Reflections on characters and themes in "Soylent Green"

 

Reflections on characters and themes in “Soylent Green”

Directed by Richard Fleischer

Screenplay by Stanley R Greenberg, based on a novel by Harry Harrison

Starring Charlton Heston, Edward G Robinson, Leigh Taylor-Young,

Chuck Connors and Joseph Cotten

Using the premise of an investigation into the murder of a wealthy businessman, “Soylent Green” presents a series of warnings concerning the future consequences of the deterioration of Earth’s environment and ecosystem, especially on human society and the direction it may take in trying to cope with these consequences.

Virtual exhaustion of natural resources combined with climate change and overpopulation have produced extreme pressure on living space, water and food supplies, issues concerning both employment and unemployment (where jobs are lost after just two days’ absence), the introduction of voluntary euthanasia and generalised poverty. With little chance of change or betterment, hope for the future is all but been extinguished, leading to a lack of self-esteem, degradation and dehumanisation as all battle to survive.

There is something of a gulf between the lifestyle of the wealthy few and the penury and misery of the masses. Private companies control power and the provision of food and water, with executives colluding with politicians to enjoy luxuries such as spacious apartments (complete with concubine), hot water, soap, traditional foodstuffs as opposed to tasteless nutrition bars and even alcoholic beverages, as they put profit and personal advancement above humanity and principle.

However, one executive named Simonson has discovered the drastic and morally repugnant lengths to which his food-producing company, Soylent, will go to maintain its share of this profitable market and, unhappy with the situation, is making waves.

Simonson has discovered that as the ecosystems of the seas are failing, the farming of plankton used to produce Soylent Green is also failing and so Soylent has turned to a more readily available but socially unacceptable source for its food supply. They treat and process dead bodies to provide their nutrition bars and, fearing public revulsion and rejection, they go to considerable lengths to ensure secrecy and security are maintained.

Simonson, however, finds this disrespect and degradation hard to live with. He becomes introverted, shies away from sexual contact with his concubine Shirl, goes to church and confides in a priest (on whom the news has an equally shocking effect) and he is even willing to accept his own assassination as he understands the company’s motives and priorities but he may also be so disgusted with himself and the decaying and hopeless society to which he has contributed that he welcomes death as an escape.

Considered a threat to the continued success and survival of the company, the board orders his assassination and a policeman named Thorn is assigned to investigate.

Thorn is a product of his time and can usefully be compared to his academic professional partner, the elderly Sol Roth.

Thorn displays acceptance, apathy and a willingness to profit from his position, though his limited form of looting appears to be accepted as the norm in a time and place where each must do what he or she has to do to make life easier and survive. Yet there is a limit to Thorn’s apparent apathy and cynicism. Simonson’s murder evokes or rekindles his professionalism as he detects signs of conspiracy and indications this is more than just an opportunist murder. He displays a determination to uncover truth and does not concede to threats.

He is willing to use Shirl sexually but he develops some sympathy and compassion when he is drawn to see Shirl and her fellow concubines (whose treatment may be viewed as embodying the exploitation of the many by the powerful few) as victims of abuse and this leads to something of an awakening and a deepening of feelings.

Sol Roth is an old man who is able to recall when times were better in his past and he makes negative comparisons with his present, also inviting the audience to appreciate its present as opposed to this potential future.

He is a man of education, taste and principle and he is a warning to us all not to take social standards, humanity and the environment for granted as things can slip very quickly in a time of change and given the right circumstances. This is emphasised at his funeral when Thorn views images and hears sounds that inform him and remind us of the beauty and abundance of the Earth’s resources and how easily that might change.

The storyline links environmental issues with social structures and outcomes dependent on corporate management and profit margins. It presents a clear warning not just about the consequences for society of plundering natural resources, but also of the plundering of the vast majority for the financial and social benefits of the tiny minority.

All told, I find this an engaging and thought-provoking thriller which is flawed and lacks variety of tone. I felt that by and large characters were perhaps underdeveloped or underwritten with the possible exception of Sol Roth whose scenes are among the best in the film as they convey drama, humour and tragedy.

Essentially, this is a concept film in which the ideas to be conveyed are the true stars and these ideas are certainly driven home, but at the expense of the potential alienation of the audience. The abject misery and dystopian lack of hope throughout and especially at the end may have been perceived as a wake-up call and warning by those involved in the production of this intriguing and provocative film, but they risk inducing in their audience the very apathy and sense of hopelessness portrayed in the film, especially when the film is populated by largely unsympathetic characters.

Charlton Heston is engaging and provides a powerful presence though, as suggested earlier, Thorn’s evolution should have been better drawn if we are to have much sympathy for this often unpleasant character.

Edward G Robinson plays his relatively small but essential role to maximum effect and produces a well-rounded performance in what was to be his final role.

My thanks for taking the time to read this article. I hope you found it of some value.

 

Stuart Fernie (stuartfernie@yahoo.co.uk)

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Reflections on characters and themes in "Bad Day at Black Rock"

 

Reflections on “Bad Day at Black Rock” (1954)

Directed by John Sturges

Written by Millard Kaufman

Starring Spencer Tracy, Robert Ryan, Walter Brennan, Dean Jagger,

 Ernest Borgnine, Lee Marvin and Anne Francis

 

“Bad Day at Black Rock” offers a unique blend of genres, with elements of a thriller, crime drama, revisionist western, film noir and even, to a limited degree, of martial arts.

John Macreedy, a second world war veteran who lost his left arm in battle in Italy, steps off a train shortly after the end of the war in 1945 at the isolated hamlet of Black Rock in the Californian Desert in search of a man named Komoko, a resident of nearby Adobe Flat. He also steps into a small barren community governed by secrecy, fear and conspiracy, and Macreedy’s suspicions are raised as he encounters a decidedly unfriendly and even hostile reception.

By way of taut pacing, terse character development, excellent use of the isolated location bathed in radiant and illuminating light and surrounded by pressure-inducing searing heat, writer Kaufman and director Sturges steadily build tension, conflict and threat as Macreedy uncovers the truth about Komoko’s fate. He died violently at the hands of a local mob in the aftermath of the attack on Pearl Harbor, and Macreedy seems set to face a similar end as he tries to involve the authorities and then leave town.

This stripped-back setting and these sinister events make for an exciting and highly engaging thriller and crime drama in their own right, but the scope and interest of the film are extended and compounded by the involvement of racism as a motivating factor, and are further enhanced by a swipe at McCarthyism as characters are pressured to conform to and support views or actions that they might not, normally, embrace.

Farmer Komoko is killed by local kingpin Reno Smith, accompanied by some henchmen, as they project responsibility and guilt for the heinous act of attacking Pearl Harbor onto Komoko, merely because he shares the nationality of those actually responsible. Smith’s humiliation at Komoko’s hard work and success in unearthing water on land rented from Smith and consequently making a go of farming it, combined with Smith’s rejection on health grounds by the draft board, may also have contributed to this egomaniac’s disproportionate desire for condemnation and revenge and suggests personal rather than, as he sees it, vaguely principled, if quite irrational, reasons for his actions.

The senselessness and illogicality of racism (by which I mean the apportioning of responsibility and blame due simply to nationality, ethnicity or culture) is accentuated by the fact Macreedy’s life was saved by Komoko’s son (a serving member of the American military) but he lost his life and Macreedy simply wishes to pass on to Komoko the medal awarded to his son for bravery. These citizens of Japanese descent therefore embodied many of the characteristics rightly held so high by American citizens, including, presumably, Reno Smith and his cohort.

The small town of Black Rock may exemplify the small minds that inhabit it. Smith appears to lack the empathy, compassion or social awareness required to understand the depth of his crime. He wields considerable financial and social influence in his town and as such he exercises influence and control over most of the residents. Some offer him blind loyalty and obedience while others retain enough integrity and independence for their consciences to bother them but they lack the leadership and guidance to motivate and encourage them to challenge a situation they know to be wrong but which they have accepted through fear and a sense of allegiance to their friends, neighbours and employers, as well as a natural inclination toward self-preservation.

However, John Macreedy represents reason, objectivity, determination and integrity, and he lights their fuse of heart-searching, challenge and indignation, provoking them into taking action to seek justice and save Macreedy.

Smith acts to exercise his values, as he sees them, and maintain his freedom, but this is clearly at the expense of others’ freedom and rights. This can certainly be viewed as an oblique reference to the era of McCarthyism in vogue at the time of the film’s release, with the implication that individuals should summon the courage and strength to defy attempts to impose conformity and adherence to a prescribed position at the expense of thought, freedom and perhaps morality, a message that holds good today.

This film is expertly crafted and builds tension, suspense and excitement while inviting reflection on morality and social duty before reaching its explosive and satisfying end.

Spencer Tracy was undoubtedly a little too old for his role as Macreedy but his very age, experience and appearance add much to many scenes, especially the scene in which he defends himself in the bar/diner using some karate moves, suggesting there is much we can learn from the culture of others rather than simply reject it.

Other roles are played equally well and contribute greatly to this excellent thought-provoking thriller.

My thanks for taking the time to read this article. I hope you found it of some value.

Stuart Fernie (stuartfernie@yahoo.co.uk)        BLOG       YOUTUBE

Reflections on the tone and film noir roots of Michael Crichton's "The First Great Train Robbery"

 

Reflections on “The First Great Train Robbery”

Written and directed by Michael Crichton

Starring Sean Connery, Lesley-Anne Down and Donald Sutherland

At the risk of stating the obvious, we watch different films for different reasons and to satisfy different desires. We may watch to be inspired, challenged or educated, but I imagine we all have a number of films we know we can return to again and again if we want to relax, be entertained or have our spirits raised. For me, these films include the early Bond films, the French comedy “Le Dîner de Cons” and “The First Great Train Robbery”.

While “The First Great Train Robbery” may not appeal to everyone – it has been accused of unfolding at a leaden pace and it is not punctuated with spectacular action sequences every few minutes – I appreciate and enjoy the carefully constructed and finely honed script which shares the adventures and misadventures of a small band of rogues as they contrive to steal a fortune in gold bars from a moving train in the England of 1855.

This witty, playful and self-aware piece of entertainment is built around three main elements – film noir roots, conspiratorial humour and joyous performances from a cast who seem to love the material with which they are working.

Truly amusing comic films noirs are very rare and are to be savoured. I can think of only a handful of films that toy with the existence of morality without indulging in a moody and perhaps unsettling or grim tone, films such as “We’re No Angels”, “Kind Hearts and Coronets” and “Arsenic and Old Lace”.

In our film, no-one is truly innocent or worthy of admiration. Behind the façade of Victorian uprightness, virtually all the characters manipulate and conspire to further their own ends with little thought of compassion or consideration for others. We are in classic film noir territory in which it is every man for himself as all do what they can and must to survive, though this is presented in a light-hearted way.

The absence of morality and adherence to truth and trust is gently and playfully alluded to frequently in the course of the film. Charming conman Edward Pierce smiles broadly and answers “No” when lady friend Miriam asks if he ever tells the truth, his ironic response leaving us and Miriam none the wiser and inviting us to treat with suspicion every utterance from this master conman.

Toward the end of the film, when Pierce is asked by the prosecutor if he had no moral misgivings or sense of misconduct when planning and executing his crime, he replies that he doesn’t understand the question, suggesting no recognition of societal codes, legal or moral, and a devotion to self-interest.

The audience is involved from the start in the film’s criminal scheme and is introduced early on to Pierce’s cold-hearted professionalism when he regards the death of a co-conspirator as a mere setback in his plans. We effectively conspire with our charming rogues as the details of the plan are revealed to us and we share complications, disappointments and successes, all laced with a conspiratorial humour – comments and reactions that gently mock other characters and whose meanings often only we in the audience will truly understand.

Characterisation along with audience engagement are developed as the plot, involving the copying of four keys, unfolds. Each mini episode takes place at a fairly leisurely pace and focus and suspense are maintained by wit, character and story development rather than spectacular but often mindless and contrived antics we see so often in modern adventure thrillers.

The tone is kept light, entertaining and playful, though there are moments of tension and fright, especially during the heist itself, and this is reinforced and enhanced by Jerry Goldsmith’s excellent musical soundtrack which does much to set the mood of the film.

Michael Crichton’s direction may seem laboured to some, but it plays on the pace of Victorian life, prudish and hypocritical outlooks and the game of manners of the time, all gently mocked and used to deliver a light comedy adventure told with the oblique engagement of the audience.

The alluring Lesley-Anne Down reveals impressive comic timing yet is convincing in more serious moments, while Donald Sutherland seems to thoroughly enjoy his turn as the enthusiastic but perhaps not too bright Agar.

For his part, Sean Connery displays the comic touch and conspiratorial humour that made his Bond films original and enduring, and these qualities are perfect for his role in this often-underrated film.

My thanks for taking the time to read this article. I hope you found it of some value.

Stuart Fernie (stuartfernie@yahoo.co.uk)

 

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Reflections on The Dreyfus Affair with reference to "I accuse!", "Prisoner of Honor", "An Officer and a Spy" and the Enlightenment Movement.

 

Reflections on The Dreyfus Affair

with reference to “I accuse” (1958), “Prisoner of Honor” (1991)

 and “J’accuse” / “An Officer and a Spy” (2019)

and The Enlightenment Movement

 

The Dreyfus Affair might have been a relatively straightforward case of detecting the actions and identity of a spy among French military authorities and convicting him, but it developed into a hugely complex, influential and divisive event that started in 1894 and continued until 1906. I shall attempt to provide a cursory synopsis of what it was about before discussing, briefly, three films on the subject and then offering my own thoughts on these events and, as I see it, their correlation with the Enlightenment Movement.

Having discovered, in 1894, the existence of a spy/informer in their midst, responsible for the sale of sensitive information to the German Empire, the high command of the French Army sought to act rapidly and quietly in identifying the culprit in order to avoid embarrassment and any loss of confidence among the French people. As a result of this pressure, a lack of professionalism and cultural and personal prejudice against Jews, Jewish officer Alfred Dreyfus was quickly accused and convicted of high treason. Those in authority were sure they had their man but his conviction was the result of scant and insubstantial investigation and evidence combined with dubious courtroom proceedings.

The situation was aggravated and misdeeds compounded when the newly appointed head of military intelligence, Colonel Georges Picquart, gathered evidence that pointed to a different suspect and therefore cast doubt on the conviction of Dreyfus, but this was refuted and rejected by those who now sought to protect the army’s reputation and status, as well as their own. However, Picquart’s belief in truth and justice was such that he could not allow the innocent Dreyfus to be sacrificed for the sake of the army’s standing and he, along with a number of like-minded luminaries, including Emile Zola, persisted in pursuing the case, leading to pain, challenge and conflict for all concerned, indeed virtually the entire nation, until Dreyfus was exonerated and reinstated in the army in 1906.

I first became acquainted with the Dreyfus Affair when I heard reference made to Dreyfus in the film “Papillon” in 1973. I read a couple of articles which gave me a rudimentary knowledge of events and issues, but it was only when I saw “Prisoner of Honor” several years later, and considered using it as an element of a study course with pupils, that I realised the depth and scope of the issues raised, and I connected these events to the principles of the Enlightenment Movement, at least in my mind.

Since then, I have done some further research and watched two more films on the subject – “I accuse!”, made in 1958 by José Ferrer, and “J’accuse” or “An Officer and a Spy” made by Roman Polansky in 2019. Each film, and I include “Prisoner of Honor” made by Ken Russell in 1991, has much to recommend it and all three reveal similar reasons for the miscarriage of justice at the hub of the affair.

“I accuse!” and “Prisoner of Honor” both establish Major Ferdinand Esterhazy as the true spy from the start and thus arouse indignation at the ill-founded arrest of Alfred Dreyfus. The unveiling of evidence against Esterhazy and in favour of Dreyfus’s innocence is told with an almost journalistic distance, as if offering historical observation. Both are highly engaging and offer understanding depictions of all the characters and their motivations, even those responsible for Dreyfus’s incarceration, though there is never any doubt regarding the injustice they are doing to Dreyfus.

“J’accuse” or “An Officer and a Spy” is more of a detective thriller as we follow the trail Picquart pursues and we share his doubts, questions and frustrations regarding the case against Dreyfus and the authorities’ refusal to recognise the injustice that had been done. We also share the consequences for Picquart as he puts truth, justice and professionalism above orders and career. Sombre and intensely realistic, “J’accuse” offers an authentic, clear-minded and involving account of events.

It seems to me that this affair is a tale of incompetence and a lack of professionalism, fuelled by antisemitism, on the part of complacent and self-satisfied authorities consumed by position and pride rather than responsibility and accountability.

The case was eventually won by an insistence on the burden of proof and the principle of accountability as opposed to faith in the judgement of the elite who governed. This was a clear, if convoluted and lengthy victory for advocates of the principles of the Enlightenment Movement of the eighteenth century, the repercussions of which spread and reverberated throughout nineteenth century society and politics.

Very roughly, the Enlightenment Movement questioned the necessary existence of God and God-given morality, and therefore challenged the basis of the authority of those who governed with a mix of political and religious power at that time. Decisions and judgements were to be based on the concepts of reason, justice and equality as opposed to personal or religious conviction, or commercial advantage, and this Movement may be said to have influenced events such as the Mutiny on the Bounty, the French Revolution, and the general move toward democracy and accountability in the nineteenth century.

To me, the Dreyfus Affair does much to encapsulate what the Enlightenment was all about. The authorities wished to maintain the façade of the infallibility of the hierarchy, requiring faith in the unchallenged judgement of the governing elite, principally to maintain the trust and confidence of the people. However, the trust and the confidence of the people are likely to be eroded by inattention to fairness, justice and truth as, if these values are denied to any one individual in a society, they may be denied to all.

The state is the totality of the individuals who form it. If one such individual is sacrificed unjustly for the benefit of the state, or its image, this damages the very foundations of a state whose purpose is to protect, defend and nurture its component parts. Such a principle should not be sacrificed to self-protection, ambition and greed. Pride should be derived not from position and authority, but from the way society treats its individual members.

In the case of the Dreyfus Affair, recognition of the existence of objective truth was resisted in favour of a stance that supported particular political and social viewpoints and ambitions. It is, perhaps, a sad reflection on these modern times and human nature that some of today’s politicians and so-called community leaders and their followers persist in denying truth and facts, preferring to promote their own distorted and inaccurate versions of events to advance their own ideology and ambitions.

 

My thanks for taking the time to read this article. I hope you found it of some value.

Stuart Fernie (stuartfernie@yahoo.co.uk)

 

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Reflections on characters and themes in Ingmar Bergman's "Persona"

 

Reflections on “Persona”

Written and directed by Ingmar Bergman

Starring Bibi Andersson and Liv Ullmann

Ingmar Bergman’s intriguing and deliberately perplexing film has prompted many interpretations and while I cannot know what Mr Bergman’s original intentions were, I did come up with a few ideas that helped me chart a way through the film and while this is by no means a full analysis, I thought I would offer these few thoughts and notes as a start point to engaging with the film and as a minor contribution to the debate inspired by it.

In the middle of a performance, actress Elizabeth Vogler stops, looks around as if she is seeing things clearly for the first time, laughs and then ceases speaking. She withdraws from the world and takes to her bed, and Elizabeth’s doctor assigns nurse Alma to care for her. We then follow Alma and Elizabeth’s experiences in trying to effect Elizabeth’s recovery in a summer house on the coast.

Elizabeth Vogler is having an existential crisis, a breakdown if you will. In the midst of her performance, she suddenly sees in the fabric of society a tissue of lies, fabrications, pretences and falsehoods. Just as she is pretending to be someone else whose emotions and reactions she is faking, she sees she is surrounded by people who also act as they lie, pretend and compromise constantly in life.

The absurdity of this realisation causes her to laugh but also evokes a desire to no longer participate in this great existential conspiracy and turning away from truth, and so she ceases to communicate and seeks to withdraw from society.

She has a short and somewhat dry and academic conversation with her doctor who confirms Elizabeth’s breakdown and allows her (and us) to understand the situation, though of course this abstract diagnosis offers nothing in terms of a solution.

Thus, nursing sister Alma is employed to care for Elizabeth. She will provide a form of therapy in the hope of encouraging Elizabeth to re-engage with the world, and she hopes to achieve this through open discussion, sympathy and emotional engagement.

However, in my opinion, the key to understanding what is going on here is to recognise that Alma is the product of Elizabeth’s psyche, fabricated to help her heal from her breakdown. Come to that, I would suggest the scenes involving her doctor and perhaps even all the scenes in the hospital are also fabrications of her mind. The conversation with the doctor giving an analysis of Elizabeth’s condition may be based on a memory, but it is too dry, condensed and unfeeling to be “real”. This is Elizabeth’s hurt recollection of being more or less dismissed – bear in mind the doctor suggests this is another role she should simply play out until she tires of it. Indeed, this may be the reason Elizabeth invented Alma as an instrument of helping herself.

The scenes between Alma and the doctor are also inventions of Elizabeth’s mind. The rooms are very plain with little detail and are quite nebulous, suggesting a dream-like nature, and the conversation between the two is fairly abrupt, business-like and unconvincing. Really, this is Elizabeth’s attempt to justify and convince herself of Alma’s usefulness by way of the authority-figure of the doctor.

When Alma goes on to introduce herself to Elizabeth, her speech rather resembles a character synopsis you might find in the preface of a play, betraying, perhaps, her true roots and Elizabeth’s mindset.

At the beach house, Alma speaks to Elizabeth with familiarity, sweetness and affection. She speaks with a childlike openness, innocence and purity, reflecting that part of Elizabeth’s psyche – the sweet innocent girl she once was before being “corrupted” by society, self-awareness and ambition. Alma’s purpose is to draw Elizabeth back from disappointment, disillusion and despair. She is there to offer a different perspective, gentle at first but becoming more assertive in time, while also seeking understanding and clarification as to how Elizabeth arrived at this juncture in her life. When Alma speaks, Elizabeth is effectively speaking to and debating with herself.

Alma recounts a tale from her past, offering an account, or a memory for Elizabeth, of how she and a friend had sex on a beach with a couple of complete strangers, and this was the greatest sexual experience of her life, before and after the event. The reason? This was an act of pure, unbridled pleasure that involved no relationship, pretence, compromise or façade such as she would undoubtedly go on to encounter in her more socially traditional experiences, and this will prove relevant to events at the beach house.

When Elizabeth’s husband visits the beach house unexpectedly, he speaks sincerely and seriously to Alma but he clearly sees Elizabeth, despite Alma’s protests she is not his wife. He shows patient understanding and sympathy, and both share words of encouragement and love, with Alma treating him like her husband and this culminates in intimacy during which Alma tells him he is a wonderful lover but then gets very upset and once again claims she is sick of lies and pretence.

Alma is Elizabeth and she gets upset because her husband is not her greatest lover, as we now know, but she feels she has to engage in lies and pretence in order to flatter and appease her husband, the type of conduct Elizabeth has rejected and seeks to escape.

When Alma and Elizabeth have a face-to-face discussion regarding Elizabeth’s coldness toward her son, Alma is clearly aware of Elizabeth’s innermost feelings and fears, and she helps Elizabeth confront her own fear of responsibility, genuine emotion and devotion, with no room for social fakery and acting.

As time passes, Alma and Elizabeth’s personas seem to draw on one another and get ever closer. While Alma still displays love and affection, she becomes visibly and audibly more assertive as she tries to break through Elizabeth’s emotional isolation, suggesting Elizabeth recognises the progress that has been made and she will not allow herself to regress. Indeed, at one point their two faces are conjoined, suggesting potentially conflicting attitudes and outlooks in a single person and a need to come to terms with this by showing compassion and exercising self-control.

At the end, just one person gets on the bus to begin her journey home. Alma and Elizabeth have become one.

 

A true and intense psychological drama, “Persona” gives us an insight into the workings of the mind as it takes us along for Elizabeth’s journey to recovery, aided by alter ego Alma.

I can’t say this is an easy film, but it is intriguing, stimulating and rewarding.

 

My thanks for taking the time to read this article. I hope you found it of some value.

Stuart Fernie (stuartfernie@yahoo.co.uk)

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Reflections on characters and themes in Ingmar Bergman’s “The Seventh Seal”

 

Reflections on “The Seventh Seal”

Written and directed by Ingmar Bergman

Starring Max Von Sydow, Gunnar Bjornstrand,

 Bibi Andersson, Nils Poppe et al

A video presentation of this material is available here.

Antonius Block is a Swedish knight returning home from the Crusades with his faithful squire and right-hand man, Jöns. We join them as they wake up on a rocky beach looking out onto a vast expanse of water, and the personification of death arrives to take Block but Block persuades Death to delay his mission while they play a game of chess over the coming days.

We will follow Block as he and Jöns continue their journey home and encounter a variety of people and situations in the process, and we will be invited to reflect upon themes such as faith, religious views and their impact on society, the effect of experience and thought on belief, the nature of happiness and nothing less than what is meaningful in life.

The opening scenes involving Death and the game of life and death he plays with Block (encapsulated by chess as it involves planning, challenge and purpose) brilliantly set the framework, tone and purpose of the film.

In this concept film, presented in a historical context to help clarify his themes, writer and director Bergman presents his ideas through characters who are rich and colourful enough to engage our interest but who exist principally to illustrate the points he wishes to make.

Antonius Block has been described as disillusioned and his squire Jöns as cynical, but I would suggest they merit closer and more precise evaluation and even that these characters complement one another to such an extent and are so intrinsically connected that together they form one complete whole.

Briefly, Block represents the spiritual and directional element of human understanding and experience while Jöns tends to what is practical and physical.

When conversing with Death, Block states his body is ready for death but he (meaning his spirit or soul) is not. Essential to this spirituality is his belief in God, but Block has started to question his faith. This is verbalised in later scenes, but this issue is clear from the opening scenes on the beach when Block begins to pray and we see that his eyes are open and he lowers his hands, indicating his doubts, doubts that will have a devastating effect on his outlook on life. Indeed, the rocky beach looking out onto a vast expanse of water may possibly suggest they are on the border of what is known and unknown and perhaps represents Block’s equally rocky mental state and anguish over the breach between known experience and uncertain faith.

Jöns cannot really be described as cynical as he is not self-interested and does not reject integrity or humanity to pursue his own ends. He may be disillusioned and disappointed by the conduct of some of his fellow men but he applies standards of humanity and justice in his dealings with others, saving an apparently mute girl from rape and stopping the humiliation and abuse of Jöf, an actor of whom we will hear more shortly.

It is essential to note that Jöns does not require biblical or ecclesiastical authority for his actions. He applies a moral code based on humanity and common sense, but Block seeks more. He seeks the reassurance and validation of a higher authority, that of God, and the fact he has started to lose faith in God’s existence causes him real existential angst.

There are several passages in which Block (whose name, it is tempting to think, may be inspired by so-called writer’s block, but applied to faith) vividly describes his longing for a sign of God’s existence as perceived through his senses rather than having to depend on promises and talk of miracles, a situation that clearly pains him greatly. His entire outlook is built upon belief and he has devoted years of his life, abandoning his beloved wife in the process, to a cause whose whole validity he now questions. He desperately wants to believe but experience has led to reflection and a loss of faith.

In the course of their travels, Block and Jöns encounter a variety of people whose lives are influenced to varying degrees by religious beliefs of the time, superstition, ignorance and doubt. Block and Jöns will often react but on some occasions we, the audience, are left to draw our own conclusions.

They meet a small group of itinerant entertainers, Jöf, Mia, their toddler son Mikael and Jönas Skat who appear light-hearted and relatively happy with their lot. Jöf and his small family are unburdened by matters of commerce, society, doubt or guilt. They simply offer their performance and move on, depending only on one another and are happy with that. They are content, optimistic and relatively untainted by issues, anxieties and problems faced by town dwellers whose outlook is soured by fears of the plague, its effects on their livelihoods, and superstitions and myths arising from the spread of the plague, potentially leading to the end of the world.

We learn that this small troupe of players has been hired by priests to play Death and the human spirit at the upcoming All Saints Festival in order to frighten people and presumably drive them toward the clergy. This contrasts somewhat with the relatively pure and innocent outlook of Jöf and co. Jöf even has visions and we share one which may suggest the simplicity and beauty of their religious stance – an idealised view of the Virgin Mary walking with her toddler, Jesus.

Perhaps this quality of purity appeals to the pious Block who will eventually invite Jöf and his family to join him and Jöns on their journey to his estate. His encounter with them and their simple and obvious love for one another causes him to think of his beloved wife and the life they had together, a life he abandoned through faith and a call to the Crusades, reasons he has come to regret. Perhaps seeing them and their happiness together gives him hope for the future.

When Block and Jöns arrive at a village, Block goes to a church and Jöns comes across a Dance of Death, with graphic depictions of plague-related horrors, being painted on the wall of a Hall, including one section of the mural depicting a group of people indulging in self-flagellation in an attempt to apologise to and appease God in view of man’s guilt and the assumption God sent the plague as a punishment.

The reason for these awful images?

To remind people life is short and once again to frighten them and drive them toward the clergy, but also perhaps to encourage them to do something of value before their time is up.

Shortly afterward, just such a group of self-flagellators passes through the town, to the visible distress of the inhabitants and our troupe of actors. No comment is made or is required as we recoil in horror at this extreme effect of contemporary religious thought and we are more or less invited to ask ourselves if this really could be God’s will and what purpose their pain is truly serving, especially if Block’s doubts are correct and God does not exist…

This spectacle has little effect on Jöns who appears to regard this as just another story or religious interpretation among the many he has seen and heard. Ever the pragmatic man, Jöns seems keen to get on with life and attaches no great importance to philosophy or religion.

While Jöns investigated the Dance of Death, Block sought a church and makes his confession to a figure he takes to be a priest. This scene is essential to our understanding of Block, his issues and his spiritual pain.

He confirms his spiritual obsession and disillusion, describing his indifference to his fellow man (a quality overtaken by Jöns, perhaps), his desire to believe in God and his overwhelming desire to gain knowledge of God through his senses rather than depend on nebulous faith, half-promises and perceived miracles. This question has come to govern his life and he goes so far as to suggest that without God’s existence, life is nothing but a preposterous horror filled with nothingness, and that God may only be an idol built around our fear of nothingness. Clearly, he fears his time on Earth may have served no good purpose.

Upon realising he has made his confession to Death, who remains keen to fulfil his stated mission, Block asks for a respite so he may try to produce at least one meaningful act before he leaves…

On leaving the church, Block encounters a girl in stocks who is condemned to be burned at the stake for consorting with the Devil, the consequence of fear, ignorance, assumption and resultant superstition of the time. Block is keen to speak to her as, having failed to make progress with God, he seeks answers from one who apparently has knowledge of the Devil.

Eventually, after a further encounter with the girl when she is about to be burned, Block will come to the conclusion the Devil is a figment of imagination, confirming and redoubling his anxiety about life and its meaning.

At one point, Jöns seeks fresh water in a hamlet and comes across an unscrupulous chap who steals from corpses and is about to rape a girl, advising her not to bother screaming as there is no-one and no God to hear her. Jöns recognises the man as Raval, a former monk who persuaded Block to pursue his honourable mission to the Holy Land. However, Raval has clearly not just lost faith in God but has lost all sense of morality and common decency as a result. He has become a common thief and a villain.

Jöns saves the girl and threatens Raval, displaying a code of honour and decency based on humanity and showing he is not necessarily dependent on God or his existence for direction and validation.

Interestingly, Jöns makes advances toward the girl but accepts her rejection, suggesting that in any case he is tired of mere physical love which he finds dry and perhaps lacking. Jöns, rather like Block, is apparently seeking something of greater depth and perhaps more spiritual.

Jöns goes on to apply a form of moral blackmail, suggesting the girl owes him her life and should accompany him as his housekeeper, an offer she reluctantly accepts and which perhaps illustrates the spirit of feudal servitude and personal bondage which appertained in medieval times.

In a tavern, we meet several townsfolk whose conversation and anxieties reflect attitudes and thought of the time. They discuss the practical effects of the plague on their businesses and mix this with dubious religious views and superstition, all augmenting fear and apprehension, and encouraging them to reach false conclusions due to ignorance and a desire to understand and find a solution.

In this atmosphere of fear and insecurity, Raval tries to sell a bracelet he stole from a corpse to Jöf and eventually stirs trouble for him, inciting the gathered group to humiliate Jöf and perhaps do him real harm.

In a tactic used elsewhere in history, Raval attempts to deflect attention from himself onto an innocent outsider and his efforts are well received by the crowd who may regard this situation as a means of relieving their own anxiety and forgetting their own problems and pain by promoting pain and problems for others.

This pack mentality, initiated and led by the villainous Raval, is brought to an abrupt halt by the arrival of Jöns who applies his standard of humanity and fairness and marks Raval as a villain, as he warned he would do if he saw him again…

As they make their way through the woods, using his visionary gift, Jöf manages to see Block playing chess with Death and leaves the group quite furtively with Mia and little Mikael while Block distracts Death’s attention. Block has thus fulfilled his desire to complete a meaningful act before his own death.

It would seem then, that, in the face of a Godless and meaningless existence, substance and meaning are lent to life if one does something to help others.

Accepting the inevitability of his fate, Block asks Death to reveal his secrets and knowledge, upon which Death replies, perhaps a little puzzled, that he has no secrets and he is unknowing. There is no knowledge or understanding to impart.

Once in his home and when Death comes to collect Block and his entourage, Block persists, in desperation, in asking God for mercy while realist Jöns points out there is no-one to hear him. In the face of imminent death, the supposedly mute girl aided by Jöns wears an enigmatic little smile and utters, almost in relief, “It is finished.” Perhaps she feels her feudal life of servitude was not worth continuing and this contrasts markedly with the final shots of Jöf and Mia whose optimism and appreciation of life are due in no small part to their shared love and apparent freedom from social anxiety, superstition, overthinking and the creation of issues and problems that need not exist, perhaps.

 

 

I have to confess I approached this film with considerable apprehension. I have had the DVD in my collection for some years but I resisted watching it as I thought of it as an arthouse film whose symbolism and metaphor would be beyond me, but to my great surprise I found the film quite accessible and I would thoroughly recommend it.

I found the direction and intelligent, literate script richly thought-provoking and rewarding, while the performances were uniformly engaging and at times touching.

My thanks for taking the time to read this article. I hope you found it of some value.

 

Stuart Fernie

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