Scenes from a Marriage (1973)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Scenes from a Marriage (1973) – I. Bergman

In 1973, Ingmar Bergman created a six-part TV miniseries (close to 5 hours) depicting a marriage that collapses and the aftermath.  Liv Ullmann and Erland Josephson play the couple and their acting skill is astounding (especially Ullmann’s, as she has the wider range of emotions to play).  Bergman pulls no punches – this is often raw and intense and vulnerabilities are exposed.  Anyone in a long-term relationship will have a lot to think about.  But yet, the view of relationships seems to be overtly Bergman’s and the autobiographical nature of these “scenes” is obvious – he is Josephson’s character (Johan) but he has immense sympathy for Ullman’s character (Marianne) and the film “takes her side”.  You could say that this is because of Bergman’s own guilt over his series of failed marriages and many concurrent affairs (including with Ullmann).  Naturally, the characters discuss this guilt and where it comes from and whether it is justified.  They discuss a lot of heavy things (the film is all talk), perhaps more than in the usual marriage (unless it is self-destructing), and problems with gender roles are explicitly chewed over.  Johan blames the “women’s lib” movement and Marianne blames the role stresses that she experiences (mother, wife, lawyer, daughter).  Of course, Johan is a complete cad – he cheats on Marianne – but he is a painfully honest cad, breaking up their marriage and explaining in terrible detail why he is doing so, in a way that can’t help but hurt them both.  After this moment, we check in with the relationship at varying intervals in the future (roughly one, five, and ten years later).  Johan and Marianne have taken different trajectories (his academic career and his newer relationship are struggling but she is feeling more and more confident and self-aware).  Yet – and this may be Bergman’s fantasy – they are still close, perhaps still in love, still volatile (able to set each other off), and impossible to extricate from their relationship.  Is this optimistic? Maybe.  It _is_ evidence of the way that people can impact each other, for better or for worse. I am not certain that I “believe” that this is the way most failed marriages play out (but the emotional moments in the film always seem to ring true). Bergman edited the 5-hour version down to 2 ½ for a feature film that played in the US in 1974 (both are in the blu-ray boxset) – it is possible that the short version would be even more intense without the natural lulls.  Although Ullmann and Josephson are on screen all of the time, we also see another couple with a distressed marriage (including Bibi Andersson), Johan’s partner in a workplace affair, and Marianne’s mother. The interactions with these other characters offer some counterpoints.  I could go on – there is much to digest.  If I’ve scared you (or the content itself does), let me say that despite the topic/events, the film is never less than absorbing and can be funny, thrilling, challenging, and yes distressing, but always worth watching.

The Square (2017)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Square (2017) – R. Östlund

Far from perfect and politically distant from my own views, yet unusual, provocative, and surprising enough to warrant 4 stars (but did it deserve the Palme d’Or?).  Director Ruben Östlund hones in on the world of contemporary modern/post-modern art and skewers it rather unsubtly, with those same old-and-worn points suggesting that art is a con-game (even monkeys – or bonobos – can create it; you could put any old object in a museum and call it art; even curators don’t understand the obfuscating jargon used to describe it).  A richer vein of inquiry focuses on the presence or absence of altruistic motivation in humans/human society; this is the focus of the artwork/exhibition that the Swedish X-Royal museum, curated by Christian (Claes Bang), is hosting, entitled The Square.  “The Square is a sanctuary of trust and caring. Within it we all share equal rights and obligations.”  Apparently Östlund has filmed portions of a real exhibition (on trust?) and also modelled the most memorable scene (where a group of rich art patrons is challenged and threatened by a man pretending to be an ape) on a real event that took place in a Swedish museum. That doesn’t take away from the success of the film but it blurs the authorship a bit.  Similarly blurry is the take-home point about altruism.  Curator Christian is a flawed character:  he engages in an altruistic act but is punished for doing so and responds with a misguided attack of his own which has a rippling set of consequences. Östlund foregrounds evolutionary psychology by having Christian ready to engage in indiscriminate sex (but ironically protecting his semen, in a very bizarre scene – perhaps suggesting a modern over-riding of the historical male motive) whereas his latest conquest, played by Elizabeth Moss, embodies the female concern with having an emotional connection with a partner (who can provide security for offspring).  Östlund may be satirizing evolutionary psychology – or more probably, he is satirizing our efforts to transcend the baser motives from our ancestral roots (which I believe we can and often should do).  In interviews, Östlund refers to humans as herd animals who keep their heads down when there is a threat rather than reach out to help another in distress – a justification for the well-known “bystander effect”.  I’m not sure this necessarily works either – or we shouldn’t accept it as an excuse; by having Christian played for a sucker when he does intervene, Östlund highlights our failing ability to trust others in our society.  On this point, I think we may agree – it is sad that we have transformed into a society that is fearful of others (and that our politicians utilise this fear for political gain) – but the film offers no solution to this problem.  The Square itself is not given the chance it deserves to operate as a way out (I hesitate to say “it takes a village” but that is the point, I think) – and again, perhaps Östlund sees it as unviable.  For my mind, however, efforts to build trust and a sense of community (especially where division has been sown) would be worthwhile.  Setting aside these deeper points, the film is often funny and sometimes wry in a Roy Andersson way, anecdotal rather than purely plot-driven, suspenseful and discomfort-inducing, and obviously thought-provoking and challenging.

Wagon Master (1950)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Wagon Master (1950) – J. Ford

John Ford’s westerns focused on the benefits of bonding with a community vs. allowing people to exert their individuality when it comes to navigating the risks of the wilderness (although he also later implied that the constraints of civilisation could be burdensome and that something is lost when people subvert their will to the community).  Here, a wagon train of Mormons, led by Ward Bond’s Elder, needs to cross to their “promised land” in Utah – Monument Valley (or similar) is prominent.  The Mormons hire two young horse traders – Ben Johnson and Harry Carey Jr. – to serve as wagon masters, guiding the expedition based on their knowledge of the terrain.  Along the way, they encounter a travelling medicine show, a gang of outlaws, and a group of Navajo.  To some degree, each of these encounters threatens the community but the challenges are all overcome, either by absorbing the newcomers into the existing community (Joanne Dru, Alan Mowbray and the medicine show), creating a (temporary) superordinate community (with the Navajo), or destroying the threat (Charles Kemper and his outlaw family).  Even the wagon masters themselves, who have been rugged individualists thus far, are eventually signed up for a commitment to family and community (if not necessarily to Mormonism).  Throughout the film, the spectacular landscapes do take centre stage and the film looks astonishing in beautiful black and white.  In comparison to other westerns of the time, Ford’s artistry shines through – a set of shots featuring portraits of the main players as they reach a long-sought-after river is simply glorious.