From the outset, there are two aspects of Red Psalm (Hungarian: Még kér a nép) that you immediately notice: its glorious surrealism and its striking beauty. This seemed to be the pivotal element behind Miklós Jancsó’s daring social drama, a tale of class struggle in the Hungarian countryside in the late 1800s. What starts as a dreamlike, almost absurd film about a group or working-class individuals rebelling against wealthy landowners in an excessive but harmless demonstration of defiance, eventually evolves into a dark and harrowing tale of class difference, and how the disparity between social groups can sometimes amount to significantly haunting violence, where human beings are stripped of the very qualities that are supposed to be afforded to us as fundamental human rights. Jancsó makes a powerful film, one that doesn’t announce its message in any major way until the very end, when the tensions and looming terror that have been simmering below the surface finally emerge, as we watch pure historical pandemonium unfolding around us, too disturbing to embrace or find any solace or hope within, but too beautifully poetic and powerful in what it says to ever look away.

Red Psalm is deservedly mostly remembered for its impressive camera work – Jancsó makes exceptional use of the medium of film in telling this story, and provides the audience with an enthralling representation of this story that features some of the most astonishing cinematography of the era, which is unexpected considering how this film seems so simple on the surface. There isn’t much behind the filmmaking other than the film’s intention to portray the era without any enormously excessive flourishes, but also not to neglect the sense of magical realism underpinning the film. Famously only consisting of just over a dozen edits, Red Psalm takes the form of a series of tableaux, set in the Hungarian countryside, and we watch as the camera weaves through the crowds of peasants and hordes of soldiers, lingering on them for much longer than would be expected, and managing to derive a sense of realism from an already stark story. The camera is put to work here in a way that is rarely demonstrated, and while it sometimes may border on becoming a gimmick, it deftly defies it, rather being a beautiful and innovative piece of filmmaking. The film is highly choreographed, and Jancsó should be given credit for his ability to not only compose a beautiful and meaningful film but to execute a difficult idea with such precision, it almost becomes theatrical, a series of moving parts that all come together into something brilliantly effective.

Creativity rests at the very core of the film, and it becomes clear almost immediately that Red Psalm is driven less by the plot and more by the images and the sounds surrounding them. Jancsó is not interested in a very detailed story – the film rarely even focuses on a single character long enough to find a common narrative thread. It is a series of moments, woven together by the unseen creatives who work so endlessly hard to create something that makes a profound statement without ever explicitly saying anything. In this regard, the film is anchored by meticulous design – set almost entirely in the rural farmlands of a small Hungarian village, the film masterfully recreates a past time, and through the simple but effective design, Jancsó evokes the spirit of the late 19th century in a way very few films have managed to do, always opting for a more straightforward, simple approach, rather than having the details govern the film. The music in Red Psalm is also worth mentioning – a large portion of the film is taken up by the folk songs of the revolting villagers, who use the defiance embedded within these songs to tell a story of rising against authority and taking back what is truly ours – the music doesn’t only add an element of gravitas to the film, it also foreshadows some of the harrowing content that was on the horizon, with the music oscillating between joyful and melancholy consistently throughout, until the climax, when it is nothing but hauntingly beautiful.

Even though it is driven by images, there is a storyline underlying the film and propelling it forward. On the basic level, it is simply just the portrayal of a small group of working-class peasants rebelling against the wealthy landowners, who take it upon themselves to employ the military to preside over the peaceful protests, and to make sure it doesn’t become too uncontrollable. Of course, this is only at the outset, because as we see throughout, the story slowly begins to take a darker turn, becoming more sinister as the film goes along. Red Psalms was obviously crafted as a direct response to the rise of communism at the time, and contrasting it with the earlier days of socialism, and it is difficult to detach the film from the socio-political context that inspired it – the Hungarian title is even a direct quote from a famous poet who was himself involved in a very similar kind of protest. However, this film is remarkably apolitical – despite being a socialist himself, the director doesn’t ever convey the idea that the audience needs to choose a side. The film is above the small differences in ideology demonstrated by the different individuals – it doesn’t venture deeply into any of these characters enough for it to ever be able to be entirely focused on how these ideas operate on the personal level. The only concept that seems to be pivotal to understanding the story is that of freedom – Jancsó is intent on demonstrating that despite the political and social underpinnings that separate us, we are all united by our own desire to be free. Its the degree of freedom that we’re offered, based on certain qualities (such as our race, gender and social class, the latter two being pivotal to the film), and its the only cause really worth fighting for. The film is most effective when it isn’t trying to align itself with a particular system, but rather to just objectively show the reality of a situation that is far too common for this to be an isolated historical epic without real-world resonance.

The simplicity is really what makes Red Psalm so effective, and the approach the film took, choosing to be more experimental than other historical films of the time, worked well. Essentially, it is clear that Jancsó was working to make a film that represented everyday life, in an effort to transport the viewer back to the time period that is rarely visited from this perspective. It provides us with a snapshot into our world at a drastically different time, and considering the film utilized very subtle design elements to evoke the period, it has resonance to the present world as well, as while the political grounding of the film is specific, the outward themes are universal, and the underlying intention of focusing mostly on freedom, and how different groups define and fight for it, is magnificent. It is a heavily allegorical film, and Jancsó never really feels the need to justify some of what is demonstrated here, with many of the choices being quite abstract and difficult to interpret, but only adds to the nuance of the film – it doesn’t always need to be clear what is being said but it does facilitate some thought-provoking questions that would lead the curious viewer to venture deeper into exploring this region and its history at the time depicted here.

It is a daring way of making a film like this, and while it may sometimes feel more focused on intention rather than story, it does well well. Red Psalm is certainly not an easy film, but it is still a profoundly moving experience. A series of images presented in a way that can only harbour deep, poignant meaning, Jancsó has crafted an intricate rural social ballet, one where the camera weaves through various individuals over the course of a single day, the audience watching with an almost voyeuristic intensity as the events depicted start to grow more violent, and more hopelessly bleak. Filled with metaphors and built upon a structure dependent on allegory, Red Psalm is a brilliant piece, an audacious historical film that chooses to be intimate and meticulous rather than bold and excessive. Beautifully-composed and incredibly well-constructed in both the visuals and the story it tells, this is the kind of film that feels a lot more simple than its appearance would have you believe. Just a gorgeous, meaningful and poetic film that finds the perfect balance between magical realism and trauma, all resulting in one of the most complex films of its time, and one that is entirely unforgettable.