Doors are opened in Kekszakallu, yet remain inevitably closed to those incapable of, or perhaps just unwilling to pass through. Gaston Solnicki's oblique denunciation of cyclical societal systems, feeding inequality as they simultaneously reap rewards from it, is nothing if not abstract in its treatment of an abstract idea. Solnicki is unyielding as an artist; his work may be distancing and divisive, but it's a marvellous, singular experience. Though he's not one to linger unnecessarily, his sparse shot constructions ironically reveal the abundance of thematic content in Kekszakallu, the process thus asserting Solnicki's impressive skill. The film is an art piece, without doubt, though one whose most appropriate medium of expression has correctly been diagnosed as cinema. Its sustained crypticity might withhold the very texture of what it intends to convey upon watching, though this quality is only deceptively difficult - Kekszakallu's form only becomes fuller in retrospect, enriched by the viewer's internal process of interpretation, and if that offers little solace to those shelling out and sitting down for an experience, there are always those images. This is a startlingly, uncommonly stimulating sensory work, with all range of technical aspects presented at the peak of their potential. Solnicki is a master in the making - he's arguably already there - but special mention must be afforded to cinematographers Fernando Lockett and Diego Poleri, and who could but enthuse until their beard turned blue at the posthumous contributions of that master among masters, Bartok Bela himself?
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