La charrette fantôme

Had I known this was going to turn out as deeply awesome as it did, I would have perhaps saved it for a time of need. I'm always looking for spiritual visions that permit a journey inwards, but they are so few in the grand scheme that I'm grateful for each and every one. I try to cherish them because they let me watch from the heart. It's why I keep myself from finishing off the rest of Tarkovsky's films - I want to know that there's always a drink of fresh water at hand when I'm parching.

I came to this, like most people I presume, for its reputation as a horror film where the reaper gets out to harvest souls. I collect these as well but for different reasons, and was expecting here something more or less expressionist. As with most silents however, it's not really horror by our contemporary sense; horror in these films comes from more directly abstract notions, guilt, humiliation, spiritual damnation, and it's usually with the intent to distill a life lesson. They may seem outdated now but only because we presume to know these things and so reckon that no further guidance is necessary - while we, self-sufficient modern humans in perfect control of our destinies, continue to live our lives in random iterations.

Here death itself. The journey of the soul in the world inside the soul. Like earlier texts of this journey, Dante's Inferno or the Egyptian Book of the Dead, it is advisable, imperative even, that we read beyond the feverish vision of the beyond. That we read between the collective dream the author has dreamed up as meant to await us and contemplate on why we dreamed in the first place.

The man who dies last on New Year's Eve - at the cusp of new life, and so at the start of a new cosmic round - becomes Death's driver for the coming year, this is the premise. He ferries the vehicle - and us as passengers - where the journey inwards or across can begin. Our man contemplates the chain of events that brought him lying dead before the carriage of death.

The opening chapters in the Book of the Dead that propel the process of rebirth, and which pertain very much here, are thus named: "The chapter of making Osiris S. possess a memory in the Underworld" and next "the chapter of giving Osiris S. a heart in the Underworld".

The man remembers, he had a perfectly good life and family but blew it up like so many we know of. He goes into prison and comes out reborn again with realization of what his deeds brought him. But he has to start again, like every new life he has to build his again from nothing. Instead he drags himself through this next life in a limbo of guilt and seething hatred. It is this unswathing of the spirit across different worlds that matters, and the dissolution in each one granting passage in the next. How strong karmas resonate from one existence to the other, powering the cart. Death's driver is granting the visions after all.

There is a woman in all of this, a nurse for the Salvation Army. From her end, she is looking to hear from god. We see from both ends, her trying to save who she considers a mandate from god and on the other side the man who is wrestling personal demons. If god doesn't speak through him, then he never spoke at all. In a beautiful scene, she spends the night mending his torn soul; when he wakes up, furious at the kindness, he tears it up again for spite.

More great cinema about the karmas metaphysically weaving together the participants: having failed to mend him, the woman literally contracts his illness. And when the man violently attacks with an axe a locked door, his wife on the other side falls to die.

The man finally wakes up from death though, having prayed and thus lay himself prostrate before a higher force. This is likely a part that modern viewers will find hard to swallow. But this is the thing; it is not literal death in these texts, never was. The underworld the soul must travel through to be reborn on the other side is always inside, why it's so often called a 'descent', and so the power to make a full transit by learning again life-value through the different levels always rests with the soul. What the man learns at the moment of prayer is the humility that shatters ego. Of course he is forgiven. One of the final chapters in that ancient Egyptian text reads: "chapter of causing a man to come back upon his house on earth". Notice that the dead man is no longer symbolically referred (and so protected) by the name of the god Osiris, having passed the horrible tribulations, now the deity is embodied inside.

So god does speak after all through this man, but it speaks to her who was looking to apprehend him and so, no doubt, will hear his voice in the miracle. From our perspective seeing deeper into these lives, our perspective itself dislocated from bodies and wandering with the spirits, we know there was no god: the miraculous transformation on the visible level was only the last step in a painful, arduous process of healing the heart. It's a powerful notion, worth two or three Seals (Bergman).

So it's really only us who can mend ourselves. It's a lesson, make no mistake, but a lesson worth keeping. Simply said, it sounds trite - most anything does if the words are not right. The man was told after all, no doubt he understood in some capacity, but it meant nothing. Which is why it's important to journey from the heart.

Something to meditate upon.

Revisited this movie recently. The Phantom Carriage acted and directed by Victor Sjostrom is a masterpiece on a technical level. It is a supernatural tale about sins, guilt and redemption.

The story is about David, a despicable drunkard, who doesn't mind spreading his pathogens on other people's faces. In fact he even tells others to do so. In search of her wife who ran away from him while he was in prison, David seeks shelter in a homeless shelter run by the Salvation Army Mission. Ther he is given a bed to sleep n inspite of being rude to sister Edith, she mends his jacket n in doing so she contracts his disease. One year has passed n the dying sister has one last wish, to speak to David, while our drunkard is sitting in a cemetery telling his two drinking buddies about his old friend Georges, who told him about the legend that the last person to die each year has to drive Death's carriage and collect the souls of everybody who dies the following year......

Of course the story is preachy, melodramatic n too simple but aft two years from the date of this review this film will be hundread years old. Apart from the solid direction n acting, the effects are brilliant. The ghostly illusion, the long shots of the carriage set against a vast dark landscape, the narrative structure with flashbacks within flashbacks, all this makes it a masterpiece considering it was made in 1921. God bless the fellas at the Criterion Collection.

Victor Sjostrom's silent film masterpiece The Phantom Carriage has recently been released on DVD with a new soundtrack recorded by KTL. The duo, comprising American guitarist Stephen O'Malley and Austrian laptop artist Peter Rehberg, has conjured an extraordinary collection of sounds to accompany and accentuate the original film footage from 1921. An ominous banging sound introduces each Act and a medley of drones, guitar chords and feedback ebbs and flows as the grim drama unfolds.

As impressive as the new soundtrack is, the film remains the real star with its timeless rendering of a dark and dystopian fairy tale. According to this tale the last person to die before the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve is condemned to spend a year behind the reins of the eponymous phantom carriage, collecting the souls of the dead. This is the fate of the anti-hero of the film, David Holm, who is moved to painful scrutiny of his life following his untimely death and subsequent encounter with the driver of the carriage.

This film is often referred to as a horror film and although this is a fitting label, the real horror here resides not in the supernatural elements but rather in the depiction of human suffering at the hands of others. Sjostrom gives a remarkable performance as the drunken, spiteful and menacing Holm in life, and the wretched, frightened Holm looking back from the land of the dead and shrinking from his past deeds.

Striking imagery abounds throughout The Phantom Carriage and more than compensates for the inevitably limited dialogue. The ill-omened onset of midnight is powerfully illustrated through the image of a clock-face hovering alone in the darkening night sky like a second moon. Equally impressively, the dead are depicted through pioneering semi-transparent imagery and the scenes of the phantom carriage riding over land and sea remain chilling to watch.

Sjostrom's film deserves its place as one of the most esteemed silent films of all time and the new soundtrack by KTL is a superb accentuation of its themes. This is a must-see.

The best silent movie I've ever seen. It's so harrowing and perfectly describes the feelings I've had about death, life, love and especially hope. It's optimistic ending makes it even stronger. I cried when I saw this movie the first time, which was the day after my grandfather's death.

He once told me this was the first movie he ever saw, in a cinema, to which there was a 10 kilometers walk in the snow. The cinema used to be so crowded the humidity got so high the walls were completely wet. Naturally I had a lot in mind that day. It wasn't the first time I saw the movie, but the first time I experienced it's meaning completely. I've never seen any silent film like this and that it's silent actually makes it scarier.

The premise of this movie is intriguing, and based on an old Swedish legend which said that the last sinner to die on New Year's Eve would have to spend the next year driving Death's carriage picking up the souls of people who die. From the beginning we're pulled in to this story by both its special effects and its storytelling. The scenes with the phantom carriage wheeling around, including one over the water to retrieve a drowned soldier, as well as those with a transparent Tore Svennberg and his ominous cloak and scythe, are fantastic. Director Victor Sjöström's use of flashbacks was ahead of its time, and he gradually reveals everything behind a young Salvation Army worker's request to see a man before she dies.

Sjöström also plays that main character, and gives us a great performance in depravity. Among other things, he scorns help from charitable women in the Salvation Army by ripping up repairs to his jacket one spent all night mending, openly tries to pass along his disease (consumption) to others, and after tracking down his wife and small children, hacks down a door with an axe to get at them. It's pretty dark stuff. As he faces an avalanche of guilt over the consequences of his actions and his own impending fate, can he be redeemed? It's a weighty question that would later absorb Ingmar Bergman, who idolized Sjöström, and the link between the two provides additional interest. Aside from the influence the film had on Bergman, 36 years later Sjöström would play the main character in 'Wild Strawberries'. It's also notable that 'The Phantom Carriage' was one of Stanley Kubrick's favorites from the silent era, and that he, too, was influenced when he put together Jack Nicholson's axe scene from 'The Shining'.

As with many of the films from this time period, it drags in places to modern eyes, as interchanges between characters via intertitles and elongated facial expressions sometimes get a little tedious. It's also ultimately a morality tale, which may put some viewers off – and yet, I found the devotion and faith of the Salvation Army sister, as well as the prayer to 'mature one's soul' before dying to be uplifting. We see the dual nature of man in the film, good and evil, and it's put into the larger context of our mortality. It's fantastical, and yet we realize that someday death will come for us all, and whether we believe in an afterlife or not, we hope that we've done good things for others in the world. Well worth watching.