Just about everything I’ve read about Miklós Jancsó’s Red Psalm (1971) notes the director’s
use of nudity in the film (the French DVD version even has a bare-breasted
young woman prominently featured in the cover art). Though none of my research has specifically
noted it, I suspect that this was one of the first modern eastern bloc films to
expose such brazen amounts of skin.
While this may be important in that it broke down the barriers of cinematic
art in its time and place, Jancsó and Red
Psalm don’t really cover any new ground metaphorically with their
exhibition. Nudity in art has always
symbolized vulnerability, and here it clearly mirrors the unprotected farmers
of a Hungarian agricultural community who strike against the practices of their
landlord. The workers have no protection
but their ideals, and such things often fail to stop bullets.
As the film
opens, just over 100 farmers, their wives, and children have gathered on the
plains to stage their protest. Their
clothes, tools, and instruments denote that this is the close of the 19th
century. The dissent begins merrily,
with big talk, music, and dancing, but the swift arrival of a cavalry unit
called in by the landlord quickly establishes the gravity of the farmers’
decision. Three young women strip their
clothes as a sign of resistance to the tyranny of their oppressors. The songs and the discussions continue
amongst the group as tensions with a few mounted officers begin to rise. If the protest comes to a halt, all will be
forgiven the group is told, but many farmers mistrust this promise of peaceful
resolution. In just 27 shots, which run
over the course of under 90 minutes, this conflict, which appears to exist in
the span of only a few hours, will reach its inevitable conclusion. I say “inevitable” because something is
evident right from the beginning with Red
Psalm: this is not a movie of characters, but rather a film of the
collective. I couldn’t recall a single
character name as the picture ended, and I wondered whether I’d even bothered
to learn them during the movie.
I suspected
that this was because many of the gathered individuals have Hungarian names
with no clear English counterpart. A quick
look at the IMDb confirmed this, but I’m not so sure that Jancsó wanted even a
Hungarian audience to remember one specific character so much as he wanted the
struggle and sacrifice of the group to be the prominent focus. Indeed, I remember several events in the film
clearly, but little about any individual.
Jancsó is intentional in his methods.
Reactions, close-ups, and shot/reverse shot editing wouldn’t have served
his purpose. His few shots are comprised
of calculated camera movements that seem to float between sub-groups and
conversations. In this way, Jancsó
reminds me of a Hungarian Robert Altman.
One gets the feeling that he somehow saw M*A*S*H (1970) before making this film. Years later, his fellow Hungarian, Béla Tarr
would perfect this ethereal movement between subjects and dialogues in cold black
and white films such as Satantango (1994)
and Werckmeister Harmonies (2000).
Here Jancsó uses color like Altman,
not for artistic ends, but rather to evoke the reality of the conflict. It happens on a plain that could be anywhere,
to farmers who could be any type of worker, with soldiers who might be the strong
arm of any oppressive force. It is a story
of generalities which are representative of the principles of Marxism, and
therefore must appear for Jancsó’s purposes to be told in the context of the
real. Black and white would have evoked
a specific plain, in a specific nation, and a specific conflict. It would have called for opening title cards
with a date and a region. By comparison,
think of Tarr’s films, which feel like they could take place nowhere but where
they do. This would be wrong for Jancsó’s
Red Psalm.
If it were
my movie, (which of course it isn’t) I would have made different choices. Films about the collective usually fail in my
estimation because groups often bring out the worst in us (See the films made
by the Russians just after the revolution for examples). As an audience, we want to see films about
individuals who stand up against the cries of the masses; who rise above to
become something greater. The best films
about groups are often dependant on one character emerging as a leader, beating
both the odds and personal demons to seize the day and embody what the group
needs. When this doesn’t happen, at
least for Western audiences, something feels off. War movies about a squad on a dangerous
mission, Westerns that involve a posse, ensemble high school movies written by
John Hughes, and any film about a band or a sports team essentially works on
this principle; both the good of the group and the story will be served in
those moments when an individual is singled out by the narrative to explain his
or her purpose in life and in that context (e.g. the war, the search, the tour,
the game, and specifically the jury room in 12
Angry Men (1957)) These moments are
altogether absent from Red Psalm, and
thus, while I enjoyed its craft, I cared little for its story, its characters,
or its meaning.
Language: Hungarian
Runtime: 87 Minutes
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