Fanny Und Alexander

Suffice to say Fanny and Alexander, the last film that Bergman *intended* to direct for theaters (he had two others that were released on TV that also made it to US theaters, besides the point), is the stuff that most artists, writers and filmmakers wish they can accomplish in one fell swoop. Here is a work that encapsulates the obsessions, desires, fears, passions, anger, anguish, hatred, warmth, cold, humor, and probing questions in Bergman's life work- some 50 movies including scripts made by other directors- while also working as very possibly his best film, his richest, the one that says everything there needs to be said about being a kid, having a warm family, and being (rightfully) on your guard about men of the cloth.

It's also, as I sort of realized watching a wonderful new (digital?) print of the UNCUT 5 hour version at the IFC center, something that might have some comparisons with Pan's Labyrinth: this is a story of a child who has an imagination all his own, but also the story of what happens to him and his sister after the death of their father.

After losing the strongest father-figure force that she knew, Emilie Ekdahl remaries to a figure who seems to have an equally strong presence, Bishop Vergerus, who subsequently imposes that she and the children take no posessions and live with him and his family in a cold, medieval home out of the 15th century. Like Captain Vidal, Bishop Vergerus believes in freedom, and subsequently free will, but also believes in swift punishment, "strong, harsh love" for his wife and new step-kids, and the only retaliation Alexander has are his 'fantasies', which are all his own but with their own force to them.

Least that's the comparison I can make now, late at night and with so many thoughts and feelings about seeing the film once again. But it's got more than just the story of a boy's world of ghosts (not least of which, in a given Hamlet reference, his late father) and magic via Jewish rabbi Isak, but it's also the perfect telling of two kinds of family life.

The first part of the picture, up until the section with the father's death, is full of lush, vibrant colors, brought out by Nykvist's cinematography, and the vibe is brought out in the Ekdahl family, which is full of warmth and love, lusts, some quarrelling, some emoting from the matriarch Ekdahl. Then when things turn to the Vergerus clan, it's all stark and gray and without any texture, with bars on the windows of the room where the children sleep (which also holds a dark secret). In Vergerus, I might add, the actor Jan Malmsjo creates one of the most terrifying of all cinema characters, the kind of evil that ranks up there with Nurse Ratched, where it's all in the face of 'it's for the good of *you*'.

So, there's religion, there's spirituality, there's the supernatural, there's family, there's amazing, mind-blowing monologues, it's... a sumptuous film to take on a deserted island. It's the only one that goes past five hours I would think could work over and over and over again and still have bits and pieces to stimulate the mind, consciousness. And it's a fine piece of filmmaking to boot, on all fronts.

WOW watched this whole thing last night, what a complete masterpiece. I am very curious to see the Theatrical Version to see what was cut, but I can't imagine missing anything from the TV version. Every moment has a purpose and the length gives the story even more profound power. It's absolutely brilliant and hit me harder than anything I've watched in a long time. I would definitely encourage people to seek out this full version if they can.

Period drama, family saga, a film about theatre, a ghost story and the best Christmas film ever! The result was one of Bergman's most haunting and suggestive films. It emerges as a sumptuously produced tapestry of childhood memoirs and moods, fear and fancy, employing all the manners and means of the best of cinematic theatrical from high and low comedy to darkest tragedy with detours into the gothic, the ghostly and the gruesome. The movie is astonishingly beautiful. The uncut Fanny and Alexander is Bergman's most inclusive. He shows almost everything: all his moods, conflicts, styles and many of his favorite actors. A magical movie, locating a personal generosity and feeling like a youngster's film.

The greatest talent of an artist is measured by the timelessness of his work. Ingmar Bergman undoubtedly creates such a masterpiece by delving into the inner motives of his characters, separating their true nature from their outwardly fraudulent diligence and honesty. Hypocrisy is not a modern invention, as shown brilliantly in 'Fanny and Alexander' from 1975.

It is frightening how hypocritical ideals change over time, yet the underlying desire to pretend is passed down through generations. The Church and its rule back then, and later communism and socialism-in the wrong hands, these can become tools of oppression rather than means of prosperity and love. Bergman's characters stand firm against emotional and physical abuse, triumphing with the freedom of life.

Magic, love, and joy are the instruments that fortify cruelty. For Alexander, the world of dreams and imagination is a way to complete the puzzle of reality. His unconscious manifests in the form of ghosts of past people to provide support, or even become an inner governor as in the case with the bishop. Additionally, the miracle of Judaism and its spiritual power resurrect justice in several ways: more obviously and straightforwardly through the children's rescue by Isak, and another much more mysteriously-through the androgynous angel Ismael's sensitive perception of Alexander's hostile inner thoughts and their aim to fulfil the tantalising hope, which granted Alexander physical escape but a mental trap. Could this be the reason for keeping Ismael locked up?

Last but not least, the overarching theatre theme serves as an allegory for liberty and the triumph of imagination. The theatre disappeared, and creativity was oppressed during the bishop's rule. Its reappearance marks a new chapter in the Ekdahl family's history. The reference to Hamlet in Alexander can be noticed from the second act. The Ekdahls are irreversibly associated with the world of theatre and cultural anthropology. Interestingly, the family members are shown to possess recognisable sins, yet remain honourable and pure-the contrast appearing throughout the personages of the movie. Progressive views go hand-in-hand in the artist's house: about love and marriage, about the relationship between women and men, and about women's position in the world.

Although the movie is mostly a reflection of reality from Alexander's perspective, his sister Fanny appears to shadow her brother's rebellion with a soft acceptance of events.

This movie's artwork reflects on religious rules, the artistic opposition to all the unfairness of reality, and the power of art and magic to withstand it. It is strong yet funny and catchy, serving as a pillar of hope and faith against the darkest sides of ourselves. Bergman's visionary ideas make this movie worth watching even today!

The story begins at Christmas: it is the very early part of the 20th century and the Ekdahls are coming together to celebrate under the roof of the family's matriarch: Helena. As they do so, we see the surfacing of the complexities, buried resentments and background tensions which exist within all large families. Amidst this set up, we are presented three brothers: Gustav, a burly, emotional man who is having an affair with his brother's nanny; Carl, an intellectual, petty individual who is experiencing a crisis of confidence as well as a crisis in his finances; and Oscar, the eponymous Fanny and Alexander's father, he is the owner of a local theatre who has dedicated his life to the world of make-believe. He has also inculcated in his children a reverance for imagination and story-telling. The family celebrations are immoderately festive: there's copious amounts of eating, there's dancing, illicit sexual encounters, an oedipal-esque menage a trois, which includes Alexander, and, for him and the rest of the children, there's ample space for imagination and play. As the film progresses, these events become something of a nostalgic ideal. Very soon after, the children are forced to contend with the illness and death of a loved one. They are whisked away from their world of family and theatre into a life of privation and austerity. Many twists and turns will have to occur before they can return to the place they once were. Of course, the truth is that they will never be able to fully return and, yet, neither will they fully be able to leave. The joys of their childhood will forever remain buried within their memories. It will be the treasure trove they can dig for in the midst of the vicissitudes of their future existence.

This epic film operates as a humanistic reflection on life and human nature. Bergman, along with Jean-Luc Godard, is the foremost name in existentialist cinema and he often deals with powerful themes such as the silence of God, the limits of love, and the pervasiveness of despair. This film operates as a weaving together of his observations and experiences of life as an artist but, first and foremost, as a human being. His writing is immaculate, he takes the time to make his characters genuinely rich and well-rounded. He tells a story in which there are no heroes or villains, just clumsy human beings, striving for but never quite reaching ultimate balance and wisdom. In the character of Alexander, he tells a coming-of-age story, a story of defiance, vulnerability and resiliance. The film, as a work of art, is a celebration of art itself. The tools needed to create are the tools many of the characters, especially the children, use to survive and make sense of their world. He uses long takes with naturalistic dialogue and centres the viewer within the confines of multiple sets, hardly any of the action takes place in outside locations as if to make it abundantly clear to the viewer that, despite the naturalism of the piece, this tale also is a tale of the imagination, taking place within a world created by its director. In telling this tale, he is both using and allowing his audience to experience a form of escpaism in order to evaluate the meaning and value of existence. This is cinema which unites its creator with its audience in order to produce a dense shared experience. It's a gift from one human being to another which says: this is how I have lived and sometimes prospered, may you also live, may you also sometimes prosper.