Dom över död man

I loved this movie.

I couldn't disagree more with the two previous reviewers. I almost wondered whether they had been watching the same film. The pace of Troell's film allows you time to reflect as the story develops.

No, it's not Raiders of the Lost Ark nor is it in colour, but it is a thoughtful, beautifully made film which stays in your mind long after you have left the cinema.

And I'm not alone in rating this film. Most of the other reviews have praised the quality of the script, the camera-work and the way Troell manages to get such amazing performances from his actors.

In my opinion, a must-see.

Personal courage becomes a scarce commodity when the times get tough. And there weren't times much tougher than 1930's and the rise of Nazism. Europe stood paralyzed in an unlikely marriage of fear and denial. Veteran director Jan Troell tells a story of a public figure that bravely attacked Nazis in his newspaper column. Torgny Segerstedt was revered and much suspected. His principals made the others look corrupt and petty. And they were, but that is beside the point, because nobody has more concern about appearances than the immoral and tainted. The interesting quirk of this brilliant movie is that Torgny himself was a deeply flawed human being, in turns neglectful and cruel to his wife and kids. Somehow this man with such strong sense of morals, cared about the humanity in general, but alas, not for individuals. Well, that might be understandable. The messiness of humanity would try the patience off all saints combined. Our times prove that beyond any doubt.

I quite loved the movie in terms of cinematography - although rather slow at times. However I couldn't say I liked the character of Segerstedt, who appeared to me as a most spoilt, selfish and inconsiderate man. I don't even find him 'heroic' in the slightest: how much courage does it take to oppose and attack a foreign regime from another country? The list of Anglo Americans who went to fight (and lost their lives) in Spain in an attempt to oppose the establishment of Franco's regime is long. Those are heroes, not the verbally incontinent Segerstedt.

It was troubling to view Swedish director Jan Troell's 2012 film based on the experience of crusading journalist Torgny Segerstedt, so soon after the recent tragic assassinations at Charlie Hebdo in Paris. Segerstedt was editor-in-chief of one of Sweden's leading newspapers, and between 1933 when Hitler came to power and his own death in 1945, Segerstedt was a fierce opponent of Naziism, even though much of Sweden's leadership, including the king, was determined to remain neutral and out of the war. The struggle for journalists' right—some would say duty—to speak out despite risks to themselves and others has not ended. Beautifully played by Jesper Christensen, Segerstedt left himself open to criticism and to the devaluing of his motivations by his long affair with a Jewish woman, wife of his publisher. Hollywood's crusading journalists are noble and flawless (think All the President's Men), their presumed moral authority overshadowing any rough spots in their personalities, whereas Segerstedt's uncompromising character is pompous at times and unpleasant at others, he basks in his celebrity, and he's downright cruel to his wife. "Easy to admire, but very hard to like," said RogerEbert.com reviewer Glenn Kenny. Truth told, he loves his dogs best. Producing this film in black and white may have symbolic significance or may be just the preferred Scandinavian style—the film is Swedish, after all. In another Bergman-like touch, Segerstedt sees and converses with the black-clad ghosts of his mother and other women. Slow-moving, like the clear stream (of words?) against which the opening and closing credits appear, there is only a fleeting soundtrack to support the action. The film left me with a lot of unanswered questions. What happened with his writing? When the authorities demanded that a particular edition not be distributed because of its anti-Nazi editorial (which suggests they had imposed some censorship regime), Segerstedt printed it with a big white space where the editorial would have been. Nice. But we never learn whether he was allowed to continue writing after that (or how he was stopped) until a scene that takes place years later. How did the war affect the Swedish people? There's little hint of that, beyond putting up blackout curtains. It seems they had electricity, they had food, petrol, champagne at New Year's. It's primarily the awareness of Nazi behavior that the viewer brings to the film that explains and justifies both Segerstedt's simmering outrage and his country's policy of appeasement. He and his mistress both have suicide plans, if it came to that, but in the absence of any tangible, on-screen threat, their preparations seem self-dramatizing and almost childish. Segerstedt in a sense provides his own epitaph, which is also the Swedish title of the movie—"Judgment on the Dead"— based on a line from a famous Old Norse poem, which says the judgment on the dead is everlasting. History's judgment on Segerstedt would be that he was of course right about the Nazis. And if, as the King believed, it would have been his fault if the Germans invaded the country, he would have been among the first to die. NPR's Ella Taylor called the film "A richly detailed portrait of a great man riddled with flaws and undone by adulation."

The key to this film lies, in part, in understanding the meaning of the title. "The Last Sentence" is an ambiguous translation of the Swedish because a "last sentence" might refer to the last words a man writes. Instead, "sentence" here means the "judgment" one passes on a man who has died--a judgment that endures longer than the judgments that were passed on a man while he was alive.

And this citation of the "Hávamál" (an Old Norse 13th-century poem) has a special resonance in light of a toast proposed by Torgny Segerstedt early in the film: Segerstedt remarks something to the effect that we have a sacred duty to tell the truth in public matters, but no such duty in our private affairs.

Jan Troell has thus given us a portrait of Torgny Segerstedt as a man who fiercely refused to say anything other than the truth about Hitler and Nazism, but who, at the same time, was incapable of acting in a truthful and caring fashion in his private life--a man who seemingly had a deeper attachment to his dogs than to any of the people who deeply loved him.

And Troell has perhaps highlighted the shortcomings in Segerstedt's personal relationships precisely because he wants the viewer to sense this tension in the final judgment we place on the life of a man. Do Segerstedt's attempts to stir the conscience of the Swedes through his writings on the horrors of Nazism cancel out whatever negative judgment we might pass on his conduct as a father, husband or lover?

Maybe Troell poses just such a question because he himself may sense that he's nearing the end of his own life. And so what Troell wants, perhaps, is for us to realize that we are all faced with the question of the measure of a person's life and the final judgment to be passed on that life: what weight to give to the life one has lived in public, visible to all, or to the life that one has lived in the shadows (filled with love and affection or not) of one's private life?