Review: The Seventh Seal (1957)

* * * *
Director: Igmar Bergman
Starring: Max von Sydow, Bengt Ekerot, Gunnar Bjornstrand

I suppose I can now officially call myself a cinephile without hesitation because I’ve finally seen a film by Ingmar Bergman (two, actually, but more on that tomorrow). I wasn’t entirely clear beforehand about the plot of The Seventh Seal, although I knew that it featured a game of chess between a Crusader and Death and that I should be prepared for plenty of symbolism and meditation on the existence of God. What I wasn’t prepared for was how engaging this film would be, how easy it would be to lose myself in it.

The first scene is stark and bizarre, setting the tone for the rest of the film. Antonius Block (Max von Sydow) and his squire, Jons (Gunnar Bjornstrand), are sleeping on a beach. They have been away from home for a long time, fighting in the Crusades, and now Antonius has begun to question the existence of God. A man shows up on the beach and Antonius recognizes him as Death (Bengt Ekerot). He asks Death to join him in a game of chess, reasoning that as long as they’re playing, he remains alive to seek the answers to his questions about God. Elsewhere a trio of performers is also waking and preparing to continue their journey to the next village where they will perform. One of the performers, Jof (Nils Poppe), has an otherworldly encounter of his own, convinced that he’s seen the Virgin Mary crossing the field in the distance.

The Crusaders and the performers will cross paths in a village where the plague is taking a heavy toll and religious fervour dominates. The first real demonstration of this religious fervour actually interrupts the scene being played out by the performers, who find themselves transformed into members of the audience in mid-performance as the fanatics come moaning and flagellating themselves through the square. Religion figures in the film as performance, as something superficial and devoid of meaning when compared to the genuine anguish felt by Antonius and the serious questions he is asking.

Shortly after this religious demonstration, the performers opt to join the Crusaders as they carry on their way, travelling through the woods towards Antonius’ castle. The group is followed all the way by Death, who assures Antonius that time is running out not just for him but for everyone, including a girl from the village who will be burnt at the stake because the authorities are convinced that she has been in contact with the devil.

From a technical standpoint, the frequency of close-ups and the composition of certain shots reminded me a lot of The Passion of Joan of Ark, which also explores questions of religious fervour. However, the film is in no way derivative. It is distinct and original and totally absorbing. As Antonius and Death, von Sydow and Ekerot are probably the film’s most recognizable figures, but my favourite performance belongs to Bjornstrand. As the squire, Bjornstrand acts as a counterpoint to Antonius: where Antonius represents the high, Jons represents the low; where Antonius has questions, Jons is always ready with answers – though even he admits that he doesn’t necessarily believe what he says as much as he just loves having something to say, which is a good thing since he has some of the film’s most memorable lines. I think the performance by Bjornstrand is one of the reasons the film is so accessible even though it’s so heavy with symbolism and existential questions.

Canadian Film Review: Emotional Arithmetic (2008)

* * *
Director: Paolo Barzman
Starring: Susan Sarandon, Max von Sydow, Gabriel Byrne, Christopher Plummer, Roy Dupuis

While the message of most books and films centering on the holocaust is “never forget,” I’ve seen two films this year which argue the necessity of forgetting and letting go. The first was Fugitive Pieces, the second is Emotional Arithmetic. While the latter isn’t quite as successful as the former, it does have moments of great power.

Melanie (Susan Sarrandon), Christopher (Gabriel Byrne) and Jakob (Max von Sydow) are three survivors of Drancy, reunited forty years later in Quebec, where Melanie lives with her husband (Christopher Plummer), son (Roy Dupuis) and grandson, Timmy (Dakota Goyo). Melanie and Christopher were only children when they were in the camp and were saved from being transferred to Auschwitz by Jakob, who bribed a guard to take their names off the list and put his own on. After Auschwitz, Jakob ended up in the Gulag, and was later committed to a mental institution where drugs and electro-shock took their toll on both his memory and his ability to write.

While Jakob is forgetting, Melanie and Christopher find themselves stuck in their memories. Christopher seems to have put his entire life on hold until he can be reunited with Melanie, while Melanie drifts in and out of sanity and is obsessed with recording the facts of history’s atrocities. While in Drancy, Jakob had given Melanie a book in which he had started recording the names of all the people who came through the camp, impressing upon her the importance of their bearing witness. Now, forty years later, her husband laments that everything that happens in the world happens to her and the house is full of filing cabinets which contain lists and names.

The scenes which take place at the farm in Quebec – which are rife with all kinds of tension – are intercut with flashback scenes which do little to enhance the drama of the film’s present. For one thing, the flashbacks don't provide much in the way of new information, tending to just re-enact things the characters in the present day have already described happening, and these scenes are filmed in a way that offers no real visual impression of what life was like inside the camp. For another thing, the actors playing young Melanie and Christopher aren’t really up to the burden of the material. I’m not going to harp on this because, after all, the two actors are just children, but the stilted nature of their scenes is especially noticeable when contrasted with the performance by young Goyo, who seems so natural and unaffected as Timmy.

What saves the movie are the scenes which take place in Quebec. Dupuis, Byrne, Plummer and von Sydow are all at the top of their game and Sarandon, in particular, renders an achingly beautiful performance. There is a moment when Melanie presents Jakob with the finished book, which he no longer remembers having given to her, when Sarandon is able to simultaneously convey both the obsessive and disillusioned woman and the hopeful child in constant conflict within Melanie. Scenes like that one, between assured, skilled performers tell us more than the flashbacks ever could.

Review: The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

Words can’t adequately describe how beautiful this film is, nor how moving. It tells the story of Jean-Dominique Bauby (played by Mathieu Amalric), the editor of Elle who at the age of 43 suffered a stroke which left his entire body paralyzed, with the exception of his left eye. Learning to communicate through blinking, he dictated his memoir, also called The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, which would be published just 10 days before his death. This is a heavy film, but there is also a weightlessness to it that is extraordinary. It is to director Julian Schnabel’s credit that the film so effectively balances the tragic with the triumphant and even, at times, the comedic.

The film is seen largely from Bauby’s perspective, restricted by his own limited mobility. It begins with him waking from a three month coma and the initial shots are hazy and blurred, conveying Bauby’s own confusion at what is happening as doctors and nurses go about examining him. He tries to speak but quickly realizes that the words exist only in his head, that those around him can’t hear him. A specialist explains to him that he has “locked-in” syndrome, a rare disability which finds the body disconnected from the brain but the brain in perfect working order. Bauby is a prisoner in his own body. Early in the film his right eye, from which he can see, is sewn shut because he’s not able to blink and there’s the likelihood that the cornea will turn septic. We see the procedure from inside his head, as he screams for them not to shut his eye. But, of course, only we can hear him and the eye is sewn shut and he becomes more dejected. Henriette (Marie-Josée Croze), his speech therapist, develops a system for him to communicate by blinking his left eye. He informs her that he wants to die. Her response, and her persistence, play no small part in rallying him not only to learn to communicate, but to put his story to paper.

Henriette becomes an important woman in Bauby’s life, but there are others as well. Henriette sets the stage for Claude (Anne Consigny), the woman to whom Bauby will dictate his story. As their working relationship progresses, she seems to fall in love with him and it is from her that he gets the title for the book. There is also Céline (Emmanuelle Seigner), the mother of his children, and Ines (Agathe de La Fontaine), the woman for whom he had left Céline. Céline is a big presence in the film, his first and, after Claude, his most frequent visitor. Ines is a much more elusive character, only ever glimpsed briefly, mostly in moments of Bauby’s memories and fantasies. There is a heartbreaking scene where Ines calls Bauby and Céline is the only person around to interpret his blinks for her. Céline disdains Ines not so much for taking Bauby away, but for failing to be there for him now, always making a point to comment that Ines still hasn’t been to see him. Bauby is grateful for Céline’s support, but is clearly still completely infatuated with Ines despite her inability to show up. Ines, for her part, loves Bauby but can’t stand the thought of seeing him as he is now. It’s a difficult scene to watch, especially when Céline must communicate to Ines that Bauby waits for her to come everyday.

There is another scene which also involves Bauby, an interpreter (this time it’s Claude) and a voice on the other end of the phone, which is equally difficult to watch. The voice on the other end is Bauby’s father, Papinou (Max von Sydow). Papinou, too, is a prisoner, unable to leave his apartment because his age has limited his mobility. He’s an old man facing his own mortality and making sure that his son is aware of the location of a letter which explains his final wishes. He breaks down in tears as he speaks, perhaps because he realizes that his son is unlikely to live long enough to carry out those wishes. von Sydow only appears in two scenes (the other is a memory, during which he chastises his son for breaking up his family), but leaves an indelible impression.

A good deal of the film is spent in observing Bauby as he blinks his messages to the world, and as his friends and family learn to receive those messages (in one of the film’s lighter moments, Bauby’s friend Laurent, played by Isaach De Bankolé, attempts to communicate with him but is so focused on the specialized alphabet in front of him that he forgets to watch Bauby’s blinking), but Bauby’s experience is also conveyed through his memories, his fantasies, and images that he simply conjures up. It is here that the film truly captures the spirit of the story, not limited by the conventions of traditional storytelling, but soaring as freely as the imagination. It is amazing that such a tragic story can come to feel so uplifting. When it's over, you won't feel depressed over the failure of Bauby's body as much as you'll be astonished and inspired by the strength of his mind and spirit, both of which are so beautifully captured in this remarkable film.