"For everyone in the West, the end of the world is something that they witness from afar, on their television screens, in the safety of their living rooms. I wanted to bring the end of the world to those people."
Michael Haneke says this in a special feature found on the Time of the Wolf DVD, sat smugly, stroking his wispy white beard. The man is smug, it has to be said. Who else would direct a film like Funny Games not once but twice, displaying such contempt for their audience? Haneke does like to test us, to make us ask questions of the film and our own predicaments. Don't most good filmmakers? Looking through his various works, each has a rather humanistic element, be it Cache with its examination of guilt, or the study of communication throughout Time of the Wolf. Haneke is fascinated by the ways in which we speak with each other and ourselves. I delve into Le Temps du Loup, engaged and ready to ask questions as I go; communication is essential...
The boy has been found. What was he doing, out here in the dark? If you witnessed the murder of a loved one, there's no place you'd rather be. Humanity does have a habit of finding itself within the darkness; how we could even begin to search for ourselves in the daylight, no one knows. He's silent, he will remain so for a while. His companion is taller, hesitant, dressed for the cold of winter. He stands at a distance from the rest, fearing their touch. Change isn't preferable.
Onwards they go, heading nowhere fast. They go through trees and fields and train tracks, all empty. They might find a train, might even be on a train at some point. But where will that train lead? What hope can you place on a destination unknown?
And people... more people, arguing over water. Arguing over everything and nothing. Horses are shot, goats have their throats slit. This is life, only smaller; we're in a microcosm. I'm different, and everyone else has remained the same. They're all here with me. Do I know you? He looks different, she is anxious. I saw them earlier, committing a mortal sin, but there is nothing to be done about it here. Evil walks the earth, what little precipice we huddle together on... and it's crumbling. Helpless and waiting for the end.
The screams are agony, the lights in the distance tell me of something sinister. I choose to talk to he who is no longer with us, who will not respond, who can not help any of us. But still he watches.
Kids are the future, aren't they? The small one lights a fire. Could he be one of thirty-six? A Just? A man stops him just in time, cradles him. The camera delicately pulls itself back, leaving them alone together; this is either good or bad. There was almost a martyr for the cause, now a memory of near salvation. Smells like Tark. Has any of it gone to waste? After all, it's the thought that counts.
I'm going to show you something:
Movement - alright, we're going somewhere.
Where?
You tell me.
Why?
You tell me.
You're looking at a black mirror; clean if you wish.
8.5
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