About Endlessness

It might seem preposterous that a brisk 76-minute film could be called About Endlessness. Being a Roy Andersson film, you’d forgiven for thinking this is a joke. This time, the master of Swedish deadpan changes gears and challenges the audience with its most unvarnished portrait of the human condition. Announced as his last movie, it’s a bittersweet swan song of one of Sweden’s greatest directors.

Stylistically, the feature feels of a piece with the filmmaker’s Living Trilogy and fans will recognise his idiosyncratic style from the get-go. Andersson was clearly set on doing something different though, incorporating a narration that guides the viewer through random splices of life in the manner Scheherazade narrates One Thousand and One Night (Andersson himself confessed this is where he got his inspiration from). Like a mystical being, she describes them as half-remembered dreams or memories plucked out of thin air.

At first, a procession of characters show up, profoundly marked by something they lack. A boy without love, a communications manager without shame, a man without trust, and most prominently, a priest without faith. The scene where the latter goes to a psychiatrist looking for help is pure cinematic gold and one of the best of Andersson’s career.

Midway through the film, the focus changes and things get darker, with death – and the characters’s reaction to it – being the subject of many scenes. Death is an integral part of life like anything else. This makes it more beautiful and also more horrific.

It allows for some jarring juxtapositions. The most extreme one is around the 47-minute mark: the shoe heels of a woman snap, suddenly smash cutting to a family murder (a man sobbing, embracing a bloody corpse). “I saw a man who wanted to protect the family’s honour”, the narrator goes, “and changed his mind”. For a couple of minutes, it’s impossible to feel anything but heartbreak.

If you’re thinking none of this looks like material ripe for comedy, you’re not exactly wrong. Andersson toned his humorous tendencies considerably down. He uses fewer surrealistic devices. There’s no outlandish make-up at sight. When he lampoons one of the most despicable historical figures of all time, he does so in a melancholic tone. These all-too-human stories go about themselves unconcerned about punchlines. The outcome is less funny but no less potent.

Unlike its predecessors, About Endlessness is more observational than critical. It accepts wholeheartedly that pain and joy are two sides of the same coin and that one of these is needed for the other one to be perceived.

Back at the psychiatrist office, when the priest asks him about meaning of a godless existence, he replies: “Maybe being content being alive”. That simple philosophy is at the core of About Endlessness – a film that dares, not only to have a potentially preposterous title, but to ask its viewers to look around and marvel at the wonders of everything around them.

About Endlessness is on Curzon Home Cinema on Friday, November 6th. On various VoD platforms from Friday, January 1st (2021).

Being a Human Person

The films of Roy Andersson may seem impenetrable to some. His deader-than-deadpan highly-stylised brand of comedy has been a festival darling for the past 20 years, but its slow-paced nature is definitely not everyone’s cuppa. Fred Scott’s feature, while clearly designed with the fans in mind, provides enough context to spike the interest of non-converts.

Centred around the production of About Endlessness – Andersson’s 2019 film announced as his swansong – this documentary zigzags back and forth in time, delving into the director’s youth, themes, obsessions and work method. It also gives plenty of screen time to his closest crew members, who provide a warts-and-all diary of what it’s like to work with a highly creative person who thinks he might be reaching his artistic endpoint.

Despite its runtime of 90 minutes and its breadth, Scott’s film feels like a featurette – additional material to one of its subject’s films. The viewer who looks beyond that promotional sheen will find an emotional portrait of contemporary cinema’s ultimate voyeur. The 76-year-old director is infatuated with people and the human condition. He can’t help but watch them. And depict them as he sees fit.

His vision of the world made him sick of his early success, drove him into becoming an independent filmmaker and eventually manifested itself in an idiosyncratic cinematic style. It also came at the cost of meaningful long-term personal relationships and aggravated a drinking addiction which seems unsolvable – topics the film pursuits fearlessly.

The scenes he and his team manage to pull off in a small studio in central Stockholm are nothing short of extraordinary. His extremely tactile cinema – wholly dependent on handcrafted sets – aligns him in the tradition of the art’s forerunners, such as George Meliès. Andersson, however, is not looking at other beings and worlds. He is transfixed by all the highs and lows (particularly the lows) of human life on Earth.

The struggle to finish his latest feature provides some sort of narrative backbone to the documentary, which follows the director as he frustrates his crew, checks into rehab only to give up two weeks later and travels to festivals in order to engage with his audience. His health deteriorates considerably within that time span. By the time About Hopelessness finally debuts in Venice – after reshoots prevented it from doing so in Berlin earlier that year – the director is almost wheelchair-bound and must confront his mortality on his own terms.

Ultimately, Being a Human Person presents Roy Andersson as every single one of his characters: utterly flawed, defined by both pleasure and pain. While overtly traditional in form, Scott’s documentary offers a a one of a kind opportunity too see cinema master both engaged and off guard.

Being a Human Person premieres at Curzon x Camden Market on Wednesday, September 16th. It is out in cinemas and on Curzon Home Cinema on Friday, October 16th.

Discover Iceland in all its glory!

The Icelandic movie Echo (Bergmál), which premiered in competition at the 72nd Locarno Film Festival, is a major step up in form and content for Icelandic director Rúnar Rúnarsson. Set over the Christmas period, its a wide-spanning portrayal of the nation that’s equal parts profound, funny, and banal. Its standout quality is the way it marries formalist rigour — each scene focusing on a new character and shot with a single static camera — with emotion, humour and philosophical enquiry. We sat down with the director to discuss his unique approach to hybrid forms, Icelandic society, and working with real people.

Read our review now!

Redmond Bacon – Echo is very different from single character portraits Volcano (2011) and Sparrows (2015). Why the massive change in tone?

Rúnar Rúnarsson – I wouldn’t say that its a massive change in tone. People say to me: “you made some radical changes in your life making this film”. The fundamental difference is that we are portraying society instead of one person, but I think the fingertips of the creative team and I are quite similar.

RB Echo takes such a panoramic view of Iceland. Do you think it will strike a chord across Icelandic society?

RR – Festival-wise my films have always done well, but I’ve never sold tickets anywhere, not even at home. I’ve been privileged in my life to do the things that I wanted. But you can’t have it all. You can’t have sold out theatres night after night. My main aim has always been to follow my vision. I have no expectations towards ticket sales, in Iceland or elsewhere. To be completely honest, I don’t think in this way. I have a big misconception of my films though. I think they are really audience friendly but I’m still regarded as an “artist director”!

RB – I think Echo is very accessible due to how true to life it is, and its humour. The form of the film is a hybrid between documentary footage and fiction. How much was documentary footage and how much was fiction?

RR – There was a really detailed manuscript. I think there were maybe nine or ten scenes that didn’t end up in the film. The rules we had were made for effect. I think we achieved a sense of authenticity. We decided not to say what is real and what is in full control. Anyway, even when you look at a fly-on-the-wall documentary, there are decisions such as when you come in and out of a shot and how its put together. There is always a sense of the author.

RB – Yes, there’s always an artificiality to a documentary, because you choose what to put in, you choose what to take out and you choose how to present it and edit it together. It doesn’t just happen by itself.

RR – All my fictional films are about things I’ve gone through in my life or people close to me. My goal is to be honest and capture a sense of reality and a sense of my emotions; to put it out for whoever would be interested. Most scenes in this film are in a greyscale. All people in front of the camera are under their own identity; sometimes you hear their names. And it is their real names. Often they are in their native surroundings.

Echo

RB – These are native actors playing versions of themselves?

RR – Sometimes being themselves, sometimes following a script. There are some with acting backgrounds, then they went into farming and play a farmer in the film.

RB – There’s so many different perspectives in the film…

RR – Iceland is a small community. The Prime Minister of Iceland [Katrín Jakobsdóttir] is in this film. We bumped into her while shooting another scene. There are homeless people as well. I know the assistant to the Prime Minister and I know one of the homeless people really well. In a society so small, you know somebody in every situation.

RB – So there isn’t a massive divide between rich in poor in terms of being aware of each other?

RR – No. It’s so small. But the gap is getting bigger. There is private education and healthcare, which didn’t exist when I was growing up. Society is changing, but it still has this Scandinavian Social Democratic foundation.

RB – You tackle the Panama Papers scandal when former Prime Minister Sigmundur Davíð Gunnlaugsson had to resign. Was it important to have these contemporaneous elements too?

RR – We shot during Christmas 2018. There were things debated at the time that ended up in the film. But it’s not about the truth of the period; it’s an echo, hence the title, portraying fragments of life from Iceland during that time.

RB – I want to talk about another Scandinavian director. Roy Andersson. Echo has a similar mise en scène to The Living Trilogy (2000-14)? Was this an inspiration?

RR – A friend of mine didn’t understand the project I was working on. I was about to go to the financing place and gave him the script. He went through it and said: “It’s going to be really simple for you to present this film. Just tell people to imagine if Vittorio Di Sica would make a Roy Andersson film.”

RB – In terms of narration it reminded me of the British movie Love Actually (Richard Curtis, 2003), in that there’s a lot of stories set around Christmas and the season itself becomes the narrator. Was this an inspiration at all?

RR – No. But when I was developing the movie it was at first about these fragments of life. First I thought about doing it over the period of a year. But I wouldn’t ever be able to afford it, and the more I developed it, the more I wanted to have more control. I felt like Christmas was the right framework because it’s hard to sympathise with people you don’t know. In normal films you have the time to build up a character and for the audience to care about them. Here you meet people and then they’re gone and never reappear…

RB – But Christmas gives it this sentimental overlay?

RR – Yes. It’s an amplifier of our emotions. It helps the audience to be put in the place of these people. Many of them have been in these situations. It’s a time of year where people are more observant. They try to be better people; more generous and open-minded. At the same time, for many people, it’s the worst time of the year. It was a good guide to constructing a narrative.

RB – Was it all shot within this two week period?

RR – There was one scene we just had to do earlier. The burning house scene is from another time of the year.

RB – That’s a very evocative scene. It reminded me of The Sacrifice (Andrei Tarkovsky, 1986).

RR – He had to burn that house two times.

Your

RB – Films are always set against nature, a natural byproduct, I guess, of shooting in Iceland. But this film seems mostly focused on the people itself, which goes against a conventional approach to depicting the country. Was this intentional?

RR – It was never my intention of decorating something in nature. Nature is a part of living in Iceland. Look out the window and there are mountains! Nature is beautiful. But it shouldn’t only be used for decoration or production value. You should use it as a narrative tool. In a perfect film, everything that you see or hear should have a function. For example, the final shot of the film is there not only because its beautiful. It’s a metaphor of life continuing. Water is a transition, a vessel in the water, going through the tides and waves. It’s the year ahead.

RB – There are some great transitions, such as between a Children’s Christmas Pageant and a Bikini Body Building Contest. How long did it take to think “OK, this will go here and this will go there” before putting these scenes together to develop the film’s rhythm?

RR – We slowly put the film together while we were shooting. Working with these tableaus. Whether you go 10 seconds earlier in or out of a scene can have such an impact on the rhythm. So we try to take enlightened decisions. But you shouldn’t be too clever. You have to follow your instincts.

RB – The film has a strong cycle of life theme, best expressed when it contrasts New Years Eve celebrations with a baby being born. How did you gain the trust of the couple to film a live birth?

RR – Like with many other people in the film, it was a search for the right people who were generous enough to share their lives. There were many other people who showed interest then backed out. We have no control over a birth. We are not cutting either. We thought we would have to shoot many different births to have something to choose between. But we were just extremely lucky and only shot one birth.

To get people to participate in this kind of thing is about being honest with what we want to achieve. I don’t want to to manipulate anybody; whether its real people or my fictional characters. They represent something in me and I want to respect myself. Sometimes I’ve been to film school conducting lectures. At the end the moderators ask: “Do you have a message to the students? What should they do?”

And I say “Be honest!”

Photo Credit: Ottavia Bosello. Also pictured: Producers Live Hide (left) and Lilja Ósk Snorradóttir (right). Others photos are from the film itself.