Fanny and Alexander

It became apparent in the third hour of 1982's FANNY AND ALEXANDER that the theatrical cut I was watching was significantly pared down.  Since the film's original release, the five hour version (originally shot for Swedish television) has emerged for international consumption, and by most accounts is the version that should be seen.  I chose the three hour as that what was released in theaters (even in my humble town) and I wanted to preserve that in some unexplainable way.  And it seemed excessive for director Ingmar Bergman, who based his screenplay on his own childhood experiences, to spend so much time, even if his sprawling narrative included multitudes of characters.  Especially since much of the film focuses on a brother and sister as they deal with their new stepfather.  How much could be said without being repetitious?

Plenty, apparently, and  one day I will sit down with some molasses sandwiches and hot cocoa for the TV edit.   I wonder if it fleshes out what I consider a very good film with flashes of greatness, but not a great film.  I am puzzled that once it narrows its examination on Fanny (Pernilla Allwin), her brother Alexander (Bertil Guve), their widowed mother Emelie (Ewa Froling), and her new husband, the authoritarian Bishop Edvard Vergerus (Jan Malmsjo), it all becomes less involving.   An odd paradox.  But the opening scenes, as we witness the joyous celebration of Christmas in the Ekdahl mansion, are so full of energy and life and colorful characters that the later storyline felt thin and dour.  Of course that was Bergman's intention.

Life is not always a carnival.  Even when it is, the seams will burst through.  Before the first hour elapses, the festivities give way to private anguish, longings for the past.  What older folks tend to do.  Grandmothers will lament.  Uncles will carry on with the maids, but the dalliance will be shattered by one harsh word.  Other uncles will cry in their debts, lambast their patient wives, apologize for doing so, then lambast them again.  Bergman introduces each character without fanfare; it's as if we've always known them.  We feel welcome in this house.  I honestly could've watched hours of just their conversations as they ate.

The only storyline to receive mention later in FANNY AND ALEXANDER is that of Gustav Adolf Ekdahl (Jarl Kulle), that beared rake who openly pursues a cute young redhead called Maj (Pernilla August), one of an army of servants.  His wife Alma (Mona Malm) knows all about it, even finding it endearing.  Even when her husband gets the girl pregnant! Adultery seems to be well tolerated in this world, and perhaps it was in Bergman's childhood world as well.  I was disappointed that a budding thread involving the attraction between Maj and Alexander was jettisoned.  At least in the three hour cut.

So we march gloomily toward the centerpiece plot.  It is here that Bergman's venom toward religion (at least the rigid, dogmatic sort) is most obvious.   Through Alexander's words and actions/reactions the film becomes a not so gentle take down, making the Bishop a bit one dimensional in the process.  Meanwhile, Alexander (and others) begins seeing the ghost of his father Oskar (Alan Edwall), who had died of a stroke while acting in his theater's version of Hamlet.  That Shakespeare play will figure largely into this story as well.

Sven Nykvist's cinematography is astounding.  The film was shot for television, but is one of the most cinematic endeavors I've come across. 

There is so much to consider, to interpret.  Does Bergman feel the more secular, even pagan atmosphere of the Ekdahl home is what one should aspire to? The Bishop's home is a cold, centuries old fortress with awful secrets, all with the veneer of reverence and worship.  My takes here are surface; I could indulge a thesis if I worked hard enough.  Maybe I should leave that to my viewing of Bergman's original vision, which I read includes more fantasy sequences.  Stay tuned?