by MATTHEW HAYS

Jerry Bruckheimer fanatics may want to steer clear of Hukkle, an odd Hungarian entry that is short on plot while heavy on Eastern European poetics. Here, a man sits by the side of the road, watching the life of a small town pass him by. He punctuates the entire, dialogue-free film with his hiccups (or 'hukkle' in Hungarian).

It sounds loony, but there's a method behind director György Pálfi's madness, as he juxtaposes the daily grind of humanity with various insects and animal life. Pálfi cuts between shots of an animal burrowing beneath the ground, fish swimming about for food, people gobbling down what looks like a disgusting meal. Initially, Pálfi seems to be narrowing the gap between man and nature, reminding us, at least at first glance, that we're all just animals.

But something more sinister emerges as Hukkle unravels. Underwater shots also reveal the barely-decomposed corpse of a man, a mere few feet beneath the surface. Various vague clues hint at some kind of conspiracy going on about town, one that involves malfeasance and perhaps murder. Don't expect narrative closure from a film this oblique; Pálfi wants to show us the sheer surrealism of life on this planet, through the microcosm of this town, and does so very well indeed.

In one of the film's most memorable sequences, Pálfi has what appears to be a small earthquake disrupt the townsfolk's lives. As it turns out, the ruckus has actually been caused by a U.S. military jet, flying extremely (and unnecessarily?) close to the town river. Pálfi freeze frames the shot, allowing his camera to caress the jet; is this military hardware meant to be horror or porn?

Pálfi's imagery, and the editing that brings it together, make for a compelling open text. While much of Hukkle appears to be a simple, observant film, the director tosses out various possible subtexts, subtly suggesting that - chances are - things are never quite as they first seem.

Hukkle opens Friday, Feb. 6 at the Cinéma du Parc

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