Eine Taube sitzt auf einem Zweig und denkt über das Leben nach

well, you see this is a conflict, conflict about being an ordinary man. and after all being an ordinary man takes you there in which all other people are dealing with just "being". Roy Andersson took care of that approach and made a pretty remarkable movie about "being". Ordinary men try to figure things out, ordinary men try to make friends, earn money, make some jokes, and live on. Joyful moments, sad moments, some bad news and some good news, some misunderstandings and so forth. Actually, the characters show the great determination to continue, a-must-see movie when you are having some existential trouble and something to hold on. Ordinary men have a great solution. Because they don't need to be happy all the time, they don't need to be sad all the time. A smooth way to mix the emotions and keep the balance.

This, a film about death; its stalking the unready, catching its survivors off guard, delivering problems of succession, needs to be viewed metaphorically. It plays out at a snail's pace and snares you just as death snares its victims. At first, we see the peaceful dove, AKA pigeon, protected by a glass bubble from the attacking eagle (örn) and get a sense of the portents to come. This comes to pass in a most inventive yet phlegmatic study of collective sorrow and fear of loss. Even if you know very little Swedish history, you cannot fail to recognise that the seemingly modern tale of two unsuccessful and troubled travelling salesmen is a metaphor for something else. Poor Jonathan wants never to meet his parents in heaven and is traumatised by visions of unspeakable horror. It is not just lost innocence. We get to see the dreams, the re-enactments of the glory days and the devastating defeat that lives on in the collective memory. Maybe he is a cry-baby. Maybe he has a true 'memory' of the extent of his, and his nation's loss. Quite magical but not your average cinema goer's fare.

Please, listen: if you are looking for a "classic" story you should choose something else. A story is here, indeed, but it's buried under a series of episodes and different POVs – it feels like we are having the chance to observe the behavior of the inhabitants of a parallel dimension from the fixed cameras of an internal surveillance video system (a very special one, equally able to look in the present, in the past and in the dreams of the strange characters displayed).

What we get, in the movie, it's a composite drawing of the social, private, and inner lives of those characters. And it's strange, of course: sometimes you can hardly tell the difference between the dream and the reality and the reverie – as those surveillance cameras never flinch and inch, even in front of the most strange happenings. But, even if the cameras never moves, the images we are shown constantly jump the tone of the story from drama, to comedy, to horror, to nonsense, with a quickness that is uncommon for the genre-related, petrified narrative codes we are used to.

The main thing I could understand, in the end, is that the problem of the people living in this world is their inability to care about each other's feelings. Some of them eventually even understand this, and with regret, because they realize that if you are not able to love your close ones then you will hardly be able to love yourself. Still, all of them look completely unable to go over this self-imposed limit: so it happens that the stuffed pigeon at the begin of the movie seems by far to be the most alive of the characters featured – not to mention the happiest one.

Some film makers try to make their films as realistic as possible (the Dardenne brothers, Mike Leigh), and some try to get as far away from reality as they can by creating their own cinematographic universe (Wes Anderson, Jean-Pierre Jeunet). Roy Andersson definitely belongs to the latter category.

The world Andersson shows in his film, is grey, slow, unexciting, and old-fashioned. It reminded me of how eastern Europe must have looked during the communist era. No bright colours, no joy, no laughter, no hope, no ambitions. The interiors are drab, the people dreary. This self-created world is where the cinematographic equivalent of a series of short stories take place. Some are bizarre, most are melancholic, a few are incomprehensible, others meaningless or absurd. But they all share this common characteristic: they are taking place in Andersson's universe.

Actually, that universe is his studio, where he has built all of the sets with incredibly great attention to details, colours, clothing, lighting and lay-out. You can see fascinating images and footage of the production process on Andersson's web site. The sets are the real stars of the film. Even so much so, that maybe the stills of the film (also on the web site), with their Edward Hopper-like melancholy, are better than the film itself.

As fascinating as they are, I don't think the fragments work well as a feature film. They could have been very effective, say, as an element of a daily satirical television programme. But I think watching them all after each other, made into one 100 minute film, is not the best way to appreciate them.

The Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence.

It would be inappropriate to talk about this film's genre.  This is not a comedy,  not a drama and not even a dramedy. It's just a pigeon's reflection on existence. As I came out of the cinema I didn't even know if I liked it or not. But let me tell you something: it's not about that! I woke up the next day with an array of images and tunes in my head.  The meaning of the film seeps through the layers of perception and leaves you with an undefined aftertaste.

The camera captures little nothings that upset the characters. The humour emerges from the contrast between the pettiness of their situation and the tragic effect it has on them. A flamenco teacher as her student's unrequited lover, two sales men that never sell anything etc. are just a few examples. On the other side, when real tragedy such as death occurs, people behave like it's just another banal event. The only thread that connects the film is the story of the two salesmen. This duo represents what nowadays we call losers. Their dullness counterpoint the incredible scenarios they end up in. Their universe is anachronistic and at times delightfully surreal. In this mad world it seems like people have strong feelings only at war time. Be it romantic passion, patriotic pathos or grief.

But what about the pigeon? What is she/ he thinking? I believe that the pigeon is a poet. The pigeon sees the things that are outside history. He sees beauty in kids making bubbles and lovers sharing a cigarette. These scenes pop up on the screen like epiphanies and are infused with visual poetry.

There must be a meaning in all this apparent nonsense. There seem to be an answer to Jonathan's malaise(one of the two salesmen). His vision of human sacrifice for the pleasure of others makes him question his existence. He is a tragic hero being shut down by the guy who keeps on telling him that he needs to work in the morning.

I didn't like the film at first. But it gets to you like a good Negroni. It's bitterness flourishes notes of unexpected sweetness.