A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence (2014)

"I'm happy to hear you're doing fine!"

These words are uttered several times in this wonderful film, by various individuals, to someone on the other end of a phone line; someone out of plain sight as far as the viewer is concerned. What exactly goes on on the other side, we do not know, but taking a closer look at Roy Andersson's characters who are, in the end, only human, we can somehow gather that these words probably have no real weight. They are just formal exchanges; empty, reassuring words, spoken by someone who's probably wallowing in misery, for all you know.

"A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence" (2014) is an existential dramedy that gives us a bird's-eye view of the crisis of modern man. It is a bittersweet examination of the middle class human condition with a hilariously absurdist, but visibly bleak flavour. Surreal, darkly funny vignettes revolving around multiple characters touching upon man's never-ending struggle for a meaningful life and an overall quest for love and fulfillment forms the core of Andersson's film, the final part of his "Living Trilogy".

Every human soul on this planet is struggling with something, small or big. No one is living, what you would call an epitome of a perfectly ideal existence. The pursuit of happiness is an endless one, a constant journey, that at some point of time, makes individuals reflect upon their being, ponder about the meaning of their lives; all the while keeping in mind a certain inherent futility associated with this struggle. For everyone has to eventually perish, a fact almost hammered across with three small vignettes cheekily titled, "Meeting with death".

One of these vignettes is a masterwork, a literal humorous take on how material wealth means nothing and once you die, you can't really take it with you. In another vignette, an insensitivity and triviality rendered to life in general is showcased in how a man offers to drink the beer of a person who couldn't live to consume it, dying only seconds after purchasing it. This casual, nonchalant acceptance of death comes as a sharp contrast to the otherwise portrayed struggle to live.

The two salesmen of novelty entertainment items serve as the only constant characters throughout the film and they are the funniest of them all. "We want to help people have fun", they proclaim in the most unenthusiastic manner as they go on to demonstrate their articles, mostly by manipulating their way to a potential customer. The only article they have most faith in, meets with great success for them in a way, but proves to be a losing prospect to one man it is demonstrated to.

Themes of nostalgia and the days of yore being associated with the good life are evoked wit the wonderful vignette of Limping Lotta's bar and its old world charm. A melancholic sentiment about the good ol' days is palpable with the decrepit old regular customer being the only one to have been in the golden days of the bar, now reduced to an almost deaf man, unable to hear much, aurally shielded from the wicked modern world!

The story of a uniformed army officer, Ove Bergius, who can't seem to make it to a venue for an important lecture, seems to dwell upon the theme of a sense of longing and unfulfillment about something that one eagerly desires but could not achieve. Bergius is shown checking the venue at least twice in different scenes, hoping to catch the lecture he missed, also thinking that perhaps he misinterpreted the day and time!

Later with the breaking of the fourth wall, it is revealed that he took great efforts, but the lecture was, in fact, cancelled, and he is perhaps stuck in some kind of psychological limbo, hoping for it to be held again! This same vignette is paralleled with the story of a Flamenco instructor's unrequited love for one of her younger students.

Bergius' story may not be as random as it seems. Towards the end comes a sequence about a person's confusion about the day of the week. "If you can't keep track, chaos will reign", warns a bystander. Could Bergius' suspicion of his misinterpretation of the day and time be in fact, a chaotic consequence of a disappointment over a missed opportunity, despite being very particular about the timing on that fateful occasion?

The temporal mix-up takes a literal turn in one of the most outrageous sequences; the bizarre episode of the appearance of King Charles XII and his army in a modern day bar. The explicit anachronism here directly mirrors the a loss of the track of time. Time folds upon itself; a form of chaos! Charles XII reappears, lost and wounded, after establishing his presence with a bang, reaffirming how ups and downs are part of life and there are phases in every existence. Even kings are brought to their knees and have to wait in line for their turn to use the toilet! In the vast scope of the universe, all human beings are, but just ordinary human beings.

Some very nuanced behavioural observations about people lead to tremendous conclusions and profound lessons in a satisfying existence. A girl takes a moment to remove a pebble in her shoe and it gives Jonathan (one of the salesmen) an awakening of sorts; if there is a pebble, remove it, and move on; don't endure it. A nightmare about his involvement in a rather terrible deed gives his thoughts an even more philosophical bent.

All the while, pigeons, not seen, but heard, look at all these sights from branches, watching, reflecting, musing; gazing upon the lives of these human beings; a race dying a slow death; a symbolic reverse of the opening scene of an old, pale man gazing at a dead, stuffed pigeon on a branch displayed in a glass chamber. Every once in a while there is the dreadful mocking laughter that is heard from one of the salesmen's novelty entertainment items. Whenever that laughter comes on screen, it almost seems like the laugh is on these hapless creatures.

"A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence" is a refreshingly original film by Roy Andersson; a masterpiece that balances pathos with wry humour, replete with repetitions and deadpan non sequitur tapped to a deliciously comic effect, inducing a constant smile and a nervous chuckle every once in a while. Its multiple short snippets will not only entertain you with the savagely funny writing, but also give you something deep to reflect upon.

Score: 10/10

Force Majeure (2014)

You are out somewhere in the company of your close-knit family. You are a healthy family with a strong bond established over the years. You are well-respected in your family and everyone looks up to you. It's a happy, glorious day and everyone's having a good time. And suddenly out of nowhere, you are faced with a possible force majeure, a so-called act of God, an unforeseen cataclysmic event. You act on impulse, the first thing that comes to your mind, albeit not the most ideal thing to do. In the end, everyone is safe and sound. But your instinctive reaction becomes a parameter of your being and significantly ends up altering your image in the eyes of your loved ones.

Swedish filmmaker Ruben Östlund presents an unusual scenario such as this, hardly ever explored in cinema, as the central premise of his refreshingly original new film, "Force Majeure" (2014). A sweet, happy little family of four, Tomas (Johannes Kuhnke), his wife Ebba (Lisa Loven Kongsli) and their two kids go out on a skiing trip to the French Alps. It's all going well until at lunch one day, there occurs, what's actually a controlled avalanche charging straight towards the family.

Only it appears to go a little too out of control, prima facie, giving everyone a shock of their lives. As a result, Tomas who initially rubbishes any possibility of danger, suddenly goes for the run the next second, seemingly as a reflex, leaving the kids and his wife behind. The avalanche, sure enough, settles at a safe distance. The frame goes all white. And then the thick fog clears within a minute. Everyone returns to their table. No harm done, no one is hurt. Well, not physically at least, but this controlled avalanche triggers an almost uncontrollable avalanche of emotions that disturbs the peace of the family. 

Via some clever writing and characterization, deliciously soaked in some savagely funny dark humour, Östlund presents a fascinating psychological study of differing perceptions and varying magnitudes of reaction to a single incident. Through the situation of a genuine scare and the petrifying feeling of having had a brush with death, Östlund explores a shift in family dynamics and several other quirks of human nature that lay exposed in the aftermath. On one hand, he examines a man's primal instinct in the face of death or any other grave danger. On the other, he paints a very realistic and instantly relatable picture of the effects of this action on his image stemming from the judgmental tendencies of others around him, specifically his loved ones. 

Post the episode, Ebba is broken-hearted. She loses sleep and develops a strong feeling of doubt and insecurity. A sense of trust built over the years in her husband is suddenly shattered. The hilarity of it all stems from how Ebba is simply unable to let go of the incident and the feeling. She even harps on about how Tomas remembered to take his phone along but didn't bother to look at the kids (a dig at the addiction of the modern man to his phone?). In the end it is all fine, but she keeps bringing the topic up in front of complete strangers, and ends up making a whole gathering rather awkward to sit through. It is not unconvincing at all, given Ebba's take on the whole definition of family bonding and mutual trust, which we are given a hint of in an earlier scene in which she gets all worked up about a supposedly committed female friend's casual wantonness.

In one of the best scenes of the film, Tomas' old friend Mats (Kristofer Hivju) visits with his very young girlfriend. A drunk Ebba brings up the subject again, leaving the atmosphere all unpleasant and Tomas all embarrassed and dejected. Mats breaks the ice with a long explanation, all the while defending his old pal with justifications that range from extremely logical to immensely hilarious.

Kudos to Mr. Östlund for penning and directing such obvious reactions from his characters, given their personae. We can't help but chuckle at the ensuing debate and the farce of it all, despite seeing a weepy, disappointed Ebba on screen and her nervous restlessness. But for all her quashed expectations about her husband, and allegations of irresponsibility, we get a glimpse of how Ebba's own sense of responsibility is questionable, in at least two nuanced scenes that Östlund slyly inserts. And just when we think the genius can't go any farther, we see the baton of over-analysis being passed on to this new couple of Mats and his girl who continue the argument all the way to their own hotel room. Mats is now all sleepless, the bug firmly planted in his head, fueled by an innocuous passing remark made by his girl. Brilliant writing all the way! 

Meanwhile, all poor Tomas needs is a slight ego boost after a mighty fall in his wife's eyes, and in yet another outstanding sequence in an open bar on the Alps, he gets one, only momentarily. Adding to his woes is a chicken sticker stuck on his hotel room door that he furiously goes on to remove. It could very well have been put there by the kids playing around and the cartoon of the chicken a mere coincidence, but it adds a funny little salt-in-the-wound touch. But one can't rule out the possibility of it being an anonymous prank either. Could it be Ebba who does it just to rub it in? Or that mysterious house-keeping guy who always watches the couple from a distance? He doesn't fit in curve of the film except as merely an observer who somehow reminds of the enigmatic silent observer seen in Krzysztof Kieślowski's "The Decalogue". 

Östlund is careful not to miss out the finer details while focusing on his primary characters, and thus ensures that he also shifts the spotlight on the kids once in a while. The children begin to realize that something is amiss between their parents and are scared that they might divorce. Peace and family harmony seems to be irrevocably destroyed, at least until the final act. But a meticulous writer that Östlund is, he skilfully avoids contrivances and cliches and wraps it up in a very satisfying and convincing manner. He even adds a tinge of some romanticism and a fairy tale flavour that references a pertinent point about how we have all grown up hearing fables of heroism and chivalry, but reality is a completely different ball game. 

Östlund pulls it off with stupendous performances from all of the primary cast, most notably, Lisa Loven Kongsli as the emotional wreck, Ebba and Kristofer Hivju, as Mats. Hivju gets about three major scenes and completely chews the scenery with his bravura supporting act. If it is not the drama that keeps you transfixed while you enjoy the engaging character interactions, it is the fabulous cinematography that captures the beautiful landscapes of the Alps that mesmerize you and entice you to go on a skiing trip.

"Force Majeure" is a unique, sparkling little gem of a dramedy from the Scandinavian land that deserves all the attention. Standing ovation, Mr. Ruben Östlund.

Score: 10/10

The Silence (Tystnaden) (1963)

Sometimes words aren’t necessary to convey meaning or emotion. Quiet is as effective as any spoken language or detailed text. Master filmmaker Ingmar Bergman’s “The Silence (Tystnaden)” which shocked the audience at the time of its release goes way ahead of its time and proves just that.

Writing about the plot isn’t going to serve any purpose here. There isn’t a conventional “plot” to speak of. “The Silence” mostly explores the three principal characters and their emotional chemistry. Right from the first frame, in a train compartment we are introduced to sisters Anna (Gunnel Lindblom) and Ester (Ingrid Thulin). They are accompanied by Anna’s son Johan (Jörgen Lindström), a boy of about 10. Instantly we gain knowledge that something isn’t right between the sisters. We also know that Ester seems to be seriously ill with some kind of terminal illness, and Anna perhaps considers her a burden.

They halt at some huge but sparsely occupied hotel in “Timoka”. The country also seems to be on the brink of war. The language spoken there is unknown to the sisters and the locals themselves hardly communicate and if they do, in some incomprehensible language. The rest of the film follows the three characters as they spend their time in this hotel, their interactions  with the locals despite the unfamiliarity with the language at the same time, partially revealing some hidden truths about their desires, feelings, and some baffling ambiguities in their mutual relationships…..

Ingmar Bergman does an astounding job of conveying a plethora of emotions through powerful images capable of creating a tremendous impact on the viewer. As mentioned earlier, the dialog is sparse, perhaps a couple of conversations between the sisters and Johan. What  fills this canvas is the eerie and unsettling mood, the outstanding sound effects, including a particularly haunting “clock ticking” sound that appears periodically. Add to that Sven Nykvist’s flawless cinematography, with the bleak images, the ghostly shadows and partially lit halls of a near empty hotel, sometimes giving it a feel of a horror film. And then there are the characters and their interactions. Their spoken words are very few, but their expressions speak volumes about the kind of feeling they harbor about one another. Ingrid Thulin’s Ester very convincingly puts it across that she resents Anna going out and having a jolly time, including indulging in sexual encounters while she has to be confined to the indoors. But what is the real cause behind her resentment? Is she jealous of Anna’s voluptuous good looks or is she attracted to them?! And what about Johan? What kind of feelings does he really have for his mother and aunt?

A lot is said but still plenty is left unsaid. This is where the beauty of Bergman’s narration lies. And he couldn’t have handled it better. It is like partially opening the curtains of a window so you can just see part of the scenery that lies on the other side. The other half is left to imagination and interpretation. It is a frustrating as well as rewarding experience all at the same time.

Ingrid Thulin and Gunnel Lindblom go all out with their bravura performances. Thulin is a clear winner here as she gives a nuanced performance of an ailing writer who seeks refuge in alcohol self-medication. Her subtle display of controlled rage of being at the receiving end of nothing but spite from her younger sister along with a couple other acts of alarming intensity, all amount to one of the finest female performances I’ve ever seen. Lindblom looks gorgeous with her bewitching good looks. But she isn’t far behind with her acting either. Check out Anna’s display of searing animosity for her more intelligent elder sister. Or await that hysterical outburst towards the end. It is a breathtaking performance worth a standing ovation. The boy Jorgen Lindstrom does a superb job too, as the innocent little tyke, neglected by his mother, who keeps wandering around the empty hotel. His scenes with the Spanish performing dwarfs and the kindly old porter at the hotel are especially noteworthy.

The signature shot of 'overlapping faces', made more famous by Bergman's "Persona" later.

With the shocking imagery and some brief but daring scenes of lurid eroticism (for the time), this could very well be Bergman’s boldest film. There was considerable controversy regarding the film’s content in Sweden and other countries at the time, leading to some heavy censorship.

“Tystnaden (The Silence)” is an intensely devastating and mesmerizing character study from the Swedish master and deserves to be ranked amongst his finest; the controversies surrounding the film notwithstanding.

Score: 10/10.