Archive for Queen Christina

Autumn Smiles of a Winter Light Darkly

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , , on October 29, 2013 by dcairns

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Ran WILD STRAWBERRIES for students. As one might expect, following the plot synopsis I gave them, not as many attended this screening as had shown up for CRISS CROSS. This is a shame, as it’s a cracking film. I hadn’t actually watched it all since I was about eighteen or something, and was relieved to find it as interesting as I remembered it. Also, huge parts of it I hadn’t remembered at all, and I enjoyed those too. Afterwards, one student agreed with me that Bergman can be pretty funny.

(As I recall, I recorded the film off of BBC2’s Film Club on a Sunday night, and sat down to watch it Monday lunchtime with a plate of fish and chips. And something that happened during the dream sequence five minutes in caused me to fling my knife and fork across the room in shock, startling the spaniel.)

They just showed the film in Lyon, too, where I learned that the French call it LES FRAISES SAUVAGES. SAVAGE STRAWBERRIES. Sounds like the kind of film George Clooney might have made early on, just so he could look adorably rueful about it now.

Of course, it’s not that, and nor is it a gloomy art film (Woody Allen, in his praise of I.B,, seems to WANT him to be a gloomy Swede, and doesn’t even notice the comedy in THE SEVENTH SEAL, which is at least 50% laffs) — it’s more like an anthology genre mash-up, beginning with an expressionist horror movie dream, then becoming a road movie, with diversions into teenage romcom and Kafkaesque noir (another dream). There’s even a song. And a car crash. If only it involved the Mercedes of a comedy gay man, Jerry Bruckheimer could remake this.

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The fragmentary, tone-hopping picaresque approach allows the film to segue into flash-forwards to Bergman films he hasn’t even made yet. The protagonist (my man Victor Sjostrom) picks up a bickering married couple locked in a horrible sadomasochistic codependent purgatory. In one dream, a blackboard displays a message in an incomprehensible gibberish language, undoubtedly the same one invented for THE SILENCE.

Another student remarked that the film felt very modern compared to Hollywood films of the same era — which is true. Partly this is because it rejects genre (though as I just said, it sort of drives through a number of them); partly it’s because Bergman wasn’t subject to the same stringent censorship, which meant he could get into the habit of approaching things with a greater frankness (there’s no sex as such in the film, really, but he creates the feeling that if there were, it wouldn’t be coy); and technically, the film does some striking things which seem quite new. In particular, there’s plenty of subtle camera movement during the driving scenes, pushing in on the leads or sliding from one to the other, which of course means it’s done in a studio with rear projection background. But it’s so skillfully done it didn’t make me think of Hitchcock, but of the car scene in CHILDREN OF MEN, which reintroduced the same kind of dramatically-effective artifice.

Strange seeing Max Von Sydow turn up as a garage mechanic, but then it was strange seeing him at the next table in a restaurant in Lyon, sitting with Pierre Richard and other elder statesmen of European cinema. My friend Lenick was able to overhear and translate: “They’re complaining about how things are different now, you can’t have a glass of wine and go for a drive anymore.” And then Dominique Sanda showed up and introduced herself to Max: “My name is Dominique Sanda, I starred in a film with you once.” True, she’s been away from France and may not be as well-remembered as she should be — the modest retrospective at Lyon hopefully has done something to right that — and also, maybe Max has erased STEPPENWOLF from his mind.

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Somehow Victor’s closeup makes me think of Garbo in QUEEN CHRISTINA.

Anyway, this is basically A Christmas Carol, isn’t it? A mean old man has some dreams about the past, present and future and changes his way of behaving with others. Arguably one reason it seems more sophisticated than that is we never really see Victor Sjostrom being mean, we mainly learn about his emotional coldness via his son. He seems a fairly sweet old stick, and it’s hard to work out why his daughter-in-law is so mean to him. This removes the caricature element of Dickens and replaces it with Bergman’s more nuanced sense of sliding sympathies. It’s a proper grown-up film, so I was pleased that the kids today can still “dig” it, as I believe the expression is nowadays.

Nautical But Nice

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 7, 2013 by dcairns

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THE CAPTAIN HATES THE SEA is a kind of Grand Hotel of the ocean waves. I was curious about it because Lewis Milestone’s early thirties work is so dynamic and experimental — RAIN, ALL QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT and THE FRONT PAGE together give the lie to the popular idea that cinema got staid when sound came in. It undoubtedly did for some filmmakers, but Milestone seems to have been liberated by it. The challenge of moving the camera despite the demands of the microphone energized him, and a filmmaker who seems to have been fairly conventional (THE RACKET, TWO ARABIAN KNIGHTS) during the late silent era suddenly turned into a kind of crackly Scorsese. Or am I wrong?

Like Mamoulian, however, Milestone was quick to settle down into a more conventional approach — the explosive moments in his later films are commonly repeats of the highlights of ALL QUIET — all his subsequent war movies re-use the fast tracking shots along the trenches, for instance. But as late as OCEAN’S 11 he could still purvey moments of visual beauty — that film’s final shot is a breathtaking evocation of rat pack cool, making up for the not very inspiring 126 minutes preceding it. At any rate THE CAPTAIN is very elegantly shot, smoothly combining its location and studio material, but it isn’t a dazzling tour de force like RAIN. Nor does it aspire to be.

The titular captain is Walter Connolly in his best dyspeptic mode — he ran away to sea after dunking his dad’s beard in the soup. Now he’s tormented by his troublesome passengers, his inebriate chief steward (Leon Errol) and Donald Meek, whose long beard and careless posture over his broth presents a perennial temptation to repeat the sins of his youth.

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Also aboard is an all-star cast with John Gilbert at the top and the Three Stooges at the bottom. What Milestone has set out to do here, which was probably just as hard as inventing expressive sound cinema, is integrate the acting styles of Gilbert, Connolly, Victor McLaglan, Akim Tamiroff, Luis Alberni and the Stooges. He does it!

McLaglan is particularly impressive — not stifled, but holding back in key moments to create striking muted effects. He still does his patented Victor McLaglan face at times (co-star Helen Vinson matches it by putting the edges of he sharp little teeth together in a feral grin, lips sucked back — the pair of them look set to go for each other’s throats) but he avoids the mawkish grotesquerie that was so often his stock-in-trade.

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Gilbert’s performance should be studied by anyone tempted to believe he actually had anything wrong with his voice. Not only that, he should be studied by students of effective screen acting. In silents he was often callow. In QUEEN CHRISTINA he seems a touch hysterical. Here he’s solid, wryly humorous and he rivets the attention. His character is a washed-up alcoholic writer, supposedly taking a cruise to dry out. While discussing his new state of sobriety, he carries on soaking up the straight scotch (“Never bruise liquor!”) as before, a study in better living through denial. Since Gilbert had booze troubles of his own, the comedy (it’s all played for laughs) comes across more poignant than funny, but Gilbert seems to be aiming in that direction. There’s a melancholy to him that was probably inherent by this point in his life and career.

Four Rooms

Posted in FILM with tags , , on May 14, 2011 by dcairns

Here are some production stills — sets without actors. Look at them intently. Travel into them. Then wander about like Greta Garbo in QUEEN CHRISTINA, touching everything in the rooms, getting to know them physically.

OK, so this one isn’t technically a room.

Remember the wise words of Werner Herzog — “I have never attempted to film in a place which I have not first physically experienced with my body.” Now you’re getting it.

You have seen this film — I can say that with some confidence. But what is it?

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