Fzi Izabella: Image and event in recent Hungarian film (The Man from London, Delta,

Milky Way)

(In Orientation in Occurrence. Szerk. Berszn Istvn. Kolozsvr, 2009. 331-341.)

1. Spectacle and narrative1

As a medium able to create the illusion of movement, film is often epitomized as a narrative
medium in which narrativity is a constraint rather than a possibility. In his essay comparing
the medium specific features of epic fiction and narrative film, Seymour Chatman points out
that despite the plenitude of visual details characterizing visual representation, in film there
is a pressure from the narrative component [] events move too fast [] narrative pressure
is so great that the interpretation of even non-narrative films is sometimes affected by it
(Chatman 1999, 438-439). Visual details then are subordinated or reduced to the logic of
narrative, descriptions are interpreted as withholding or delaying information.

Besides this reasoning stated in terms of mediality, there are two interrelated arguments about
the relation of visual and narrative, which occur again and again in film studies: (1) the visual
and narrative layer (sometimes labeled as spectacle and narrative) are opposing forces, in film
they imply different spectatorial attitudes, and a different temporality and (2) in classical
(Hollywood) cinema the two principles have merged into one to form one paradigm. The first
claim is formulated by Tom Gunning (1993) in relation to early cinema. The first projections
of moving images were contextualized by the visual illusions performed in the tradition of the
vaudeville, magic theatre, and tricks. Early film, according to Gunning, implies a totally
different spectatorial attitude: while narrative demands a voyeuristic involvement in the
unfolding of the events (most often the resolution of an enigma), which happen without the
acknowledgment of the spectator, early cinema (labeled as cinema of attractions) is an
explicit display of exhibitionism. It addresses directly the viewer and seeks to arouse and
satisfy a visual curiosity. Instead of narrative structuring, such as montage or multiplicity of
points of view the meaning generating procedures are established by the act of framing and
the temporal irruptions of presence and absence.

The second claim, the complicitness of the two layers in classical narrative cinema, can be
illustrated by the critical analysis carried out by the feminist approach. According to Laura
Mulveys (1975) famous essay the split between spectacle and narrative between the
visual presence of the woman who is the object of erotic contemplation and the male hero
whos activity is forwarding the story is resolved from the part of the spectator as
scopophilic or voyeuristic objectification of the woman and identification with the active male
hero. The critique of classical Hollywood cinema as a means of subordinating spectacle to a
causal, character driven narrative is somewhat superseded by contemporary Hollywood
cinema (especially action genre) which as stated privileges moments of spectacle, the
illusion of a more direct emotional and experiential impact (King 2000, 36). However, as
many have pointed out, the special effects and stunts of contemporary cinema cannot be
accounted for as visual counterpoints, since they are not diegetic ruptures2, only tamed
attractions (Gunning 1986, 70).

1
During the writing of this article I was a scholarship-holder of the Etvs Hungarian State Fellowship.
2
the effect accompanies our highest point of engagement with the story, as the hero extricates himself from
an impossible predicament (Higgins 2008, 76).
Beside these different, sometimes contradictory, valuations of narrative and spectacle, which
also function as critical terms,3 another approach less in historical terms is described by
Kristin Thompson (1981), who introduces the notion of cinematic excess, denoting all the
features of a film lacking motivation and acting counter to narrative and unity. What
Thompson points out is the arbitrariness inherent in visual narration appearing in the choosing
of devices (props, camera placements, actors, etc.) or duration while something is shown on
the screen. While these elements can be indicated (even if they are highly dependent on the
viewers subjectivity), nevertheless their systematic analysis is impossible (496): every
attempt to attribute them a function will constitute a new narrative, consequently they will
loose their excessive character. Excess is exemplified mainly in terms of style (the latter
based on the notion of defamiliarization coined by the Russian Formalists). The relation
between excess and style is, however, vague in Thompsons account: Excess does not equal
style, but the two are closely linked because they both involve the material aspects of the film.
Excess forms no specific patterns which we could say are characteristic of the work. But the
formal organization provided by style does not exhaust the material of the filmic techniques,
and a spectators attention to style might well lead to a noticing of excess as well (489). In
other terms, excess signifies elements which cannot be accounted for in interpretation or
organized in patterns of style, connotation or narrative. In this respect excess could be a
figure of the resistance exerted by the film text to totalizing interpretations, signaling the gap
experienced through the movement from detail to meaning4.

Thompsons study has as its starting point Roland Barthes article entitled The Third
Meaning (1970/1977). Here Barthes points out traits and marks of images encountered in
Eisensteins Ivan the Terrible and Potemkin: the stupid nose of the courtier, the beard of Ivan
at once artificial and referential, the low headscarf of the old grieving woman. These traits
appear on another level of meaning (a third one beside the level of communication and
signification) or constitute another type of meaning (obtuse contrary to obvious), since
they cannot be attributed to an intention (the level of communication), nor are they symbols
emphasizing an obvious meaning. Since they blur the limit between sign and non-sign,
leaving interpretation uncertain and undecided, it would be more fortunate to call them
signifiers (instead of meanings): signifying accidents, according to Barthes, signifiers
without a signified, both empty and overdetermined. Subverting accepted meaning practices,
these incomplete signs instantiate a new articulation, a new structuration based on what is
purely image (that which is undescribable by language) or the specific filmic5 (the
representation which cannot be represented, 64). Narrative becomes just one configuration
among others, and movement considered the essence of film a framework of a
permutational unfolding (1977, 67).

Barthess examples from the Ivan and Potemkin present similarities with the descriptions of
the punctum from his book on photography, Camera Lucida. Punctum is something in the
photograph which pierces through the actual message, style or composition of the image.

3
See for example Dana Polans critique of spectacle: the very fact of showing (regardless of what IS shown)
becomes a spectacle (and specularly seductive) in the ways it blocks, ignores, shuts out, other forms of cognition.
[] Spectacle offers an imagistic surface of the world as a strategy of containment against any depth of
involvement with that world. (1986, 63)
4
See Bignell 2005.
5
Everything that can be said about Ivan or Potemkin can be said of a written text [] except this, the obtuse
meaning (1977, 64-65).
However, the filmic does not refer to this photographic quality of the film stills6 (a comic-
strip or a photo-novel would be better examples of that), since its subversive character derives
from being doubled by another text, the film (66). The film, the forward movement of the
film, or the narrative constraint are just one version or one realization of traits unappropriable
by them. The story then becomes spatialized, a vehicle for other meanings, constituting a
diegetic horizon for meanings unaccountable by itself.

Thompsons concept of excess and Barthess third meaning indicates a level in the film
text which cannot be described by the relation between spectacle and narrative, visual and
logical. Spectacle in the form of contemplation or objectification (Mulvey) or in the form
of tamed attractions (Gunning), stunts and special effects denotes the moment in which
the forwarding movement of the story is halted. I would like to put forward an approach in
which the visual layer of the film and the event, the occurrence are not opposed to each other,
but event-ness derives exactly from the visual component. For this we must change the level
of investigation: from the relation between narrative and spectacle to the relation between
image and event.

2. The image-event
Introducing the concept of the image-event aims to bring to notice the event character of the
image, of the visual dimension of the film. From a film historical point of view this
foregrounding of the visual bringing forward an event is often accompanied by the re-
evaluation and weakening of the story-line. My examples are from recent Hungarian films,
the present investigation does not aim at a historical account, only at elaborating the main
theoretical frameworks of this aspect.

The image-event is not an event of the story, it appears detached from the narrative structures.
I will outline briefly the differences between the story-event and the image-event. In his
analysis of the Bicycle Thieves (Vittorio de Sica, 1948) Andr Bazin emphasizes that the
central event of the story, the stealing of the bicycle is not an event in itself, in itself the
event contains no proper dramatic valence. Only inscribing into a context acquires the value
of an event which in the case of Bicycle Thieves concerns the social context of happenings.
Inserted in a number of systems of dramatic coordinate, the event will be conferred with an
irrefutable and undeniable meaning: the thesis emerges fully armed and all the more
irrefutable because it is presented to us as something thrown in into the bargain.
Paradoxically, the thesis (i.e. in this world the poor must steal from each other in order to
survive) is shaped by the viewer, and not by the film which conducts to a model of
communication free from any risk: De Sica wins every play on the board without ever
having made a bet. The stealing of the bicycle becomes the event of the story by being
inscribed into a time-space and causal structure7 and by acquiring a symbolic meaning, a
message (a thesis). The occurrence gains the value of an event from the narrative structure,
the crucial point of which is the ending, the closure, establishing or determining the place and
value of all the events in the story.

On the contrary, the image-event is an event which cannot be inferred from the narrative
structures; it is an occurrence, an appearance which, however, needs a story as a diegetic

6
Yet, the film still is delimited by Barthes as a privileged locus for the third meaning, the filmic. The film still is
unaccountable by the viewing perception, an artificial unit which in itself does not prescribe or contain its
integration into a narrative.
7
Even if this structure in the case of the Bicycle Thieves in particular, and neo-realism in general, maintains the
appearance of spontaneity, of lacking any exterior intervention or commentary from the part of the narrator.
horizon or background in front of which it can unfold itself. My samples are drawn from
three Hungarian films, all of them distributed in 2008: The Man from London, Delta and The
Milky Way. These films are not without antecedents, they are all works by well-known
directors and have their places in these oeuvres: The Man from London is the latest film of
Bla Tarr, the other two are films by younger directors, Kornl Mundrucz and Benedek
Fliegauf. All of them represent a tendency that foregrounds apparently very simple, visual
patterns which are ambivalent interpretations of the story told rather than simple means of
storytelling. The Man from London is an adaptation of Georges Simenons crime story, which
extracts the motivational and causal relations from the story. Nevertheless these terms can be
deduced rather easily. Delta recounts a story which is imbued with elements of myth with
characters and plotting patterns known from different genres. The multiple patterns cited
make it impossible to decide on the relation between the events, and hinder a reading which
focuses exclusively on the story. Suspending the continuity of space and time and of
characters, The Milky Way goes further in minimizing the story-line, it consists of ten distinct
episodes, each of which could function as a point of departure for a different story. The most
obvious common feature of the films is an extreme slowness which requires from the
spectator a lingering over the image, first of all contemplation rather than excitement or
suspense. Slow movement comes near to stillness: the camera moving millimeters by
millimeters in The Man from London, the apparently uneventful, isolated world of Delta, and
the absolute fixed frames of The Milky Way relate slowness with stillness.

Movement in film is closely linked with the perception of time by the viewer, but movement
appears on several levels. Besides the movement of characters, objects and that of the camera
which are spectacular and easily perceived, there is another kind of movement: the movement
generated by the projection of the frames. This kind of movement is an empty one, a blind
force, the emptying of the movement, since it is possible to project one and the same frame
for hours or to project subliminal frames each presenting a different view. In this respect there
is no difference between the film-types represented by the Lumiere-brothers (reproduction,
documentarism) or Mlies (illusion, tricks, spectacle), since both types are constructing
movement out of still frames with the difference that one of them bears a stronger
resemblance to our experiences in the phenomenal world. Movement in film derives from
stillness, continuity from discontinuity.8 Laura Mulvey argues that Cinemas forward
movement, the successive order of film, merges easily into the order of narrative. Linearity,
causality and the linking figure of metonymy, all crucial elements in story-telling, find a
correspondence in the unfolding, forward-moving direction of film (2006, 69). That is, the
time of projection is transformed automatically into the time of the story. The photographic
indexicality of frames manifests itself only through the concealment effectuated by the
symbolic and iconic relations between the segments of the film: the instantaneity of the
moment, its eventuality or chance-character is melted in movement and turned into motivation
and causality. The unconscious of the medium, stillness and death, appearing in the frames
becomes obscured by the categories of animation, movement and life. The Man from London
and The Milky Way could be regarded as a reflection upon movement and time, not mainly
through the events and movements of the story, but through image-events in which the image
often takes place by evoking the sill image and frame.

As the other well-known films by Bla Tarr, The Man from London imposes a different pace,
a different rhythm to which we are generally used to, not just in terms of the unfolding of the

8
There is a new preoccupation with the study of films photographical basis which points out that the medium of
the film presents us with the simulacra of time and movement. C.f. Mary Ann Doane 2002, Laura Mulvey 2006,
Garrett Stewart 1999, Victor Burgin 2004.
events, but from the point of view of visual perception too. Still, The Man from London excels
by perfecting choreografied slowness which, at times, is hardly motivated by the plot-
sequence. The exposition of the film is a twelve-minute length shot in which we see people
disembark from a ship two of them plotting to get ashore a case with money without notice.
There ensues a fight between them in the course of which one of them is murdered and the
case lost in the water. The whole scene is watched by a dockworker (Maloin Miroslav
Krobot) who is installed high above in a watch tower and ultimately gets hold of the case.
From this point on we see the consequences of this action: he goes to his daughters
workplace and forces her to leave with him, buys her an expensive fur from the saved money
of the family. When he finds out the hiding place of the man (Brown Jnos Derzsi) who
originally stole the money and continuously spied on him in the meantime, kills him and
confesses the deed to the inspector, after having denied any relation to the case beforehand.
There is no motivation for the murder or the confession, characters are very restrained in their
manifestations: the only violent outburst is from the part of the wife (Tilda Swinton) seeing
her daughter losing her job and all their saved money spent on a piece of shit. It is as if all
the pressures and frustrations accumulated are blazing out in her overacting. The lack of
motivation and causality results in a series of events rather than in a story. My hypothesis is
that these functions, namely motivation and causality are entrusted to the visual composition
of images, yet this layer of the film in turn also contributes to the undoing of the story.

In the first shot of the film we have a gradually emerging image of the harbor, beginning with
a prow of a ship, the view of which is sometimes obstructed by dark spots later revealed as the
wooden frames of the window through which the camera gazes. Blurred spots occur from the
darkness, we are either too near or too far, or the image is too dark to identify the object on
the screen. [Fig. 1.] An image which bears the memory of its formation emerges from
meaningless details. The act of framing is continuously inscribed in the image: we do not
arrive at a final image, the camera is in a constant movement of reframing. (The camera does
stop for a moment when characters set in motion they dance in the inn for example, or
when we experience an emotional plenitude of the image, the weeping wife at the end of the
film.) Otherwise the context of the image always changes visually, requiring a continuous
redefinition.
Obstacles of vision as windows, bars are often composed into the image in Tarrs films; in
classical cinema they are signs of subjectivity, marking a characters place in a subjective shot
(Dark Passage, Lady in the Lake). At the middle of the first shot we find out that the scene we
are looking at is also watched by the main character.9 The shot, however, does not become a
subjective one: the scrutinizing, scanning camera movement is hardly the reproduction of a
human gaze: nothing, none of the characters escapes this detached and impassive observation.
Moving millimeters by millimeters, the camera acts as the long focus lens in Rear Window,
watching its object as if it were a bug under the glass.

This mechanical character is reinforced by the quasi-movement of the windowpanes10: the

passing window beams which constitute an arbitrary sectioning of the view, remind one of the
succession of film frames (as the illuminated windows of the departing train). [Fig. 2.] The
stills of the film, 24 frames projected per second, are never perceived as such by the spectator.
Nevertheless the seriality of frames is suggested in this shot by a kind of spatialization, the
barred images appearing next to each other, or by the camera movement which effects
minimal changes in image reminders of the minimal differences between frames next to
each other. Graphic rhythm, the repetitive non-diegetic music or the ticking of a clock all
these with their different paces and rhythms establish a temporal sectioning, a serial
construction different from the time of the story.

Camera movement detaches from the movement of the characters, acquires an autonomy
which ultimately contributes to the derealization of the shots real time, inscribing the time of
the apparatus into images. Movement in The Man from London is a blind succession, never
brings totalization, the time of the story becomes the horizon for another kind of temporality.

9
A trade mark of Tarr: a sequence which begins as an objective shot is relegated to a characters point of view
by the camera movement.
10
Such relative movements occur in film elsewhere too: when Brown rows in a boat to find the case with the
money, the movement of the boat seems as moving in one place, then he stops to scan the water, clouds of fog
surround him and move so fast that the boat appears as moving on the water.
In contrast, in Delta there is more physical action, although characters act on instinct more,
they are eating and drinking, moving about, building a house, but almost never re-acting.
None of the actions has a narrative significance, however, in a sense that it would lead to a
goal or purpose. The synopsis included on the webpage of Festival de Cannes outlines the
story events in the following way: A quiet young man returns to the wild, isolated landscape
of the Delta. It is a labyrinth of waterways, small islands and over-grown vegetation, where
the villagers are cut off from the outside world. The young man, who has been away since
early childhood, is introduced to a sister he never knew he had. [This information we are
never shared in the film.] She is frail and timid, but resolute when she decides to join him in
his run-down hut on the shore. Together they build a house on stilts in the middle of the river,
far away from everyone else. One day, they invite the villagers over to share a meal together,
but it becomes apparent that the coarse locals do not accept their unnatural relationship.
The end of the story is, of course, the slaughtering of the two11 as the finale of an exuberant
carnivalesque revel.

Nothing in the story is motivated. There are redundant dialogues and actions, but no pre-
history, only hints to the antecedents of the events. Characters have no depth, they incarnate
abstract, perhaps mythical figures whose action or speech never fully exhausts their real
nature. We have no sense of the passing time (although there is a continuity of days and
nights) all these account for a mythological theme, perhaps the myth of the beginning, a
civilizatory act which is symbolized by the building of a house on the water. The film
abounds in potentially symbolic motifs (the fish, the carpenter, hospitality, the sacrifice), at
the same time it has a certain roughness things are what they are coupled with a
naturalistic representation of the events (especially the scene of the murder with an entirely
different kind of acting).

I will concentrate on one visual aspect of the film, the most powerful, in my opinion: the
setting. Delta does not function (only) as a beautiful background to events and characters,
rather events become an enactment or display of the powers of the place. There is a sequence
which can be regarded as a visual event relating man and nature in an impossible
movement. The camera starts from the main character seen from the back, evoking the dark
atmosphere of Romantic landscape painting (Caspar David Friedrichs Rckenfigurs are best-
known examples), the motionless contemplation of natures sublime spectacle. The camera
seems panning the view, the object of contemplation, in a circular movement, but at the end
we arrive at facing the character, which is a violation of the composition with a back figure.
The face must not be shown, this is the key of the enigma: an empty place, a floating signifier.
The camera movement which started as a scanning of the view ends in turning back the gaze
on itself. [Fig. 3. 4.]

11
We can infer the murder of the male protagonist, we cannot be sure of the death of the girl.
All the sublime moments in the film are attributed to nature, associated sometimes with death
(I am thinking of the rowing of the death-boats to a funeral along the river which is captured
from above, and accompanied by Lajks music), even if the nature of nature is never stated
in clear terms. It is what it is, but equally a blind force without an origin or motivation. As
nature in the film, characters and events are without history and goals. They just occur as
natural phenomena. It is misleading or superficial, I believe, to propose an interpretation
setting the main conflict between the community and the two brothers who are transgressing
social and cultural taboos by their unnatural relationship. It is rather the conflict between
nature and culture inside the human being which ultimately finds a resolution in a violent act
without meaning or reason.

Another, more radical step in detaching from the structures of narrative by foregrounding
visuality is represented by The Milky Way. The discrete episodes of the film are shot from a
fixed point of view, without camera movement or editing. The film, which is also displayed as
a video-installation in museums, has been labeled as a minimalist ambient-film or zen
buddhist statement on passing time, the ephemeral. Another approach is to consider each of
the episodes a visual riddle or conundrum. The source of the mystery can be localized in a
visual constraint adopted by the film concerning the act of framing: a transgression of the
framing codes of the still image and moving image. According to Andr Bazin there is a
radical difference between the framing of a painting, for example, and the framing of the
filmic image, between frame and screen: The outer edges of the screen are notthe frame of
the film image. They are the edges of a piece of masking that shows only a portion of reality.
The picture frame polarizes space inwards. On the contrary, what the screen shows us seems
to be part of something prolonged indefinitely into the universe. A frame is centripetal, the
screen centrifugal (166). In cinema there is a constant reframing of different types (by
camera movement, the shot-reverse shot system, eye-line matching, etc.), we could say that
film is a continuous struggle to include the off-screen space within the frame. In The Milky
Way what is outside the frame is at once an off-screen space (hors cadre) and an out-of-field
(hors-champ).12 [Fig. 5.]

The fixed point of view in The Milky Way can be interpreted as an allusion to the proto-film.
While in the classical narrative film the multiplicity of viewing angles and distances
reinforces the continuity of a unified space and time, the early film, the cinema of

12
See Vernet 1988, 29-51.
attractions, according to Tom Gunning (1993), maintains the unity of viewpoint and of
framing. Continuity and unity is achieved by the act of display and showing, instead of
narrative structures extending over the multiplicity of shots, viewpoints, framings. The unity
of framing results in a frame composed from different heterogeneous parts, a surface which is
manipulated through collage, splicing, or stop motion technique. All these account for another
type of thinking through film and image, which has as its primary act the showing and its
temporality given by absence and presence, appearances and disappearances. [Fig. 6.]

The fixed point of view in The Milky Way (within one episode) creates a cosmic non-human
gaze which through tearing out a part of the space framed in an absolute way (there is no
outside of the frame which could be shown) effectuates an act with the force of an event. The
framing of the field of the image brings into play parts of various qualities. Splices, edges,
borders within the frame become imbued with different meanings, as ambiguous loci of the
image. Yet, the motionless gaze of the camera delimits not only a part of the space, but
articulates and grasps also a temporal sequence. The occurrence, the event unfolds very
slowly, but if we are patient enough, it will occur. This stillness of the viewpoint brings
uneasiness into the image, because the space of the fiction negates the fixed frame and longs
for the extension of the diegetic field. The movement of the characters, though, breaks the
absolute closure of the space, they enter and exit the frame sometimes from left and right as in
theatre, other times from the depth or the space of the camera (len deca)13. Within one
sequence our narrative knowledge is restrained in a way that our inability to infer the story
refers us back to the image. But when we are giving ourselves to the contemplation of the
image as a surface without depth, we are shocked by the piercing of this surface. This
continuous see-saw motion between surface and depth, series and cause-effect, narrative and
spectacle creates the image event, the images as a process, as an endless becoming.

In this paper my aim was to point out different aspects of visuality which create meanings on
different levels (the mechanistic autonomy of the camera, and seriality of the frames, the
visual analysis of the relation between the setting and characters, and dynamics of what is
outside and inside the frame) outside, in opposition to, or alongside the narrative dimension of
the film.14

13
See Vernet 1988, 29-58.
14
I owe thanks to my colleagues, Attila Kiss, Gbor Gelencsr, and Lrnt Sthr for giving me insightful ideas
and useful comments. gnes Matuska proofred the many versions of this article.
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