Laurin — Laurin( Blu Ray)
In recent years the terms post-horror and elevated horror have been banded around as if they are something new. But in reality, the blending of subtle horror tropes within languid pace & arty drama has been going on for decades. Take this late 80’s German/ Hungarian film, it really is a textbook example of what is now sold as post-horror, as it’s a lullingly paced gothic drama edged with subtle horror touches & tones. And for my money, it’s a lot more successful in both its chilling tone & generally intriguing, than some of the over-hyped modern takes on the genre. Here from Second Run- one the prime reissues of world & art house film- is a new region free Blu Ray release of the film. Featuring a new director-approved scan of the picture, a selection of new interviews, and a few other new/ archive extras.
Laurin ( aka Laurin: A Journey Into Death ) is from the year 1988, though really with its tone/ pace it feels like it could be from the 70s- very much bringing to mind Werner Herzog’s take on both horror, and gloomily dreamy period drama. This was the first( to date) only feature-length film from German-born Robert Sigl- he has gone on to have seventeen other credits, taking in shorts, German TV series episodes, and TV movies.
The film is set in a small rural riverside German village in the early 19th century. And focuses on Laurin (Dóra Szinetár) a pre-teen girl who lives with her rather pre-occupied & forlorn mother Flora(Brigitte Karner), her pipe-puffing grandmother(Olga), with her seafaring & moustached father Arne(János Derzsi) appearing every few months from his travels.
The film opens with young Laurin perched on the wooden bridge that crosses the river that runs by her village- she is peering at first one thing after another with her telescope. And this set’s the tone of the character’s curiosity, which as the film moves puts her in the line of both fear & true danger. She/ we see a boy with a black dog on the town's fort, as well as a selection of other folk going about their lives.
As night draws in her father Arne is readying himself to go to sea once more, with Laurin setting down for the evening to read a book in her rather age-inappropriate cot. She sees from her window the boy from early on- knocking in a panicked manner on her window, and he is fairly soon dragged away by a black-suited & gloved figure. Her mother has just said goodbye to Arne on the bridge, and is making her way home across it when she sees a man dragging the body of the boy along. Next thing we move swiftly to the next morning where Flora has been found dead in the river.
As the film unfolds we rather drift and float between sinister & red-tinged dream-like night time encounters, through to stark daytime shots- which largely move between the bridge, the village's school house, and the interior of Laurin's house. With been brought into the mix a red-faced & stern pastor (Endre Kátay), his rather creepy back-from-being-away twenty-something son Van Rees(Károly Eperjes), and weedy/ Bepsesckled Stefan(Barnabás Tóth) who is seemingly Laurin’s only school friend.
The pace of the film is grimly lulling and edged with a very prevalent feeling of both foreboding and dread. This is often underlined with a feeling of predatory/ lightly pedophilic unease- which at points sends more than a few shivers down one's spine. Here & there we have sudden moments of terror/ horror- and these are handled very skilfully & cleverly, so instead of lazy jump cuts, we find effective disorientating jolts and sudden dives into nervy jangling unease.
Laurin is very much a film that slowly but surely sucks you into its grimly hazed world. And while it has a playtime of just under the hour & a half mark, due to its pacing it feels more like two hours. But this is not in any way a criticism, as one really does revel in the atmosphere/ pressing unease of the whole thing. At moments you can literally/figuratively cut the atmosphere with a knife, as at moments an eerier haze drifts both outside & inside the interiors of the film's buildings.
Moving onto this recently released region-free disc. The new HD scan of the film is wonderfully realized, letting the wonderful cinematography really sing. You can play the film either in English, or German dub with English subtitles. On the extras side we get a few things- first off there are three interviews- one with lead child actress now all grown up Dóra Szinetár( 18.14), one with Barnabás Tóth(10.06) who played the bespeckled bullied boy in the film, and the films cinematographer Nyika Jancsó(15.04)- all three of these are in English. We have an appreciation for the picture by film historian/ author Johnathan Rigby( 32.24) he discusses how the film pulls you in from the off with its intriguing tone, moving on he talks about the film's themes, it’s influences, and how the director was just twenty-five when he made the film. All very interesting/worthy extras.
On the archive side, we have a ten-minute making of- this is in German with subtitles. There’s just over twenty minutes of deleted scenes. Lastly, we get two shorts from Robert Sigl- first is The Christmas Tree aka Der Weihnachtsbaum(19.23) this is from 1983, and it’s black & white, in German with subtitles. It’s just a two-person affair which finds a late teen/ early twenties son coming home for Christmas to his rather glum ‘n’ grumpy moustached father. The pair put up the tree, eat a bird, and get into bed together. There’s a great feeling of subtle unease/sinister strangeness about the film, though it’s rather arty in its presentation. All in all a most effective short. Next, we have Coronoia 21 (9.35) this is a digitally filmed affair- with the director playing the lead of a troubled character first tramping around in a snowbound city, then going to his apartment. Considering the main film & the other short- this very cheap-looking, badly put together, and rather clunky affair, featuring an overly dramatic sounding score which sounds like bad library music. This was a trial to get through I’m afraid and felt very heavy-handed in its comments on the Covid pandemic.
The release is finished off with a twelve-page inlay booklet- this features a new essay by film writer/ critic James Olver. As well as stills, and full film credits.
Laurin is a lullingly enthralling journey into gothic period drama, that’s skilfully edged with both a tangible feeling of unease and moments of heart bounding horror. And as we’ve come to expect from Second Run we get a wonderful presentation, with a beautiful new scan of the film, and a rewarding selection of extras.