Winter Light (1963)

So you like Bergman? You like to watch sonorous people sit in a dimly-lit room, talking about the silence of God? OK, I admit: Winter Light is one of my favorite movies. I've watched it as many as ten times. But still, everytime I re-watch it, I think about new things, as new details become the focus of my attention.

The film opens with a church service. This segment is long, but rich in detail. Here, all characters in the story are presented. The pastor, Tomas (excellent, excellent Gunnar Björnstrand), preaches as if he had said all these words too many times before. It is clear that they mean next to nothing to him. The organist coughs and attempts to muster up the energy to finish his business. Most of the church-goers seem bored, or distracted. After the service, Tomas talk to his colleagues. He has to go through with yet another service in the evening, because the other pastor is busy driving his new car. Tomas has caught a cold. He is grumpy but a string of people has unfinished business with him. A fisherman's wife talks about her troubled husband. Tomas' on/off girlfriend Märta, who is a schoolteacher, gets on his nerves with her well-meaning attempts to nurse and take care of him.

This is what happens in the first 30 minutes of the film. The main themes, dis/belief and human frailty, have already been introduced. Winter Light treats its subject matter with care and depth (not without an ounce of irony, of course, this is Bergman). We see the kind of twists and turns in a relationship that we can get a glimpse of talking to somebody for several hours. Therefore, it is not surprising that the story takes place during less than one day. In scene after scene, characters go through minor tribulations, but there are also outbursts of emotion and pangs of honesty. None of this feels contrived. One could perhaps criticize Bergman for writing theatrical lines, but the content of the film still rings true. Bergman hits a spot. Masterfully, the film portrays moments of extreme intimacy and the harsh words uttered in a situation the end of which is impossible to guess. All of these scenes are somehow open-ended, in the sense that they point at a life that the characters will lead afterwards (the film itself ends very abruptly, in a scene full of contradiction and mixed emotion). This open-endedness has, however, nothing to do with vagueness. The reason why Winter Light is so good is that it wrestles with a cluster of questions in a way that strikes me as absolutely serious (yet, not losing a strike of dark comedy out of sight). This is not to say that the film is theoretical or abstract. The opposite is rather the case.

As a film about belief, this is a well-made, non-dogmatic affair. Bergman does not, I think, argue for or against anything. Belief (or the lack of it) is far from an abstractt theory about how the world is. Bergman connects questions about religion and questions about human relations. As Tomas says several times: God is quiet, but his own world is contaminated with human blabber and mundane trifles. Gradually, we see that Tomas' obsession with God's silence is an expression for his lack of commitment to human relations. People bore him. People disgust him. Their physicality repels him. Tomas, like every other (or almost every) character of the film is extremely complicated, and this is what drives the film onwards: the inner conflicts within and between people. Bergman makes nothing to lull us into a conviction that these conflicts can be resolved in a specific way. He wants simply to explore what these conflicts are about.

Aesthetically, the film is a peculiar affair. Sven Nykvist makes the film bath in harsh, merciless daylight. There are almost no shadows. This makes the faces so often placed in the foreground, appear all the more naked. There are no traces of mystery, or forced beauty. Non-diegetic music is thankfully non-existent. The sounds of the film are used very efficiently. In one particularly dramatic (not melodramatic) scene, the only sound we hear is the white noise from streaming water.

Of course, I could go on and on writing about this film. What I want to say last is that Ingrid Thulin makes a harrowing performance as a masochistic/unsure/self-loathing/dependent/strong schoolteacher. Every single second with Thulin in the movie contains so much expression that it is almost hard to watch. The strenght of Thulin's face matches Dreyer's Jeanne d'Arc.

Some call this film a symbolic treatment of theological dogmas - other calls it a buster keaton movie made by Bresson. This is a proof of how many dimensions Winter Light has. Yes, it is dark comedy. Yes, it is a film about religion, one of the best, even. And still: it is also one of the boldest portraits of what it means to be unable to love.

Palindromes (2004)

Todd Solondz' Happiness might not have been the #1 masterpiece of cinema of the last century, but it contained a bunch of really funny, unnerving scenes. The same is true for Palindromes, which I watched in the middle of the night a while ago. My bleary eyes appreciated the pastel-eerie aesthetic of the film. A much weirder film than Happiness, Palindromes takes an offbeat trip in the ever changing bodily shape of "Aviva" (who is played by eight different actors). Aviva, whomever s/he is, lives in a world of strangeness and abuse, flag-waving religious people, sex-crazed men and odd sects. Aviva travels the landscape of childhood / adolescence. Despite occasional acquaintances, Aviva is alone in the world. We recognize Aviva no matter what shape s/he takes. What struck a note with me here was the tone of the film. We see lots of gruesome things happen, but all of it is unraveled in a quiet and melancholy way. Were it not for this way of handling its topic, Palindromes would probably have been an almost unwatchable film. In this way, Palindromes becomes less a provocation, than a sad meditation on insecurity and life as a teen.

Nazarin (1959)

I had a very hard time suppressing my prejudiced conceptions about Bunuel. And well, for all my effort, Nazarin turned out not to have been a very good movie. The biggest problem I had was that it was difficult to follow what the film tried to say. Was it a critique of the catholic church? Of religion? Of “saintliness”? One could of course argue that the film took an open approach to these things, and did not churn out a thesis about this or that. But I rather felt that there was too little good material to reflect on here. From a more technical point of view, the film was mostly a rather bland experience. There were, however, a few nice scenes toward the end. In one of them, we see a small town stricken by the plague. The only thing we hear is the harsh sound of church bells. The streets are empty. The main characters walk around in this desolated landscape. That scene did a far deeper impression on me than all of those scenes with the suffering Christ-like figure who is torn to pieces by the cruelness of Humanity. That is basically what we see in the film: cruel people. All forms of goodness are depicted with an air of tired bitterness. To hell with goodness, it won't survive anyway. What is goodness anyway. That, to me, seemed to have been the message of the film.

Skammen (1968)

In Skammen, Liv Ullman and Max von Sydow play former musicians. They live on an island (the film was filmed on Fårö, of course). They argue, make love and go into town to buy a bottle of wine. A war is hovering somewhere in the country. It is clear that the lovers do not want to think about it. von Sydow’s character break into weeping spells, and is somewhat sullenly comforted by his girlfriend. Suddenly, they find themselves dragged into the war. Bombs are crashing nearby. A band of soldiers arrive at their yard and force them to make false confessions. The lovers are no longer innocent bystanders. Later, another party in the war seems to have gotten the upper hand in the country. As many others, the lovers are interrogated as to their allegiances. A colonel (Gunnar Björnstrand!) visits them now and again. What does he want? And how do they respond?

Skammen is not a traditional film about war. In fact, we see very little of the war, except for some forceful scenes toward the end. Instead, Bergman evokes a form of loss of reality, which is somehow both shattered and strengthened by the violent occurrences the couple go experience. As Ullman puts it at some point: I live in a dream - somebody else’s dream. They have many difficulties with each other, but seem to be united in their desire to flee the world. In the middle of the film, when the reality of war has finally broken into their lives, they ract differently. Bergman never overstates this difficulty.

A sombre movie in which all forms of excess are avoided, Skammen is one of Bergman’s best movies. The dialogue is sometimes idling, especially in the beginning of the film, but that remains a minor flaw.

The white ribbon (2009)

Among Michael Haneke's films, The White Ribbon might not be the most interesting ones, but it is not a bad film either. The film, in stylish monochromes, tell the story of a village plagued by a series of eerie and repulsive events. Somebody places a ribbon on the doctor's gate so that he trips with his horse. A child is tortured. There is a mysterious fire. The voice-over of the films, an old man, tells about his youth. He does this in a very neutral, detached way. The voice belongs to one of the characters, a teacher. We follow the villagers for a few years from 1913 onwards. The families in the village are connected in many ways. The pastor, the teacher, the worker, the doctor all have clearly defined societal positions. It is a patriarchal society in which men rule over women. It is also a society in which adults seem to live in one world, and children another. The children are not yet assigned with these societal roles, but they are still very much their families' children. The relation between children and adults in the film is often antagonistic and anguished. Adults abuse, give orders, uphold order, make excuses, institute prohibitions - and do their best to uphold the appearance of "innocent children" - tightly connected with the appearance of "responsible grown-ups". A group of children roams around the village. We usually see them together in the group, or at home, with their family. Rarely alone in a non-family setting.

The film seems to ask the same question as the villagers themselves do: who are responsible for these crimes? Haneke's film resists a straightforward reply. By and by, I start questioning the question. Is it that one which is the most important issue? Or rather: isn't it rather that Haneke makes us look at flight from responsibility, collectivity and false innocence? To a great film, this is a film about guilt and what it means to attempt to find a guilty party.

The White Ribbon plods through a massive sea of information. Scenes change quickly and I often found myself wondering about some fact or other.  

Holy Smoke (2000)

I was surprised how disturbed I was by Holy Smoke the second time I watched it. This is one of the purest examples of films that depict gender injustice as an eternal, seemingly insoluble power struggle. The war between the sexes: man wins, woman loses, woman wins, man loses. Here, we see the power dynamics played out between a young woman and an older man. The girl has been coaxed home from India. Her mother is worried that she is exploited by a cult. The family has contacted an American “expert” who is to deprogram the poor girl. For most of the film we see these two, the girl and the man, trapped in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. He has his agenda. When he thinks he has “gotten through”; mission completed, the situation turns back on him. The girl uses her sexual allure and – WHAM! – She has got the man, the big, macho man, under her thumb. Now it is HE who is in bad need of deprogramming. MEN AND WOMEN WOMEN AND MEN MEN AND WOMEN – and so on in all eternity. OK, I disagree. 

(Yes there are redeeming things to say about Holy smoke, too. Let's begin and end with Harvey Keitel.)

The Social Network (2010)

I was a tad bit sceptic about watching a film about .... Facebook. How interesting can that really be, I thought. Oh well. David Fincher made an entertaining film about a ruthless, antisocial world from which "new social media" evolve. It's an interesting contrast, and a scary one, too. What makes the film a little bit creepy is that it takes place in the present. We get a story (I'm not really interested in how true it is) about how Facebook evolved from idea to multi-million network. This has happened in a very short time. Nobody knows what Facebook will become and it is hard to spell out its meanings. Even though The Social Network did not make an eternal imprint on my heart, it was told gracefully so as to create the right kinde of surge. And David Fincher has an impeccable sense for surroundings and scene construction. The major problem is perhaps the dabblings with psychology. What was it that drove Zuckerberg - really? The Social Network is dangerously close to saying: well - it was because of a girl.

What is more, The Social Network does not buy into the glorified image of creativity and the self-made entrepreneur. At least: an American movie that does not celebrate "the business opportunity" and that does not serenade the virtue of being ambitious. "We have to expand" is here depicted as a rather uncanny catchphrase. We have to expand because we can ... and we must ... for some reason.

Marie Antoinette (2006)

What sets Sofia Coppola apart from other directors is her perfect grasp of atmosphere. She showed it in Virgin Suicide, Lost in Translation excelled in it and Marie Antoinette provided further proof of how attentive she is to those aspects. Does this mean that her films lack substance? I wouldn't say so. Even though it is a masterful excercise in style, costumes and hair-dos, Marie Antoinette is also a film about loneliness, youth and the idle yet shallow life of the rich. This makes it a far better film than the conventional costume drama tends to be. Coppola both fetischizes a certain historical period and screws with all common ways of how to go about when treating "historical material". What I like best about Marie Antoinette is its lack of reverence. No, true, it is not a film about political history. But it doesn't attempt to be one either. As I see it, it's a film about leisure, the leisurly class, the occupations of this class. The best scenes convey the meaning or lack of meaning of ritualization and distribution of roles: inherited roles, expectations, scolding, tolerance, role-playing - and revolt. Sofia Coppola brings out many aspects of roles, which is a virtue of a film like this.

This film should be taken for what it is: a mood pic. I see nothing wrong with that.

Satan's brew (1976)

If you think that RW Fassbinder was a serios guy who made bleak films about human alienation, think again. Satan's brew is wacky, in the spirit of outlandish, ebulient dystopia. In some sense, it also aspires to be a film that treats serious topics (self-delusion, masochism, contempt, anarchy/fascism). If you have a slightly obscene sense of humor, it is also a funny movie. (As a matter of fact, I might have enjoyed this a little bit more than I should.) But hey, Fassbinder also wants to say something about the origins of totalitarianism, so I might be excused.

The leading role is played by Kurt Raab, one of my favorite Fassbinder actors. It's just that in this movie, Raab's role is a little bit .... different. His acting style is, to say the least, outrageous. He's the anarchist poet, Kranz, who needs GELD. Geld! He lives with his wife, whom he hates, and his brother, whose major interest is flies. Kanz wanders from mistress to mistress, copulating & trying to secure some money. A mousey admirer follows him around. Kanz starts to realize that he IS the romantic German poet Stefan George. But wait, then he must be gay!

If you can stomach a John Waters' film, you might appreciate this. And if that subtle analysis of totalitarianism passes you by, and if the Nietzschean one-liners leave you cold ("That is the finest humiliation: to expose oneself to an inferior.") what you can learn from this tutorial film are many useful German invectives.

But how the HELL did Fassbinder raise money for this film? The idea for the film must have appeared quite bizarre.

L'Intrus

Claire Denis' film L'Intrus is a confusing experience only if you stick to certain expectations about what a film should be. Say good-bye to linearity and reality/non-reality. The film is dedicated to a book written by philosopher Jean-Luc Nancy, a book in which Nancy talks about having survived a heart transplant. The heart transplant is also the node of Denis' film. As elusive as this film is, it is hard to say anything about characters, story and so on. It is, however, clear that the film has a focal point, a central idea, or should we say a central cluser of images: an elderly man's heart and one a more metaphorical level, the alien heart as the intruder.

In the first part of the film, we see some relatively straightforward scenes that follow the man's dealings with his dogs, a lover and an antagonistic son. But these scenes are intermingled with far less explicable ones. A murder, dream-like arctic landscapes. During the second part of the film it is far less clear on what level of reality we are moving. The man travels to South Korea to have his operation. After that, he goes to Haiti, apparently on a quest for finding his son (oh wait there was something about a cargo ship, too...!). We see a dying man, now an intruder in his own right, haunted by consience.

It might be a cheap interpretation, but it is tempting to read the alien heart as the intrusion of conscience.

Denis knows everything about how to work with images. Sometimes I don't know what's going on, but I still find myself gasping for air: what a scene! What combination of movement, colors and sound! To be honest, I cannot spell out the exact relation between a woman driving a pack of dogs across an Arctic landscape, a corpse buried under the ice, the christening of a ship, a silent looong take where we simply gaze at the sea - but in the movie as a whole, I can look for certain threads, certain contrasts, associations. But I should pause here to say that if you like clever movies - don't watch it. If you like clever, dig somewhere else.

I would say that Claire Denis is one of the most important film-makers today. Few, if any, of her colleagues challenges the viewer's imaginative faculties like she does. My second reason for saying that is that few directors have such a physical grasp of what film can be about.