Katalin Varga* Review

From the very first frame, Katalin Varga commands your absolute attention.

The story that accompanies the making of Katalin Varga is almost as remarkable as the film itself. A former fine art student whose Sonic Catering Band, formed with various friends from Reading, toured throughout Europe, Peter Strickland became fascinated by cinema after viewing David Lynch’s Eraserhead.

Honing his skills at Reading’s amateur Progress Theatre and working across various disciplines, Strickland’s ambition to write and direct his own feature came to realisation when his uncle died, leaving him a small inheritance. Assembling a small crew, Strickland set off on what would become an intense and often precipitous labour of love.

Shot on location in Transylvania over a four-year period for under €30,000, Strickland then undertook exhaustive efforts to raise interest in an 82-minute rough cut that he touted around numerous European festivals. Despite his efforts, there wasn’t a flicker of interest until Romanian producer Oana Giurgiu – who had rejected another script idea that Strickland had pitched her – asked to see the screener.

Recognising the raw but obvious intensity, Giurgiu persuaded her husband, Tudor Giurgiu of Bucharest’s Libra Film, to board the project as a co-producer. Subsequent to significant sound, colour and editing refinements made in post-production, Katalin Varga had its première at the Berlin Film Festival 18 months later.

Banished by her husband and her village after an incident in her past is revealed, Katalin Varga (Hilda Péter) is left with no other choice than to set out on a quest to find the real father of her son Orbán. Taking Orbán with her under another pretence, Katalin travels through the Carpathians where she decides to reopen a sinister chapter from her past and take revenge. This quest for redemption leads her into a place she prayed she would never set foot again.

There is nothing particularly original about Strickland’s plot, which has its roots in the road and revenge movie genres. There are even – arguably – parallels with notorious '80s 'video nasty' I Spit on your Grave (now considered, somewhat spuriously, to have feminist overtones). The director cites more highbrow touchstones in The Night of the Hunter and Sergei Parajanov’s Shadows of our Forgotten Ancestors.

Indeed, one of the first things that sets Katalin Varga apart is its ambiguity towards the assailant its protagonist finally confronts. Brilliantly portrayed by Tibo Pálffy (allegedly cast because Strickland liked his moustache), what is revealed is a changed and gentle man, openly regretful of his past conduct. This three-dimensional portrait has caused consternation in some quarters, but in presenting a point of view alternative to that of the victim, Strickland has achieved an audacious masterstroke.

Making superlative use of his locations and mindful of cameraman Mark Győri’s assertion that he’d have to be totally incompetent not to make a film that was beautiful to look at given his surroundings, Strickland’s admiration for Lynch is perhaps most evident in the striking use of sound and music, qualities for which the film won a Berlin Silver Bear.

Working intuitively and often making little distinction between music and sound design (a lot of songs feature but are mixed in such a way as to sound like field recordings), Strickland and composers Steven Stapleton and Geoff Cox ensure that the film is as remarkable to listen to as it is to see. This is a potent and powerful work, and Strickland is undeniably one of the discoveries of the year.