Kontroll: A Radical Film That Isn't

On the surface, Nimród Antal's directorial debut Kontroll seems to take a very non-traditional approach to film. When viewed purely explicitly, the narrative appears rather uneventful and unsatisfying. There exists only minor conflict, a short and undeveloped love story, and very little is ultimately resolved. However, hints occur throughout the film, apparent non-sequiturs or strange behaviors that can lead the audience to a more fully developed idea of the true goal of the narrative. These hints are subtle, and never really explained. Instead, the director leaves the audience with a decision, whether or not to care enough to put together the pieces and extract a greater meaning from the film. Figurative meanings, symbols, and significance must all be deduced with little narrative hand-holding. This concept of leaving the audience to do the work, forcing them to find the meaning themselves despite the existence of an already cohesive, if underwhelming, narrative lies at odds with the conventions of traditional narrative. However, when viewed more deeply, from a filmic level, Kontroll is not nearly as radical as it initially feels. The filmic techniques used, rather than subtly leaving the audience to discern the truth from the clues given to them, enunciate the meaning at which these hints point. A clear example of this is the audio mixing that takes place in scenes involving two of the more mysterious characters. While the narrative leaves the meaning of these characters for the audience to decipher on their own, this audio aid gives the audience a powerful feeling that leads to the answer. Furthermore, the director is unable to escape from traditional techniques such as the shot-reverse shot sequence, even when it would be convenient to do so. Despite the non-traditional narrative, the end result is a highly traditional film experience, much in line with the traditional ideology.

At the most basic level, Kontroll portrays the fictionalized day to day life of the Kontroll, the Metro workers responsible for randomly checking passengers' tickets to ensure that they have paid for their rides, and assigning fines if they haven't. The main focus of the camera is on Bolscú, the protagonist who, despite having once been brilliant in an unknown field, now not only works as Kontroll, but also bizarrely lived full time in the Metro system. The audience is shown, in great detail, the tribulations inherent in the job. The Kontroll have the unenviable position of being both a figure of authority with no actual authority, and an annoyance. They receive no respect from the riders of the Metro, only scorn. During a routine ticket check, Bolscú became enchanted by a girl wearing a bear suit. They met a few more times throughout the film, including a pseudo date at a coffee vending machine in the Metro system. Interspersed throughout these events, a mysterious hooded figure pushed people in front of speeding Metro trains, making the murders look like suicides. Bolscú witnessed one such murder, and as a result, became a suspect. The hooded figure eventually chased Bolscú down a Metro tunnel as the train slowly gained on them. Bolscú made it on to the platform in time, the hooded figure did not. This conflict resolved, Bolscú met up with the girl, and they kissed on an escalator heading upwards and out of the Metro. This explicit narrative settled conflicts in the most basic way imaginable, and with very minor development. The protagonist found love, with very little development of the love story, and the hooded figure died, with no character development at all.

This explicit narrative leaves the two most intriguing mysteries of the film unanswered. First, the audience is left to wonder why Bolscú abandoned his previous occupation for the miserable and menial job he currently holds, and lives fulltime underground. When Bolscú encountered an old coworker (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KjpV6YZf-nc&feature=related from 6:15 until end), the first and only time his previous life was hinted at, he showed his disdain for being Kontroll. He pretended not to know the member of his group of Kontroll he had been talking with. He was clearly embarrassed by the thought of being identified with the Kontroll, and took pains to hide this connection, explaining his recent absence as being due to traveling and working. He also made disparaging comments about the Kontroll. It was clear that he preferred his old profession, which based on the clothes worn by the coworker, was lucrative. And, as evidenced by the comments the coworker made about the groundbreaking nature of Bolscú’s work and his hope that Bolscú would come back, Bolscú clearly left a job that he was extremely good at, possibly the best. Why was he working a horrible job and spending his entire life underground? This was never addressed by the explicit narrative beyond Bolscú’s very mediocre explanation that he didn’t want to have to worry about being the best anymore. Secondly, the audience never learns the identity of the hooded figure, or his motivation to murder random Metro travelers. Though he was clearly the main conflict of the film, nothing was ever explained about him. The conflict technically came to resolution with his death, but the important questions about him are never answered.

This leads, of course, to the subtly hinted at implicit narrative, where the audience finds the answers to these questions. An exhaustive analysis of all the clues that lead to this reading would be lengthy, and is not the purpose of this essay, but it is necessary to show some of the more important hints. The hooded figure is actually Bolscú, or more accurately, a projection of his dark side, one that he doesn’t consciously know exists. He has a psychological defect, a sort of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde type personality split. This idea was mainly conveyed through some strange behavior displayed by Bolscú. In the first scene featuring both the hooded figure and Bolscú together, the hooded figure murders a ticketless costumer (one who constantly harassed the Kontroll) that Bolscú was chasing. Bolscú’s initial reaction was extreme surprise, but that fades quickly to a lack of emotion. He doesn’t run for help, or scream, or have much of a reaction at all. He simply stares at the hooded figure, looking slightly surprised, but no longer shocked; then as the hooded figure turns and walks towards Bolscú, he closes his eyes, and starts to inhale and exhale sharply (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wFuBZR0cCBQ&feature=related from 1:58 to 3:03). At first glance this could be interpreted as his shock induced reaction, but even on first viewing it seemed a little odd. Bolscú also displays similarly strange behavior and reactions during his final showdown with the hooded figure. Bolscú inexplicably follows the hooded figure into an enclosed room, despite his history of murder. After a brief fight in the room, Bolscú backs out the entry way, and stands there, waiting for him to emerge rather than the obvious reaction, running. When the hooded figure does appear at the entry way, and walks towards him, Bolscú expressionlessly hops down on the tracks and begins to run. After the hooded figure ultimately dies in during this chase, Bolscú appears tired from running, but in every other way completely unfazed (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QysDVJ2QDJM&feature=related from 7:43 until end, continued http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=56lE96Uxn_k&feature=related from start till 0:50 ). The last major clue is the footage from the investigation into the murder Bolscú witnessed. He is a suspect, because the two security cameras involved have limited areas of capture. One only shows Bolscú chasing the murdered person, and the other shows the person flying out from behind a pillar on to the tracks (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wFuBZR0cCBQ&feature=related from 5:46 to 6:04). This scene is a more subtle hint than it seems; in the context of the film until that point, it merely seemed like an inconvenience that Bolscú would have to deal with in clearing his name, the logical progression of the narrative would take were it traditional. At this point, while there was clearly something slightly strange occurring, a viewer would have no way of knowing that the conclusion of this film would not bring full disclosure, that the narrative was non-traditional.

This side of Bolscú may not have been consciously available to him, but he did know it at an unconscious level. He must have sensed the existence of the dark side of himself, and it caused him to leave his job and work and live underground in the Metro. This is implied through the idea that the hooded figure was his tie to the Metro. Bolscú spends his entire life in the Metro, and refuses to leave for any reason. When the girl in the bear suit, who he is clearly interested in, asks if he wants to go up and have coffee together, he merely looks up the escalator towards the surface, and instead offers to take her to the vending machine (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xTqECoEVWmQ&feature=related from 5:10 to 5:40). However, as soon as the hooded figure is killed by the Metro train, he and the girl (a symbol for Good) immediately leave the Metro together. This reading of the narrative can only be reached, if looking purely at the slight clues left by the narrative, if the viewer does a great deal of detective work, and pieces together various discontinuities, an approach not taken by traditional films.

This unconventionality ends with the narrative, however. What the narrative hints at, the audio mixing makes far more blatant, holding the hand of the audience and guiding them towards the correct conclusion. The soundtrack for the film was provided by Neo, a Hungarian band that plays a genre of music described as industrial rock, or electronic rock. Neo has a very modern, European sound, one that fits the film perfectly. As the name implies, industrial electronic rock feels like the right music to accompany a film set in the Metro. There are high energy songs played during the bustling of the day time, and more subdued ones for the scenes of Bolscú wandering the Metro alone. This relatively homogeneous soundtrack enhances the feel of the film. Graeme Turner, in Film as Social Practice IV, describes a film’s soundtrack as “an important component of the construction of the world of the film, as a source of atmosphere,” a nice description of the way Kontroll’s soundtrack effects the film. While this use of music so is rather conventional, there seems to be no reason to break with this particular convention.

The audio associated with the girl in the bear suit, however, is one of the few variations from the electronic sounds of Neo, and emphasize her representation as “Good”. In the scenes she appeared, there was occasionally a very slight, warm tone that was barely audible. It is difficult to detect unless one is listening for it, but even if not consciously heard, it served to elevate the mood of these scenes, in a way that does not occur in others (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d5HvEt4J_ks&feature=related from 1:52 until 2:05). More apparent is the music that often accompanied her. Neo’s music, while certainly pleasurable to listen to, has a slightly dark, grungy quality to it. The music associated with the girl in the bear suit, on the other hand, was a soft, but extremely pleasant saxophone melody. It sounds like something that could be heard at a fancy lounge (this can be heard, among other places, in the coffee clip). While this sound alone carries good associations, in its contrast with the atmosphere evoked by the other sounds of in the film it seems especially good. The music clearly sets the girl in the bear suit up as being different, and better, than the other characters. Interestingly enough, the saxophone sound appeared very briefly in one other scene, the scene where Bolscú and his old coworker discussed his past life. This strengthens the goodness associated with the sound, but also links the girl to life outside of the Metro. This makes sense, as she eventually did lead him to the surface. The sound enunciates the concrete connections between her and Good, and her and life above ground. This audio takes much of the guesswork from the audience. Bolscú can return to his life above the Metro, once he becomes good again, once he purges himself of the bad.

The bad is, of course, the hooded figure. Much like the girl, the hooded figure had audio associated with him that was quite distinct from the rest of the film’s soundtrack. The audio mixing that best exemplifies the implications of this takes place in a six shot montage during Bolscú’s last encounter with the hooded figure (these six shots can be found alone in a clip at the bottom of the blog). In this scene, the diegetic and non-diegetic sounds were juxtaposed in a way that very powerfully conveyed the intended feelings. Shot 1 is a point of view shot from Bolscú’s perspective, as he looks back towards the entryway to the room in which he and the hooded figure fought. The entire room on the other side is cloaked in shadow. The only sound present is ambient noise, with very quiet tones of mood building music. Then, as the figure's hands suddenly appear clutching the sides of the doorway, an eerie, high-pitched, almost screeching sound occurs. It is extremely reminiscent of the sound used in Hitchcock's Psycho's infamous shower scene. Whether or not this similarity is intended as an homage is unclear (though the sound bears such a striking resemblance it seems likely), but it is definitely an attempt to convey the same emotions. The shrill sound carries a connotation of fear. As it is not a sound one is likely to encounter during their day to day life, it also implies the unknown. And due to the similarity to the shower scene sound, it carries an association with murder, and therefore with evil. Interestingly enough, the high-pitched Psycho-esque sound fades into a sonic match with the squeals of the Metro train accelerating away from the platform. This brings the setting back to the forefront, reminding the audience of the everyday predictability of the Metro. The similarity between the sound associated with the hooded figure, and the more natural sounds of the Metro highlights the contrast between the hooded figure and the predictable. While both sounds are shrill and piercing, the sound the Metro train makes as it leaves is a normal, everyday sound, whereas the shower scene style sound is distinctly abnormal, foreboding, and evil. This enunciates the strong association the hooded figure has with evil and produces the idea that he does not belong in this predictable environment.

The more blatant clue that the audio in this montage gives away begins in shot 2. Shot 2 is a close up on Bolscú with the train moving past in the background. The diegetic sound of the accelerating train continues, but it is very quickly joined by a non-diegetic, high energy background music that sounds like it was created using an unusual stringed instrument. This is not the first time the audience was introduced to this background track. It was initially used when the hooded figure was first seen in the film, and played up until he was about to commit a murder. The song is completely different from any other song featured in the soundtrack. As opposed to the European sounds of Neo, this song has a distinctly foreign, Eastern sound to it. It is not a sound that one would ever hear in the Metro system of Budapest. The contrast between the ordinariness of the setting and the bizarre choice of music compounds the feeling of foreignness, of otherness that permeates this entire encounter. It also carries connotations of murder due to its previous use during a scene where the hooded figure commits a murder. Shot 3 is an over the shoulder shot from the room behind the hooded figure. It shows Bolscú slowly backing up towards the tracks, as the train finally moves out off the shot. As he does this, the overlap of the diegetic and non-diegetic sound continues. In this case, unlike before, the two sounds do not have any remote tonal similarities. The two sounds are completely at odds with each other. There is definitely a conflict between them, the train sound is very mechanical and industrial, whereas the string music sounds almost third world. Shot 4 switches back to a point of view shot of the hooded figure leaving the doorway and approaching Bolscú. The overlayed sounds remain constant. Shot 5 is over Bolscú's shoulder, while he turns around to look towards the tracks. As this shot progresses, the noise of the train has finally disappeared, leaving only the song played by the stringed instrument. At this point, all audio links to the setting have been severed. All that remains is the strangeness of the stringed instruments. There is nothing left in the audio to ground the situation to the everyday, which emphasizes the entire encounter as surreal.

Shot 6 is a fixed camera shot from the tracks. First Bolscú, and then the hooded figure jump down onto the tracks and begin running. The angle of the shot only shows them from about their waists down. The foreign sounding string music continues to play. As Bolscú jumps down, however, a slight burst of percussion begins as soon he makes impact with the tracks. This takes place instead of the diegetic sound one would expect. The replacement of the natural diegetic sound by the similar non-diegetic sound, part of the stringed background music, continues to remind the audience how far removed everything about this occurrence is from the normal. The placement of the camera is very close to where both characters make impact, and the shot is framed in such a way to emphasize the feet, yet this impact and the footsteps that follow as they run down the tracks are not represented diegetically in the audio track. The idea that there should definitely be audible footsteps and impact sounds is supported by the fact that they are in a silent, hollow chamber. Footsteps in this scenario should be explosive and echoing. Instead they are non-existent, leaving the viewer with only the foreign string sound. This last disconcerting aspect of the audio leaves the audience with a very strong feeling that the events that are taking place happen outside the realm of the everyday reality.

One might argue that this was a very unconventional use of sound. It sounds extremely similar to Sergei Eisenstein, Vsevolod Pudovkin, and Grigori Alexandrov’s views on the proper usage of sound in their essay, Statement on Sound: “Only the contrapuntal use of sound vis-à-vis the visual fragment of montage will open up new possibilities for the development and perfection of montage. The first experiments in sound must aim at a sharp discord with the visual images.” In other words, Eisenstein et al. wanted to use sound to add new layers of meaning to a montage by having the sound carry a meaning of its own rather than emphasize the meaning of the visuals of the montage. Eisenstein was, of course, far from traditional, and this montage in Kontroll makes use of the exact technique he outlined, utilizing a contrast between the sound and the visual, adding layers of meaning to the montage that it would otherwise not have had. The difference, though, is that this nontraditional technique was used in order to easily lead the audience to a conclusion that was much more difficult to obtain through the narrative. It filled the encounter with a feeling that the hooded figure was very different from the Metro, that he didn’t belong there, and he didn’t. The hooded figure existed only in Bolscú’s head, so the audio gave all of his scenes an intense feeling of otherness. Graeme Turner’s analysis of the use of sound in film shows us how this use of sound to provide clues differs from the technique used in the narrative. He states, “it has been said that film music ‘feels for us’, by telling us when a powerful moment is happening and indicating just what we should feel about it through the mood of the music.” That is exactly what is happens in these cases. While the narrative leaves hints than can lead to answers, the audio tells us those answers. The hooded figure didn’t belong in the Metro, and the audio blatantly told us he didn’t belong in the Metro, providing a major clue to the audience regarding his true nature.

Further entrenching Kontroll in filmic traditionalism is its hesitance to break cinematographic conventions. For example, the same six shot montage features a shot-reverse shot, classic film language during scenes involving an interaction between two people. This particular shot-reverse shot breaks a pattern of never having the camera take the hooded figure’s perspective. Every other scene featuring the hooded figure shows nearly full body shots from another perspective, and never switches to his. There was a good reason for this. By never taking the perspective of the hooded figure, the audience was provided an extremely subtle visual hint (as opposed to the blatant audio hints) that the hooded figure wasn’t real enough for the camera to take his perspective. The director is unable to maintain this, however, in this particular montage, utilizing a shot-reverse shot with one perspective being that of the hooded figure. The reason behind this becomes clear from Daniel Dayan’s discussion of the shot-reverse shot as it relates to absent-one. In “The Tutor-Code of Classical Cinema”, Dayan argues that the shot-reverse shot is a way to give an identity to the absent-one, the camera’s view. The first shot establishes a missing field, and in the second shot “the missing field is abolished by the presence of somebody or something occupying the absent-one’s field.” He goes on to say that “the spectator’s pleasure [is] dependant on his identification with the visual field,” or in other words, that the audience requires the absent-one to be hidden in order to take pleasure in what we are seeing. In this scene, the director was forced to take the perspective of the hooded figure in order to keep the audience from feeling awkward. In Bolscú’s first encounter with the hooded figure, this hiding of the absent-one did not take place, and there was a decidedly strange feeling about the scene. That scene, however, was supposed to feel strange, whereas this scene was supposed to represent the exciting climax of Bolscú’s conflict with the hooded figure. The director had no choice but to use the classic film technique of shot-reverse shot to maintain the comfort of the audience with the scene. It would have been ideal to be able to continue the trend of keeping the camera from taking the perspective of the hooded figure, but in this case the director apparently thought it more important to utilize standard film language than to continue to advance the non-traditional ideology.

Jean-Luc Comolli and Jean Narboni, in their essay Cinema/Ideology/Criticism classify films a number of different ways based on how they conform or don’t conform to the ideological system. Under this system of classification, Kontroll most closely resembles a “type d” film. Type d films are described as “unremittingly ideological from first to last… but [they] do not effectively criticize the ideological system in which they are embedded because they unquestioningly adopt its language and imagery.” Kontroll is a film that undoubtedly attempts to be at ideological odds with the traditional. It has a very unconventional approach to narrative, leaving the audience to deduce the meaning of subtle clues rather than explicitly explaining. It is, however, stuck in the ideology of traditional filmic techniques. Its use of audio undermines what it sets out to do with the narrative by telling the audience how they should feel about the characters of the girl in the bear suit and the hooded figure, taking away a great deal of the mystery the narrative develops. Furthermore, it is unable to deviate from traditional film language like the shot-reverse shot, even when it takes away from the overall effect at which it aimed. This absolutely has consequences for the ideology of the film. The fact that it does embrace traditional ideology in many ways makes the entire viewing experience feel traditional.