Trudging on

THE TURIN HORSE (B+) - Life is a brutal, repetitive slog . . . and then you don't die. The droning, funereal soundtrack never changes. Day in. Day out. After 154 minutes, fade to black. You, the viewer, endured. Good for you.

Hungarian master Bela Tarr (the remarkable "Werckmeister Harmonies"), in what he says is his final film, shows us what the end might look like, which isn't nearly as depressing as realizing that this isn't the end yet -- this existence could linger for years. Living a medieval rural existence, a father (hobbled with a lame right arm) and his doting daughter plod and struggle through their daily routine, while a wind storm howls nonstop for days and their horse is growing too sick to pull the plow. Is the horse dying? Are they? Have they already crossed over to purgatory?

Tarr films these six torturous days in dirty black-and-white, and he's not shy about repeating scenes over and over to remind us of the daily drudgery of life. We get numerous takes of the daughter fetching water or helping the father get dressed and undressed, and Tarr never skips dinner -- here it's a boiled potato for each of them, like clockwork, until the final night when their resources are depleted and the potatoes are raw.

Two scenes interrupt the monotony. A neighbor visits to borrow brandy and to rail about the end of civility and nobility, how everything's "gone to ruin" since the victory of the capitalist huns who have "acquired" everything (even "infinite silence") and left the world "debased." His declaration that there are "no God or gods" echoes the film's opening narration recounting Nietzsche's defense of a horse from a whipping by its cab driver, the precipitating event in the philosopher's descent into madness. The second jolt involves a visit from a rampaging band of "gypsies" who threaten the father and daughter's resources and safety. We are reminded that life is fragile; take away just one of the fundamental protections and you're the next boiled potato.

The message: You are born into your lot in life, noble but dreary, and nothing will ever change. It is, and always has been, so.

Except that one day you WILL die. Soldier on.