Hukkle

This film challenges the idea that we need dialogue to define human interaction, or even interaction between humans, animals and the environment. There simply is no dialogue, just a bit of murmuring in the background and some singing near the end. It may sound boring, but isn't because you are constantly wondering what will happen next.

The movie covers the life of a small Hungarian village during the course of, more or less, one day. You see the people, the animals, underground, underwater, in the air, everything. Camera angles are exploited relentlessly to show every little thing, from a car door being unlocked to a fish striking at a swimming frog.

Because of the lack of dialoge, many things are up to the viewer's interpretation. One person may come up with a completely different view of what happened in the movie than another, even if they were watching it together. I watched this with my girlfriend, the red-haired queen of late night cinema, and we had a terrific argument over our differing opinions on what exactly had transpired in the movie. During the argument, she seized a burning stick from the fireplace and commenced beating me with it to emphasize her point, thereby proving the supremacy of a piece of wood over well-constructed film criticism.

This film should be seen by anyone who enjoys experimental film in any way, or simply wants to see something different but not boring. It is not over-repetitive, nor is it slow moving in any way. I applaud the director who can not only conceive of such a movie, but execute it in an interesting and watchable way.

Hukkle (2002), written and directed by György Pálfi, fits into no

genre. It's a Hungarian film, with almost no dialogue, and it's truly

unique.

The work "hukkle" is an attempt to imitate the sound of a hiccup.

Throughout a movie--set in a rural Hungarian village--an old man

sits by the side of a road and hiccups. Meanwhile, life in and

around the village goes on as people eat, work, and play.

Despite the idyllic nature of the landscape, something bad is

happening in the village. A police officer is investigating a crime,

and the director appears to be providing clues for us about what's

happening and why.

I never solved the mystery. The film curator at the George

Eastman House in Rochester--where the film was screened-- told us he

had seen the movie five or six times, and would explain the

mystery to us after we'd watched the film. When he gave us his

explanation, many members of the audience disagreed with him.

Maybe you have to see the movie five times to get it, or maybe after five

viewings you lose it.

According to the curator, this film is due out on DVD, and it's worth

finding and watching. Hukkle is strange, and somewhat

disturbing, but it's not boring.

Well, this is something truly original. And I mean it in every possible positive way. Nothing but a praise for a director who gave us some amazing and spectacular directing. Cinematography itself is a pure piece of art, something very rarely seen on screen. "Hukkle" is cinematic experience that looks like the greatest (mute) documentary ever put on celluloid, but if you concentrate just a little more, you'll notice that this is actually a serial killer thriller... Not just a surprise of the year, but maybe the best movie of the year.

It's hard to describe this film. It's quite unique. The closest I can compare it to are maybe the Cremaster films of Mathew Barney, but it's really something all of its own.

Hukkle is kind of a symphony of sights and sounds, without any real dialogue. It's just rhythms and patterns and cause and effect, and it's very very cool. Often funny, often disturbing, always fascinating. It's sort of like a nature documentary, with humans as just one of the subjects, just one part of the ecosystem. And underneath it all, there's a strange murder mystery.

I saw this film as part of the Seattle International Film Festival. I hope it gets a wider release, because I'd like to see it again. I want to work out some of the details that I missed the first time through.

I suppose we should be thankful for this. Its as purely cinematic as you will get if you think of narrative separate from vision. That's the philosophy of this, one I almost violently reject.

But we do have it. And it is enjoyable, clever, engaging. The notion here is one of granularity. I've written elsewhere about the size of the components in a film, that there are wonderful effects that can accrue when these are exploited. By that I meant component in several dimensions. There's the rhythm of the thing is how long the camera lingers and lines are spoken and effects presented. Mastery of this is rare but when you see it, it matters.

But there's granularity in the narrative as well. You might present chunks out of order, in which case the physical life of them is less important than the degree of abstraction in the way they are presented. Moving, shifting levels of abstraction only seems to work when the size of the brick, the steps in levels of abstraction, are constant. When these two bricks: abstraction in several senses and physical heartbeat are modulated together, then you have something that can penetrate your being.

Now to this. Its lovely. Its a slightly interesting puzzle that leaves us with a refreshing and welcome moral. Its offbeat and therefore attractive on that score as well. But I really didn't like it because there's no understanding of the bricks, the nature of the units that make up a film. This isn't me saying I like this tradition or convention, oh no. Its a matter of how our minds actually work.

Look at this seriously. Its difference from what we normally expect is part of its reason to be and presumably is there to increase its effectiveness at what it is. Small things like a bee's dance, or a bud's breaking are the same abstract "size" as larger things like planting and marrying, and they are the same "size" as global earthquakes and war. Placed in this is a mass murder of husbands, established also as the same size.

Its a nice idea. Wish it worked.

Interesting as all getout is the nature of the Hungarian mind. This is a small country. Many small countries in Europe, especially in the southeast, suffer an inferiority complex. Hungary is a bit different. They are ethnically different from other Europeans, profoundly so. They are a nation with one city surrounded by farms. So invested are they in this city that it is the most urban and in many ways sophisticated in Europe. Hungary — given it size — has produced a phenomenal number of brilliant scientists and mathematicians. Absolutely phenomenal.

And if you know these men and their work, you'll know that they are/were the primary warriors in defining the world geometrically. You don't want a treatise on warring theories in science in a movie comment, but be aware that there are different views of how things are put together in the world, and it boils down to how you abstract the bricks.

We owe the bright Hungarians for the notion that the world has symmetries that transcend numbers and probabilities. Mirrors exist before the eye does. If you go to Budapest, you will find great minds. But if you go to the outskirts and talk to the non-urbanites, you get a kindergarten version of geometric existence.

That's where this comes from. Its interesting. Its novel. Its ineffective and dumb. But pretty. Blocks, all the same.

Ted's Evaluation -- 2 of 3: Has some interesting elements.