At the Cannes Film festival in 2000, "Werckmeister Harmonies" played to considerable critical acclaim. That it's taken nearly three years to be picked up for distribution in the UK, shows just how wary our culture has become of a certain type of supposedly "difficult" arthouse cinema.

Based on the novel "The Melancholy of Resistance" by Tarr's frequent collaborator László Krasznahorkai, "Werckmeister Harmonies" unfolds in an unnamed provincial Hungarian town, gripped by a sense of crisis.

Despite the freezing conditions, disgruntled crowds of men have gathered in the central square to witness a travelling circus, whose attractions include a giant stuffed whale and a promised public appearance from the mysterious "Prince".

Witnessing these ominous events is a gullible postman, Valuska (Lars Rudolph), who has been recruited by his aunt (Fassbinder regular Hanna Schygulla) to run errands for a shadowy political organisation, the "Clean Up Town" movement. Riots are swiftly followed by a military clamp-down.

Shot by cinematographer Gábor Medvigy in dreamlike black-and-white, Tarr favours lengthy, gliding takes to immerse us into his singular cinematic universe. (One writer has estimated that this film consists of only 39 shots during its 145 minute running time.)

Named after 17th century musical theorist-composer Andreas Harmóniák, it's a work whose meanings are almost impossible to pin down.

Heading off on surreal tangents (look out for the frenzied refusal of the police chief's kids to go to bed!), "Werckmeister Harmonies" exerts a peculiarly powerful spell. And the extended, wordless sequence in which a mob rampages through a hospital before being halted by an unexpected vision, is a wondrous achievement.

In Hungarian with English subtitles.