By Dean Treadway
Just to try something a little different, I offer:
100 Things I Love About Ingmar Bergman’s Fanny and Alexander (in no particular order):
- It was my big-screen introduction to Bergman’s work. I had caught Cries and Whispers, In the Life of Marionettes, Face to Face, and Autumn Sonata on cable during those heyday years of ’78-’82 HBO. Yet I’d never seen his work at a theater, and lemme tell ya, it blew my socks off. At 15, I immediately considered this a formative movie, one that I placed right next to 2001: A Space Odyssey in the pantheon of works that truly let me in on the possibilities of cinema. Seeing it as a kid not much older than those in the movie really made an impression on me. It still remains my second favorite film of all time.
- The first words we see, printed above the mini-theater set in the film’s first shot: “Not for pleasure only,” referring to the fact that art is NOT just about entertainment.
- The opening scene–the beginning of Christmas Day, 1907–with Bertil Guve as Alexander, lazing away the afternoon, trying to find something to get into. I see this scene as a kind of tour through childhood, playing with toys, then trying to find others to play with, then a reliance on pure imagination, with this nearly pubescent boy settling in on the one thing in his grandmother’s home that sparks it: a nude statue of a female, which becomes bathed in light and begins to move on its own. This is a scene of sexual awakening, I think. Alexander stays underneath a table, frozen in fear for what the future will bring, even though his grandmother bids him to join her.
- The haunting music over that opening scene: Robert Schumann’s Piano Quintet op. 44 II.
- The sets in the film are exquisite, but perhaps none more so than the red-hued, labyrinthine home of the grandmother. I swear, there’s something new to look at in this setting every time I see the film.
- That wonderful shot of a carriage passing by vendors of colorful flowers, all set up in the Swedish snow.
- The nativity play, with Fanny and Alexander disguised as angels.
- That scene, once the curtain falls on the Ekdahl family, of pure celebration, with the lights being lowered into frame, the cast embracing each other, the kids chasing each other in little circles, the opulent food being carted in on a long table, and finally the Christmas tree arriving to obscure it all.
- Allan Edwall’s melancholy performance as Oscar Ekdahl, proprietor of the family theater and father to our title characters.
- His character’s final (as it turns out to be) year-end speech to his company, where he casts the theater as “the little world,” trying to make audiences learn about or forget about “the big world” outside. It’s one of the film’s major themes, this comparison, and I find Oscar’s overtly downbeat farewell to it to be quite moving.
- Jarl Kulle’s boisterous Gustav Ekdahl, the restaurant owner, commanding his team not to look down their noses at the actors they’re about to serve, as they’re not as sophisticated as the restaurant’s usual clientele.
- The way Gustav carried the flaming punch bowl, high up, with confidence and skill, careful to see that the fire doesn’t touch his reddened face, as a marching band of musicians play a vivid fanfare behind him.
- Borje Ahlstedt’s idiosyncratic turn as the drunken Carl Ekdahl, first seen singing old standards with his carousing buddies, and then being angrily dragged off to supper by his perpetually worried German wife
- The fact that it’s a movie about ADULT children as well–the three brothers, each in their own ways, have never really grown up. In fact, the only grown-ups in the movie are the women, and this goes for the female children, too: They are inevitably the most even-keeled and responsible people in the movie, underlying Bergman’s view that a mother never really stops being a mother.
- Gunn Wahlgren as Helena Ekdahl, perhaps my favorite performance in the movie. Her matriarchal presence is intense and revealing, as are her mercurial moods. It’s easy to see the character was once a lauded stage actress, because she certainly loves the drama.
- Erland Josephson as Isak Jacobi, the grandmother’s Jewish lover and friend. I always found him an overwhelmingly warm and enchanted force in the film.
- Helena and Isak stealing a kiss after he gives her a Christmas gift, and reminiscing about the time her husband caught them fooling around–“It was like a farce by Feydeau.” I also love how she breaks down, sad about old age and the arrival of “the horrible, dirty life.” Isak tries to kiss away her tears, and she quickly comes to her senses.
- Helena: “Are you sad you’ve grown old?” Isak: “I’m certainly not. Everything’s getting worse. Worse people, worse machines, worse wars… and worse weather. I’m glad I’ll soon be dead.” Right on.
- That superb shot of the grandmother, stepping out on the balcony with Isak, donned in her fur coat, saying with all the love in the world: “There is my family,” as she watches them in the midst of a snowball fight. It’s one of the movie’s richest moments of quiet joy.
- Dinner is served, and the kids bring up the rear of the procession to the dinner table. Alexander surreptitiously sticks a mini Swedish flag into the hair of a favorite aunt, to many giggles.
- The energetic line-dance that the family does around the grandmother’s apartment. The song being sung by the family–a Swedish traditional piece–is extremely catchy and you might leave the theater singing it. I always found it amusing, too, that Don Herzfeldt used a version of it in one of his cartoons.
- Gustav breaking out of the dance to canoodle with Maj, a comely maid he has designs on, and then breaking back into the line with a big laugh, right next to his wife Alma (Mona Malm). Another scene of childlike male shenanigans.
- More adult childishness: Uncle Carl treating the kids to a show of scatological “fireworks,” and that big zoom-in to his cigar-smoking face as he lets one rip.
- The alternately bored and enthralled looks on the family’s faces as they listen to Oscar read from the Bible.
- The pillow fight, filled with screams and feathers, and the tinkly sounds of a music box.
- Alma offering Maj (whom she knows is messing around with her husband) a Christmas box, and then slapping her. Maj silently accepts this “box.”
- The mothers kiss their kids goodnight, and Emilie Ekdahl confesses to Alma an impression she has of Alma’s son; “Putte kisses like a real man.” They both find this uproarious.
- As this is an autobiographical memory piece by Bergman, of course we have a scene where (presumed) future filmmaker Alexander treats his sister and cousins to a show of shadows on the wall, as slides in a kerosene lamp tell the prophetic story of a woman being visited by a white ghost. The family will soon have a “white ghost” of their own. The scene ends in spirited screams, and a bemused admonition from Emilie for the kids to hit the sack.
- Maj’s midnight visitation to Alexander, confessing that he can’t sleep in her bed tonight, to which he angrily shuts down. I’d be mad, too: Pernilla August is ravishing as this slightly plump but very sexy maid.
- That goofy sex scene between Gustav and Maj, with the bed collapsing from underneath them.
- Gustav arriving home to chilly stares from his daughter and wife; of course, that doesn’t stop him from trying to get a little more sex in. Another hilarious scene, filled with a rainbow of emotions.
- Carl’s near nervous breakdown at being destitute and beholden to his mother, wondering about the moment where his fortunes turned and his reputation was ruined, culminating in a crippling scene of depression, with Carl clutching his own face in abject despair.
- Bertil Guve’s blacker-than-black eyes and hair, and Pernilla Alwin’s perfectly blonde, blue-eyed Fanny.
- Oscar playing the White Ghost in Hamlet, with his elderly producer (Bergman veteran Gunnar Bjornstrand) looking down at an enraptured Alexander, perhaps spotting the artist the child will eventually become.
- After Oscar collapses, Alexander is again paralyzed with fear for the future, even after his father’s stricken body has been carted out of the theater. Only Maj can rouse him to face the inevitable.
- Even at home, Alexander is beset by depression–almost collapsed with grief. Talk of getting a puppy can’t raise his spirits, and neither can molasses sandwiches. Fanny–always steadfast–pokes at him, and he simply says “Leave me alone.” This is his first real experience with death–a subject that would obsess Bergman as a filmmaker for decades to come.
- Oscar’s last words to Emilie, telling her that in death, they will become even closer than they were in life.
- Alexander and Fanny being led to their father’s bedroom, heads bowed down. Alexander gives an almost contemptuous look to the rest of the family as he enters the room; he hates having his emotions on display.
- At the death bed, Fanny dutifully pays tribute to her father, but Alexander tries to hide under the bed. He’s dragged out and, in a horrifying moment, his father clutches his hand, hard, and struggles to speak, his tongue roiling to find the right words before he expires.
- Fanny and Alexander, awoken in the middle of the night to the sounds of their mother screaming in misery. Bergman and his cinematographer Sven Nykvist frame this so cleverly, through barely open doors that reveal only Oscar’s dead body and Emilie walking slowly to and fro, across the room, screaming and screaming, with the camera cutting back to the terrified look on the children’s faces.
- A stunning funeral procession–the most opulent scene in the movie (filmed without Bergman’s participation, as he was sick at the time–he was beset by hypochondria during the film’s production, a sign that he REALLY cared about it). The scene is spectacularly set to Benjamin Britten’s ominous Funeral March for Queen Victoria.
- And Alexander, walking in the procession, reciting obscenities quietly to himself. Fanny gives him a quick and understanding glance.
- At the post-funeral dinner, Alexander glances at the Bishop offering condolences to his mother. You can see the disgust on his face (Bertil Guve is great at conveying emotions without uttering a sound; for a movie with two children as lead characters, Bergman gives them very few words to say, instead relying mostly on their expressive eyes to tell the story.)
- A great shot concludes this segment: Fanny leads Alexander outside their room, having heard something–three ominous notes being played on a harpsichord. Sitting at the instrument, in a white suit: their now-ghostly father. Edwall’s silent peer into the camera is chilling.
- At the beginning of the second act, a scene where Alexander arrives home to a cold reception, and the other kids are gossiping to each other, presumably about how he’s now in big trouble.
- The introduction of this piece’s villain: Jan Malmsjo as the Bishop Vergerus, who’s been charged with getting the truth out of Alexander. This first battle of wills between the boy and the Bishop is fairly striking–a portent of things to come, and one of my favorite scenes in the film, as it talks about the difference between a lie and the truth. As we come to see, some lies lead TO the truth–that, after all, is the meaning of art. Malmsjo is pretty thrilling in the film–immensely despicable, despite being more famous in Sweden as a song-and-dance man.
- The revelation of the Bishop’s austere home–a stark change from the abundance of the Ekdahl residences, and more superb art direction from set designer Anna Asp.
- And then there’s his ghastly mother and sisters, including one very obese one, shut away in her room, living life as a freakish pariah. Bergman’s commentary on such disingenuous religious figures could not be more clear, or more damning.
- Ewa Froling as Emilie. Her performance really comes into full flower here as she faces more challenges once she makes the fateful decision to marry the Bishop. Utterly powerful is the scene where she argues quietly with him about having to ask the children if they approve of his plan to have them shed their past life completely.
- The wedding scene where, as the vows are being recited, Alexander departs and throws himself dispiritedly upon a full kitchen table, gave me the biggest laugh in the movie. Ridiculously creative!
- Emilie asking her children to include the Bishop in their nightly prayers. Only Fanny complies and the Bishop notices this. He takes this opportunity to needle Alexander some more, finally discovering that he’s also disobeyed the Bishop’s order to leave everything behind. The one thing Alexander brings: his teddy bear. Childhood cannot be denied such small comforts.
- A nearly unrecognizable Harriett Andersson–a long way from Summer With Monika–as the Bishop’s nervous, superstitious maid Justina, with her bandaged hand.
- The scene where Alexander’s imagination takes flight, as he tells the terrible story of what happened to the Bishop’s former wife and their two daughters. I remember first seeing this in the theater and you could feel the audience being silently enraptured by this tale, just as Fanny and Justina are.
- Another great scene, this time with the Bishop and Alexander squaring off firmly, with the Bishop angry at Alexander’s tale (which we sense might very well be true). Fanny backs her up her brother’s efforts to deny, but eventually, some punishing whacks with a cane are administered.
- That wonderful close-up of the mother’s hand, with a thimble coldly still on a finger, clutching the back of Alexander’s head as he prepares to take his punishment. There’s something so haunting about this shot (it’s the thimble that does it).
- After the punishment and the confession, Alexander gets a few swipes in. “Alexander does not wish the Bishop a good night,” he says. After being forced to kiss the Bishop’s ring, he’s told he’ll be sleeping in the attic until morning. Alexander defiantly screams “YES, YOUR GRACE!”
- Seeking a bit of understanding from Fanny, the Bishop lovingly holds out his hand, and Fanny indignantly turns her head away. This is my favorite moment from Ms. Allwin–a real emotional victory, from a character that seems immanently forgiving.
- The fight for the attic key between Emilie and the Bishop’s bitchy mother is spectacular.
- The Bishop owns a fluffy black cat, so he can’t be ALL bad…
- On a rainy afternoon at a springtime country estate, the grandmother dozes and awakens to a visit from her dead son. He’s apologetic for everything that has happened to the family since his death; meanwhile, she remembers his beauty as a child. Again, a mother is always a mother, even in old age, and even after a child has passed away.
- That great tracking shot as Isak leaves his curiosity shop, dropping a coin into a fiddler’s cup as he heads over to the Bishop’s estate.
- Magic is introduced fully into the film, as Uncle Isak attempts to buy a chest from the Bishop, but secretly plans to sneak the children out of the house. Foiled by the Bishop, who slaps the hat of Isak’s head and screams anti-semitic insults, Isak summons all the power of illusion and screams to the heavens in order to make this plan work. This is an extremely memorable moment, and for some viewers new to Bergman, maybe a head-scratching one.
- I love the scene that has Alexander, under the pretense of looking for a chamber pot, first exploring Isak’s endlessly fascinating house, filled with tons of stuff a kid would love. The smoky photography here is particularly luminous, and I adore that moment where Alexander disappears downstage and then quickly reappears upstage, emphasizing the place’s maze-like features.
- Those superbly creepy shots of Oscar, wandering around in the background, framed by Isak’s collection of chandeliers, as Alexander admonishes him to go back to heaven “because there’s nothing that you can do here.” This is the final time we see the father’s ghost, by the way.
- Alexander, finding the radically unsettling houseboy Aron (Mats Bergman) sleeping with his eyes open.
- A visitation by God, hidden behind a doorway, might be the film’s scariest moment (and this IS a quasi-horror film, in some ways). “Is this the end of me?” The revelation, too, is a hoot.
- Another of the film’s superb scenes has Emilie bidding goodbye to the Bishop, having slipped six sleeping pills into his tea. It’s the one scene where we feel some compassion for the Bishop who, after all, is probably the product of an unloving household. Malmsjo is absolutely brilliant here. “I’m horribly awake,” he says, before crying out in agony to a defiant Emilie.
- The breathing mummy that Aron shows to Alexander. This is Bergman’s personal favorite image in the movie.
- Alexander (to Aron): “If there is a god, then he’s a shit, and I’d like to kick him in the butt.”
- The casting of actress Stina Ekblad as Aron’s locked-away brother Ishmael is particularly inspired, and it really throws your brain into loopty-loops.
- Alexander’s scene with his “guardian angel” is both sublimely comforting and wholly unsettling.
- The sight of the Bishop’s obese sister, writhing in slow-motion flames, is unforgettable.
- …as are the Bishop’s final moments.
- The glorious denouement, where the Eckdahl’s are back together again. Fanny and Alexander feast on desserts as two new babies–born to Gustav and Emilie–lie in frilly bassinets. Clearly moved, Gustav happily regales the guests with a celebration of “the little world, and of love, kindness, and compassion.
- Meanwhile, the women in family realize that they, now, are in full control of the Eckdahl’s future, with Emilie offering a part in a play by Strindberg to her mother-in-law, who hasn’t been on stage in years, but who seems to be fully considering a possible return, even though she doesn’t like Strindberg (whom she calls “a misogynist”). This is an inside joke, as Gunn Wallgren began her career as one of the premier stage interpreters of Strindberg.
- The extremely eerie re-appearance of our villain, fully underlining Bergman’s film as a kind of horror tale, and a reiteration of the notion that the past is never quite done with us.
- The final moment of the movie brings it around to its beginning: As the grandmother retires to read the Strindberg play, Alexander at last curls up in her lap, once again giving himself over to the power of imagination.
- I love that Lena Olin and Peter Stormare have early roles in Fanny and Alexander. Upon my last viewing, I finally located Stormare (he’s one of the guys that helps Isak with the Bishop’s chest), but I still cannot spot Olin.
- The final Bergman touch–those iconic, bright red closing credits, as always, unfolding in silence.
- It was Bergman’s first film made in Sweden after the legendary filmmaker’s four-year tax exile in Germany.
- It’s great that, as one of Bergman’s last film’s, the movie emerged as a hit, making nearly $7 million at the US box office. (The filmmaker would go on to make a few TV productions, and a true final film, 2003’s Saraband with Liv Ullmann and Erland Josephson reprising their Scenes from a Marriage roles).
- In 1983, it hit a record at the Oscars as the non-English language film with the most nominations–six. It ended up winning four: Art Direction, Costume Design, Cinematography, and Foreign Language Film. Sadly, it lost out in Best Director (to James L. Brooks’ Terms of Endearment–a travesty–and Best Original Screenplay (to Horton Foote’s Tender Mercies–less of a travesty).
- It also won the 1983 Golden Globe for Best Foreign Language Film.
- In the 2012 Sight and Sound poll as to the best films of all time, it placed 84th–way too low.
- I adore that, as with many Bergman films, it’s almost completely devoid of music except in key stings and subtle accents.
- It was shot in chronological order–a feat nearly unheard of in modern cinema.
- The larger Criterion Collection version of it (five discs) includes a one-hour “making of” documentary.
- Gorgeous Sven Nykvist photography–absolutely some of his best work.
- The costuming, by Marik Vos Lundh, is resolutely exquisite.
- The makeup and hairstyling are equally lovely.
- Very crisply edited by Sylvia Ingemarsson; despite its length, it speeds by with great haste, and when it’s all over, you feel like you’ve truly been taken on a journey.
- I love its Dickensian quality–it’s a Bergman movie that feels like a tribute to another great storyteller (which Bergman admitted was so).
- The sound of the Swedish language, particularly as delivered so precisely and with verve by these actors, is absolutely musical. It’s a movie that actually makes me want to learn and speak the language.
- The quick glimpses of the Swedish city streets, or the countrysides, or the flowing rivers and icy thoroughfares–all are completely delicious.
- I even like the film’s elegant movie poster–one of my favorites of all time. I still own and treasure it.
- I can watch it again and again, and never be bored with it.
- I love that it was actually done for Swedish TV, with 2 hours and 12 minutes added to to its theatrical running time. If I ever get tired of the theatrical cut–the one I’ve kind of imprinted on–I can re-experience the piece again anew by watching the TV cut, which is even better, of course. (I apologize to fans in advance for not reviewing that version.)
- But, amazingly, the theatrical cut loses none of its power. How was Bergman able to do this? It’s a wonder! (Still, he says he had to “cut into the nerves and lifeblood of the film”).
- Back in ’83, I took one of my first and favorite girlfriends to see the movie, and she loved it; it remains one of my favorite moviegoing experiences (though she absentmindedly talked though part of the film). We also played it a 99-cent second-run house I worked at as a teenager, and I remember the projectionist getting the reels mixed up because it was such an uncommonly long movie; I had to clue him in about his mistake, and it took all night to fix. The film did exceedingly well at the Toco Hills Theater in Atlanta, drawing in big crowds for three weeks.
- Finally, I adore that it’s a movie with such wonderful, never overdone or sentimentalized insights into the filmmaker’s own troubled yet vibrant childhood as the son of a strict Episcopal pastor. It’s both a perfect Christmas film and a justifiable entry into the horror pantheon, and there are not many movies that can boast of that distinction. And I can deeply feel the care Bergman and his team put into every frame. I love that it’s a film so many other people adore, and as such, it will live forever.
In my Criterion edition which is 5h 21m 50s long Lena Olin appears in a scene that is 40 seconds long and starts at 5h 10m 34s. I think she’s a nanny rather than a maid. She shares this scene with Eva Fröling who is dressed in a rather magnificent red dressing gown and her newborn baby.
Don’t know if linking works and/or is allowed but I’ll give it a shot anyway.
You can trust me when it comes to spotting Lena. She was my best friend in preschool 55 years ago.
Thanks, Arne! How neat you guys were friends so long ago! I suppose she’s more evident in the TV cut, which I haven’t watched in some time, to be honest.
Very interesting and different. Nice job! I expected this great film to finish near the top, and I voted it near the top of my ballot. I found myself nodding my head to many of your observations. BTW I love that poster too!
Glad to see this one placing highly. I think I had it ranked at number 2 myself. Hard to imagine this not being in the top 5. An astounding list of notes here! Superb stuff and brings it back to me. I have seen the longer cut only, which is one of the best things Bergman ever did to my eyes. So many levels to view this on, not the least of which was how elements of Bergman’s childhood, which many of us know about, come to life so magnificently. It’s a magnificent cast too of course. Great stuff here! Really nice Dean.
Thanks to both of you, Frank and Jon!
Dean, thanks for such a passionate foray in the world of Ingmar Bergman and the film that many consider to be his supreme masterpiece. Like you I am a fanatical fan of the film, and found so many of your remembrances acute and insightful. Though I could hardly refer to them all, I’ll make mention of a few. Schumann’s Piano Quintet has always been one of my favorite classical compositions of all time – before I even saw FANNY AND ALEXANDER for the first time. It works so well for that scene and for the film in general, fluctuating in mood, and bursting with life. So true that the theatrical cut loses nothing. So wonderful you brought some personal experiences like your girlfriend (who talked through part of the film-ha!); the Bishop and Alexander scene; the creepy shots of Oscar; the visitation by God; The small role by Harriett Andersson; the unforgettable funeral procession and the use of Britten. Your approach enables readers to “compare notes” which is always a real lot of fun. A very great film that well deserved being just about at the top!
I appreciate it, Sam!
Great approach Dean. You left us little to add, but that’s a very good thing. Another masterwork that is a given for this kind of countdown.
Absolutely had to go completist on this movie. Thanks for reading, Peter, and for the kind words.
Dean, such a wonderful tribute to this enchantingly beautiful film. Fanny and Alexander is a true masterpiece richly deserving of all your praise and I’m happy to see it finish so high in our countdown.
Thanks, Duane! I was lucky to be able to do this one, and I hope I did it justice!
Wow – what an epic treatment for an epically great film! Honestly, for all the love for 400 Blows (don’t get me wrong, it’s a landmark film) – this, for me, when you look at how the rankings went…shoulda been #1. The opening of this film is magnificent, and the first hour or so where’s it’s just the Christmas party is absolutely fantastic. The film wanes a bit with the child abuse stuff…but all in all…a masterpiece.
Such a great film – I remember seeing it in the cinema on release and enjoyed revisiting it on DVD recently. The whole opening is wonderful. I especially like your point about this being a film about adult children, but this whole presentation is great and told me a lot of things I didn’t know about this film.