't read Hungarian, but even if his sentence is translated into Chinese, it is still "Krasnoholkaj-style Chinese". Come and feel it: The autumn horseflies buzzed around the cracked lampshade, and painted a vine-like "8" pattern in the faint light and shadow from the lampshade. They bumped into the dirty enamel surface again and again. , with a faint dull thud, plunging back into their own enchanting webs, continuing to circle the endless, closed flight path until the lights went out; a hand full of mercy Holding that unshaven face, this is the face of the tavern owner; at this moment, the tavern owner is listening to the sound of the rain, blinking drowsy eyes and staring at the fly, mumbling in a low voice. : "Go to hell with you all!" After reading Laszlo's words, he naturally understood where the magic in Beratar's footage came from. Regarding the memories of that afternoon, I can’t do without a dazzling long shot. Fettlina and Ilimi Ash, two liars in long woolen coats, the elevation shot follows their backs. His footsteps were mixed with fallen leaves and rubbish swept up in the wind. At the mercy of the wind, fallen leaves and garbage seem to form a rhythmic dance. I remember my boyfriend and I looked at each other at the same time, and then said together: "Master"!
Regarding the relationship between Bellatar's film and Laszlo's novel, Laszlo's Chinese translator Yu Zemin gave a wonderful summary - in this novel, the liar is the most vital and infectious person, and all those who desire to live Those who go down are numb, wretched, stupid, like mice running a wheel. Humans who seem to develop will never learn any lessons, and the germination of faint hope will always end in a trap. In this masterpiece of Krasloholkaj Laszlo, deception is synonymous with the future. , lies are the driving force behind history. In the film, a group of longing fugitives are led astray by the "savior" Ilami Ash under the gaze of owls; ". Reading Laszlo's novels is like watching how the camera at Beratal's helm slowly shakes at an almost static slack: the mud flowing into the distance, the pattering rain, the dark light on the plain, against the glass windows The face on the top, the monotonous stubborn ticking of the clock, the endless drunken chatter, the tango melody played by the accordion, the sound of pouring wine and drinking and smashing the mouth, walking in the gust of wind, bull barking, counting money, dancing, peeping, clipping The girl with the stiff dead cat, the ghostly maniac in the ruins of the church... No matter how long the camera is fixed or how slowly it moves, it can't bring us into any spiritual world, all we can see and feel is destruction, fear, Desperate and deceitful. Of course, for us at the time, the meaning was unclear and the feeling was clear. After reading it, the sky has turned from grey to pitch black, and it may be that there are too many feelings to express. He "flyed" hundreds of sewing needles into the glass, completed a work, and wrote a work statement impassively. Now It seems that every time I see a "dystopian" art work, I have a little resistance "for a while" :)
I've been trying to find out what I am. During this lonely and painful process, I gradually discovered that as a person, an organism, a body with consciousness and mind, I was so passive. When I travel in time and space, between instinct and conscience, consciously and unconsciously, I feel a powerful control. I felt an as yet unknown force hovering around my world. It may be the darkest abyss; it may be the brightest beam; it may be the deepest joy; it may be the inextricable melancholy. When I see lives that have been ended in various ways, when I see the coldness and decay of corpses, when I see people screaming, real or fake, I always feel this power enveloped everything. This power may be everything or nothing, it may create natural laws, it may create social norms, it may create gods, or it may do nothing. It rubs the skin of the universe, it creates selfishness and fear, it creates devotion and innocence, and we circle wholeness on its path. Metabolism is really cruel, choose to control the world with such rules, it must come from hell.
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