KONTROLL

nobody@vox.com(nohablo) — Wed, 03 Jan 2007 00:42:42 -0800

KONTROLL (2003)

Kontroll

The secret lives of Hungarian subway train operators. A spoiler: it's gritty.

THE GOOD:

Beautiful cinematography. It's as if they crawled inside my mind and tore out all of my favorite things. Graininess! Bleached colors! An almost exclusive palate of grays, blacks, blues, and greens! My bitches and fine ladies, this is a movie worth seeing just for the pretty.
Atmosphere. See number 1. Your job? Is not as bad as their job. And you will see it. Your friends might scoff at the idea of a movie set solely in a Hungarian train station. But they have not seen Kontroll, and therefore, you should jettison them. IMMEDIATELY. Because Kontroll creates an entire world -- a grimy, nasty, subterranean purgatory -- out of a single train station.
The Characters. All of them are loveable, and all of them have inscrutable, Hungarian names. Close your eyes and imagine yourself being whisked away to a European wonderland. Oh Tibi! All together, you have a wonderful, if sinister and extremely prone to explosive bouts of physical violence, band of unshaven, pale fuck-ups.

THE BAD:

The plot. Or rather, the ending. Let's clarify. Kontroll is, on the surface, about a murderous dick who goes around pushing people in front of trains. The Pusher! In all honesty, the Pusher doesn't take up all that much screen time. He's not an afterthought, but he's certainly not the Hot Star of the movie. He hangs around the fringes, wreaking havoc and causing Very Bad Days for people. And I'm okay with that! I mean, until then, the movie is pretty neatly plotted.

Until, of course, we reach the big finale and the Pusher becomes very important. He's woven tightly into the plot. Suspicions arise! Paranoia simmers! People die! Hitchcock gets a woody! ... And then, the clamor dies down because everything gets swamped with ambiguity. Now, as post-modern-darling as that is, and as much as I can appreciate some directorial trickiness, Ambiguity is starting to piss me the hell off. Whiel it might've once been a Hallmark of Subtlety and Appreciation of an Audience's intelligence, it's beginning to smell more and more like a cop out. Identity of a killer make no sense? No problem! It's ambiguous! At SOME POINT, I would like an otherwise thoughtful and focused plot to end in some sort of finality. No more allegory, and no more "I represent Chaos and Fear"! Because I am getting sick of it. Because I am a humorless old fart, I am going to bang my hands and throw a motherfucking tantrum until we resurrect good old suspense and detective work.

PS: If you respond to my desperate cry with a Tyler Durden send up, I swear to god I will commit a hate crime on you. IN SHORT: YOU SPENT ALL THIS TIME BUILDING UP TO A BEAUTIFUL CLIMAX. NOW HAVE THE BALLS TO WRAP THIS UP LIKE A REAL STORY.
The chick. She wasn't terrible, and she had her occasional moments of charm. But my god, that bear outfit hedged on twee. In a perfect world, twee would be synonymous with an instantaneous and painful raping via wild boars (thx Penny Arcade).

IT'S 3:33 AM AND I'M STILL UNDECISIVE!

Over-the-top histrionics. Were they necessary? Did they verge on parody? Or did they lighten up what would've been a joyless 1.5 hour subway ride? The jury's still out! At times, watching our inteprid heroes get into a rumble with a squad of blue-painted subway hoodlums was gleefully nihilistic and destructive. Watch the glee as a troop of grown men get to trash a set! The enthusiasm's almost infectious! At other times, watch non-heroes get into a rumble with the Chick, who is apparantly a part-time kung-fu lama and still dressed in that ridiculous, bubble-butted bear get-up. And try to overcome the urge to douse them all with gasoline and set them all on fire. The blade, it cuts both ways!

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EL TOJO

KONTROLL