Du levande

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.

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.

I laughed out loud several times during this film though give it a cursory glance and you would think it was something else altogether. I adore the pace and the way it slowly burns into you as you are presented these gobsmackingly beautiful tableaux. Andersson gives us something else here. Shows us something I had not seen since his last film. He is compositionally exceptional and via his method of fixing the camera and allowing action to take place before us, he opens the door on humanity and we peer into a place that reflects our own lives, our little lives. It is powerful stuff. It is the simplicity with which he allows the events to take place that creates the opposite feeling of complexity. Everything in front of the camera is anything but simple. Andersson's attention to detail is extraordinary. I believe most scenes, if not all, are sets built from scratch according to his designs. I cannot recommend this film highly enough. For me it took me to a place and I came out of it having witnessed a world frayed and beautiful, starched and pained, barren and splendid. At once alien and familiar. This film is brilliant and life affirming. I know because I came out smiling feeling wonderful. It has taken him seven years to make this. If he only made this one film he would still be up there with the greats.

Roy Anderson's film 'You, The Living' comprises a series of fifty-odd sketches, snapshots and vignettes set in a Swedish city. Some characters are on screen for just a few second, whilst others appear in numerous scenes and are sometimes seen loitering in the background while another story unfolds. Many scenes are drawn from the dreams, nightmares and fantasies of the strange but believable characters inhabiting this world. It is a fascinating approach: each of the scenes could be enjoyed in isolation, but together they contain a powerful portrait of what it is to be human.

For the first half hour or so, 'You, The Living' is gloriously funny. Much of the humour centres on the members of a brass band, whose music practice infuriates the neighbours in their apartment block. The comic highlight, however, is provided by a dinner-party track gone horribly awry. After this hilarious introduction, however, the mood of the film darkens considerably. The dinner-party dream turns grim when the hapless protagonist is put on trial for his life, setting a mixed tone of absurdity and despair for the rest of the film.

In the subsequent scenes, the unhappiness of the cast of characters becomes increasingly apparent. Theirs is a world where people are unable to connect with one another, where talk of dreams, nightmares and fantasies is widespread, but where no person can be comforted, even when others reach out to help them. The despondent woman with the 'nobody loves me' refrain and the young girl with unrequited love for the rock guitarist, Micke, are archetypal characters.

The world of 'You, The Living' is also blighted by selfishness. An elderly professor is called away the warmth of a vast banquet to answer a phone call from his impetuous money-grubbing son; a thief steals the wallet of a ruthless executive; an arrogant and impatient businessman insults a Muslim barber and receives his comeuppance. In the film's bleakest moment, a woman in church recounts the long list of human sins as her fellow parishioners shuffle out at closing time.

And yet, for all dark moments in this film, the shared refrain of 'tomorrow is another day' points to the ability of people to go on living in spite of many miseries. The soundtrack provided by Benny Anderson (of ABBA fame) seems inappropriately jovial at first but makes more and more sense as the film realises this human capacity to persevere.

'You, The Living' has an extraordinary visual style. The same washed-out, pale-green colours recur throughout, and there is nary a shadow in sight; this makes the characters appear exceptionally pallid and creates the sensation that human life is being laid bare for examination. Almost every scene is captured in a static camera frame, as if these are photographs being brought to life. The few occasions where the camera does move are all the more extraordinary; the contrast between the life and movement of the great banquet form a startling contrast with the deadness of the cloakroom scene. In the most intense moments of longing and despair, the characters transfix the viewer by directly facing the camera – they know that they are being examined and have a few moments to pour out their hearts to us, the viewers.

This is a wonderful, human film.

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.