Cast: János Derzsi, Erika Bók, Mihály Kormos, Ricsi
Ohlsdorfer and his daughter
“mutter ich bin dumm” – “mother, I am stupid”
haunting, Gothic – the plight of the struggling creature.
With it’s stub neck and pudgy physique the horse seems like a pony that has grown bedraggled with age but no more capable of facing it’s lot.
It is a cruel, dank, blustering, miserable landscape.
The whipping wind
The heavy, agrarian clucking of barn doors, heavy yolks, stirrups, iron grates.
- These sounds are thudding staccato rhythm for the cacophony of whistling, blustery winds.
Long shots offer a tangible sense of the drab, arduous labour of their lives – it is a mundane, well-rehearsed, forced existence.
Is the music a bit heavy-handed at times? While boiling spuds it feels almost melodramatic.
With his thick beard and strong, haggard features he looks almost mythical – Sisyphus, or Prometheus shackled to the Caucasus
They stare out of the window at the howling, tempestuous wind
There is something dirge-like and Gothic about the score, and it also moans and groans like the ever-present wind.
When the horse refuses to work, do they read a book or sleep? No, they work. They chop wood and fix equipment and clean undergarments. There is no happiness or spare time. Every moment is dedicated to bland utility – the mundane routine of survival.
The same routines are filmed from different perspectives: one day we see him eating his potato (hot, rushed, bothered, pained), and the next day we see from over his shoulder – she is calm, considered, with hands well-worn and accustomed to the heat.
It is black and white, but it is difficult to imagine this landscape with any colour – everything is faded and grey.
“What is all this?”
“I don’t know”
“Even the embers went out”
“Tomorrow we’ll try again”
Their life is only embers, never a raging fire.
Surreal ending – sudden, all-encompassing, unnatural darkness.
- everything is debased, nothing is great any longer.
Ohlsdorfer and his daughter
“mutter ich bin dumm” – “mother, I am stupid”
haunting, Gothic – the plight of the struggling creature.
With it’s stub neck and pudgy physique the horse seems like a pony that has grown bedraggled with age but no more capable of facing it’s lot.
It is a cruel, dank, blustering, miserable landscape.
The whipping wind
The heavy, agrarian clucking of barn doors, heavy yolks, stirrups, iron grates.
- These sounds are thudding staccato rhythm for the cacophony of whistling, blustery winds.
Long shots offer a tangible sense of the drab, arduous labour of their lives – it is a mundane, well-rehearsed, forced existence.
Is the music a bit heavy-handed at times? While boiling spuds it feels almost melodramatic.
With his thick beard and strong, haggard features he looks almost mythical – Sisyphus, or Prometheus shackled to the Caucasus
They stare out of the window at the howling, tempestuous wind
There is something dirge-like and Gothic about the score, and it also moans and groans like the ever-present wind.
When the horse refuses to work, do they read a book or sleep? No, they work. They chop wood and fix equipment and clean undergarments. There is no happiness or spare time. Every moment is dedicated to bland utility – the mundane routine of survival.
The same routines are filmed from different perspectives: one day we see him eating his potato (hot, rushed, bothered, pained), and the next day we see from over his shoulder – she is calm, considered, with hands well-worn and accustomed to the heat.
It is black and white, but it is difficult to imagine this landscape with any colour – everything is faded and grey.
“What is all this?”
“I don’t know”
“Even the embers went out”
“Tomorrow we’ll try again”
Their life is only embers, never a raging fire.
Surreal ending – sudden, all-encompassing, unnatural darkness.
- everything is debased, nothing is great any longer.
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