71 Fragments In A Chronology Of Chance (1994)
The final installment in Hidden director Michael Haneke's 1990s 'Emotional Glaciation' trilogy. A mass shooting is the starting point for a bleak trawl through the lives of those involved
By 1994, Michael Haneke was well established as an incisive chronicler of what he regards as the numbing effects of an accelerated culture. Like previous releases The 7th Continent and Benny's Video, 71 Fragments In A Chronology Of Chance is a harrowing exploration of moral, spiritual and emotional bankruptcy, delivered in typically austere style.
On Christmas Eve, a student pulls out a gun in a bank and mows down a row of customers. The scene itself isn't shown, but the incident provides entry into the lives of those affected, and the bulk of the film is spent charting the events that brought them there.
Whether or not you agree with Haneke's bleak assessment of modern urban life, the film is a technical triumph, dipping into the characters' lives and slowly dragging them together. There's neither tenderness nor sentiment here, and each self-contained scene exemplifies a broader malaise. Whether at prayer, playing ping-pong or committing a little domestic violence Haneke's characters are joyless, atomised automatons who interact only for profit.
How you feel about this probably depends how much you accord with Haneke's evident disgust with the post-industrial West, but in every sense it's a devastating hour and a half.
This review originally appeared at Film4.com
On Christmas Eve, a student pulls out a gun in a bank and mows down a row of customers. The scene itself isn't shown, but the incident provides entry into the lives of those affected, and the bulk of the film is spent charting the events that brought them there.
Whether or not you agree with Haneke's bleak assessment of modern urban life, the film is a technical triumph, dipping into the characters' lives and slowly dragging them together. There's neither tenderness nor sentiment here, and each self-contained scene exemplifies a broader malaise. Whether at prayer, playing ping-pong or committing a little domestic violence Haneke's characters are joyless, atomised automatons who interact only for profit.
How you feel about this probably depends how much you accord with Haneke's evident disgust with the post-industrial West, but in every sense it's a devastating hour and a half.
This review originally appeared at Film4.com
