TJE 7/27 - You, the Living (2007)

Roy Andersson's apocalypse comedy "Songs From the Second Floor" was one of the most unique and memorable Swedish films in recent memory, so I was curious about what he'd follow it up with. "You, the Living" came seven years later, and feels like more of the same, only without the apocalypse stuff. Here we have a collection of short, dark, comic scenes, about ordinary people living out their ordinary lives. Most of the characters are sad and miserable, seeking to escape their unhappiness. There is nothing as bleak and horrifying as the content of "Songs From the Second Floor." The most serious episode of violence is probably the fed-up barber (Kemal Sener) who ruins a rude man's haircut. There are some fanciful touches, including dream sequences and musical interludes, and the tone is altogether lighter, if not really much happier. Several characters are members of, or have some connection to a group of jazz musicians who call themselves the Louisiana Brass Band.

At first, it seems there is no plot. A woman (Elisabeth Helander) cries that no one understands or loves her, and then orders her confused boyfriend (Jugge Nohall) to get lost. A man (Björn Englund) practices the sousaphone, to the annoyance of his wife. A musician, Micke (Eric Bäckman), is approached by a starry-eyed groupie (Jessika Lundberg) in a bar. These characters all return in later scenes and their stories progress, but others do not. Some are never named, so it's difficult to keep them all straight. My favorite story of the bunch is told by a carpenter (Leif Larsson) who has a terrible dream, that the film obligingly illustrates for us. He tries to do the tablecloth trick at a party, and ends up destroying a 200 year-old china set. Dragged into court with only a sobbing advocate at his side, the judge throws the book at him for his terrible crime. Death by the electric chair! We cut back to the carpenter stuck in traffic, still telling the story, just before the switch can be thrown. Slowly the band members come together, and we see them pop up throughout the film, at a jubilee here, and a funeral there. Everyone bears the weight of their own little tragedies, but the music plays on.

Andersson's style is very specific and very easy to spot. He creates these elaborate tableaux, often with dozens of people in the frame, that are very precisely composed. His shots use deep focus, so that we can see what is going on in the background and the foreground at the same time, and he includes all these little visual details that it's difficult to make out on a regular television. Most scenes play out in long single takes without cutting, all the action perfectly contained in that single shot, and then we move on to the next one. I think Andersson's films are the kind that really benefit from a theater viewing, because there's so much going on that is easy to overlook on a smaller screen. He hardly ever moves the camera, but when he does it is to very good effect. In one dream sequence, just a slight repositioning of the camera lets us look out a window at the scene outside. Andersson's penchant for these little gags and elaborate setups reminds me Jacques Tati, the French director who was known for his facility with visual humor. The blackness of the social satire, however, recalls Luis Buñuel.

It might seem presumptuous to be comparing Andersson to such these directors, but there's no one else out there I can think of to compare him to. Modern directors with similar styles like Lech Majewski and Peter Greenaway are mostly concerned with period pieces and classical subjects. Andersson turns his camera on average Swedes, played mostly by non-actors, living out average lives. His painstakingly devised scenes play out in dingy apartments, in diners, offices, churches, shops, and out on the street. The problems are small and incidental, only adding up to something large and profound when you see them in aggregate, or when the characters intersect in interesting ways. And then there's the menacing ending, that seems to be leading them all right into "Songs From the Second Floor."

"You, the Living" doesn't have the nihilist bite or the eye-popping visuals of "Songs From the Second Floor," but it's plenty effective in its own right. The critique is subtler, but no less satisfying. The humor is not as mean, but often is a bit sadder and the characters easier to sympathize with. Here, faced with difficulties, our nobody heroes are discouraged but tend to soldier on rather than give into despair. "You, the Living" still views humanity as pretty self-absorbed and miserable, but there's a little bit of hope here too.

Roy Andersson is apparently planning a third film in this vein, and I hope he gets to make it. And that it doesn't take him another seven years.
---