That's quite a lot of incident for one small village and one plot, but the film takes its time, moving at a matter-of-fact, sometimes glacial pace, eschewing musical accompaniment and even, it seems, a point of view. We care what happens without caring much about those it happens to. To that extent it operates like a pulp whodunit, with a bit of The Omen thrown in — the characters, mostly unlikeable, are there to serve a point which will, we hope, eventually be made. When the revelation eventually comes, it is overshadowed by the news of an assassination of an archduke and the beginning of a catastrophe which would wipe out ways of life and communities such as this, with their moral structures and the accompanying nastiness lurking beneath the surface of picturesque hay wains, religious festivals and petty respectability. 

It would be a pity to give the game away, naming and shaming the culprits. Suffice to say that readers familiar with The Midwich Cuckoos will have a head start. I am quite literal-minded about these things and like my loose ends tied up, but it seems that Haneke had bigger fish to fry than satisfying the needs of a simple narrative. We're left with the feeling that it was this kind of society, with its disciplines and hierarchies, which in some way was the very cause of the war which was about to engulf it — the seeds of what was to come were sown in villages like this. 

In other words, the whole ghastly mess can all be blamed on our old friends, repression and authority. This is hardly a very original subtext and it doesn't stand up to much scrutiny. But if it is an ultimately unsatisfying message, the way in which this flawlessly acted, beautifully photographed film conveys it, is not.