Read this after you see the film once, and before the second time, since this film is certainly worth seeing again!
As a woman who grew up in a spare, cold climate, I don't find the landscapes bleak. We are watching the middle of summer, with everything (but the one tree) growing and thriving. The rains are relatively gentle compared to the winter snow. The windows are open to the light breezes, and the light never leaves the sky. When it seems that disaster has struck, the fen is not panicked. The dapple of the leaves doesn't stop when the rush of planes has gone by.
By comparison, the interior shots are overly ordered and spare. The inside is Alexander's mother's garden, after Alexander prunes it. Everything is in order, and the beauty is pretty much gone. The moment order is disrupted, things fall apart. The English wife bursts into hysterics and declares she can't stand it "anymore." This is not the wail of someone who has suffered a sudden shock. This is the wail of a woman who has seen her foundation swept from beneath her, and is forced to confront her existential realities.
Otto and Maria are obviously out of place in this orderly, petty world. We know that Maria is the best kind of witch -- but what is Otto? Is he collecting the incident that happens in the house that night? Is he collecting the incident with Maria?
Kierkegaard wrote the answers to most of the questions asked, either in Sickness Unto Death, or in Fear and Loathing. Recommended reading -- if you get through this film, you can certainly get through Kierkegaard. ;)
To me this is a film that pits romanticized fertile nature against the restriction of (Christian) predestination, pits hope against despair. The Japanese found aesthetics in the most despairing circumstances, even where there was not hope. Alexander feels trapped by civilization, by his ordered and cowardly life -- yet he moves to sacrifice himself to save it...or to escape? Does he redeem his family, or remove their chance to transcend their petty patterns?
Resist taking the first part of the film as monologue -- perhaps you have never had a child? Little Man is old enough to think for himself -- he proves that by the end of the film. He has listened to every word his Papa speaks to him. His father is answering questions that the boy can't ask, or doesn't know that he should. Papa Alexander is trying to pass on what he has learned so his son might have a better chance (or, paradoxically, so his son can grow up with comfortably similar delusions?). At the end of the film, we realize that Alexander's son has questions that his Papa will never answer.
Finally, I have to note, on the closing scene -- for those of you who are not familiar with botany -- the dead tree seems to be planted head in the earth, with the dead roots in the air. It is a project out of touch with nature, and like the rest of the film it offers a prayer for a miracle, or the evidence of utter psychosis.
Now, read Kierkegaard, watch the film again, and enjoy!
As a woman who grew up in a spare, cold climate, I don't find the landscapes bleak. We are watching the middle of summer, with everything (but the one tree) growing and thriving. The rains are relatively gentle compared to the winter snow. The windows are open to the light breezes, and the light never leaves the sky. When it seems that disaster has struck, the fen is not panicked. The dapple of the leaves doesn't stop when the rush of planes has gone by.
By comparison, the interior shots are overly ordered and spare. The inside is Alexander's mother's garden, after Alexander prunes it. Everything is in order, and the beauty is pretty much gone. The moment order is disrupted, things fall apart. The English wife bursts into hysterics and declares she can't stand it "anymore." This is not the wail of someone who has suffered a sudden shock. This is the wail of a woman who has seen her foundation swept from beneath her, and is forced to confront her existential realities.
Otto and Maria are obviously out of place in this orderly, petty world. We know that Maria is the best kind of witch -- but what is Otto? Is he collecting the incident that happens in the house that night? Is he collecting the incident with Maria?
Kierkegaard wrote the answers to most of the questions asked, either in Sickness Unto Death, or in Fear and Loathing. Recommended reading -- if you get through this film, you can certainly get through Kierkegaard. ;)
To me this is a film that pits romanticized fertile nature against the restriction of (Christian) predestination, pits hope against despair. The Japanese found aesthetics in the most despairing circumstances, even where there was not hope. Alexander feels trapped by civilization, by his ordered and cowardly life -- yet he moves to sacrifice himself to save it...or to escape? Does he redeem his family, or remove their chance to transcend their petty patterns?
Resist taking the first part of the film as monologue -- perhaps you have never had a child? Little Man is old enough to think for himself -- he proves that by the end of the film. He has listened to every word his Papa speaks to him. His father is answering questions that the boy can't ask, or doesn't know that he should. Papa Alexander is trying to pass on what he has learned so his son might have a better chance (or, paradoxically, so his son can grow up with comfortably similar delusions?). At the end of the film, we realize that Alexander's son has questions that his Papa will never answer.
Finally, I have to note, on the closing scene -- for those of you who are not familiar with botany -- the dead tree seems to be planted head in the earth, with the dead roots in the air. It is a project out of touch with nature, and like the rest of the film it offers a prayer for a miracle, or the evidence of utter psychosis.
Now, read Kierkegaard, watch the film again, and enjoy!