Das jüngste Gewitter

The large bell in a bar intermittently rings for last orders and the inevitable rush to queue forms at the counter – do we want what we need only when it's too late? Or is the irony of the opening scene's wailing Cassandra a more resonant reflection of our perceptions on individual existence? There's an endless fascination about where writer-director Roy Andersson wants to take us in his fourth feature, "You, The Living". With fifty or so semi-related vignettes strung together by a penchant for tragicomic hyper-reality, its wistful interpretations and symbolic instances of life that bind us all in this great big cosmic Sisyphean struggle. The sheer simplicity of these vignettes act to dramatise the tenuity and immense preciousness of being apart of the symbiotic relationships we have with one another. Andersson might whittle down the complexity of the human condition through harsh and fast cynicism more than he should, but he also reminds us of the inherent, reassuring glory of waking up each morning to a new tomorrow when we're all aware of our own distinct forms of arrested development.

You, the Living (2007)

Mordant. I've never written that word before but it comes to mind here. Let me look it up. Well, it's part of it--corrosive, but also funny as heck. So corrosively funny. This is a dour film, for sure, with so much dry dry dry wit and quirky humor it's impossible not to like it on some level. Filmed in a very spare style, often with a static camera and really balanced, stable compositions, like theater stages, we see a short enactment occur.

But that makes it seem ordinary--which it is not. Ordinary life is shown to be frumpy, ironic, delightful, coy, and depressing. And impossible. We, the living, must live, and since we're alive, we may as well take note. Something like that. I think it was Ebert who said you find yourself laughing and don't know why. Exactly. And the promo material somewhere said it was a cross between Bergman and Monty Python, and what they mean is it has the dry, silent, probing look of Ingmar Berman's famous Swedish films, but it has the zany, somehow touching elements of the British comedians.

I'd say, definitely, definitely watch at least half an hour of this. There is part of me that thought I was through by then--the rest continues in a similar assemblage of little skits and moments, and they do gradually evolve, but there is no great plot to follow or climax of the usual kind. There are some great moments later, even just the attention to the thunderstorm, which takes us out of the mundane human events nicely.

The filming is gorgeous in its classical control, almost like a series of Gregory Crewdson scenes (and outdoing the photographer, actually). And the acting, with all its very ordinary, non-glam folksiness, is right on. A startling, beautiful, odd experience.

There is no plot. There are no central characters. There are no moving cameras or close-ups. In fact, this film does not follow any of the conventional storytelling techniques used by mainstream film. However, Roy Andersson's Du Levande is a remarkable piece of cinematic storytelling. It is a touching look at the human psyche.

Comprised of a series of vignettes, Roy Andersson gives us an intimate insight into what makes us all human. In perfectly framed static shots, added with the perfectly in tune, yet quirky, music, Roy introduces us to a host of characters as they undertake their daily existence. Some bordering on tragic, others hilarious, we are taken on a Nordic journey like no other.

It is a journey into the little things that make us human. Instead of over-the-top storytelling or visual techniques, everything is stripped down to the bare minimum so that our sole focus is on the characters themselves. It focuses on the insignificant points of our lives that make us who we are; our dreams, our desperation. It's through this simple observation of others that we can accept who we are as individuals.

The washed out colours and deathly-pale makeup of the characters only seems to emphasize their individual stories and remind us that unlike them, we are all alive. There is no happy ending or light at the end of the tunnel in this film, yet you walk out of the cinema with a sense of life. Much more accessible than his earlier film, Songs from the Second Floor, Du Levande, is a truly inspiring piece of cinema.

This film isn't supposed to be funny, but it made me laugh.

It isn't designed to be sad, but my heart felt heavy through a number of the vignettes.

It isn't written as action adventure, but my pulse raced more than once.

Just like life, this movie doesn't manipulate your emotions and tell you how to feel. It simply is, and you react.

If you don't find it funny or sad or moving, I suspect that says more about you than the film.

It amazing and refreshing to see a director so wholeheartedly celebrate that we are all human, and embrace that we are all trapped here, doing this "life" thing, over and over for as long as we must.

Tomorrow is another day.

You can't really call Roy Andersson prolific, (6 films in 37 years). Nor can you accuse him of being conventional; he doesn't do 'straight-forward', at least when it comes to narrative. "You, the Living", his first film in seven years, is like a surreal documentary in which a large number of characters are observed doing nothing very much and if that sounds off-putting, let me assure you it isn't. This is a funny, accessible and surprisingly warm-hearted movie, a slice-of-life far removed from that which we normally see on the screen.

Of course, 'slice-of-life' is hardly the proper moniker to apply to this movie since most people's lives are unlikely to be anything like this. The incidents on the screen run the gamut from the almost terrifyingly ordinary to the downright wacky and while characters may flit by, sometimes never to be seen again, others to reappear as if anxious for approval, Andersson bestows on them all a kind of benign affection. That, and some rollicking music, ensure the time we spend with them is time well-spent.