Showing posts with label Nils Poppe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nils Poppe. Show all posts

Friday, April 1, 2016

The Lost Bergman

There have been many "lost" films, never completed or abandoned mid-filming: Josef von Sternberg's version of I, Claudius or Terry Gilliam's The Man Who Killed Don Quixote. Every so often, there's news of a Stanley Kubrick script that's surfaced—haven't heard about the "Napoleon" mini-series based on his post-2001 research, or the Jim Thompson-scripted "Lunatic At Large" for awhile.

But, the oddest of the "lost" films of famed directors was the comedy begun by director Ingmar Bergman. Feeling he needed to lighten up after an intense period of experimentation, Bergman responded to a fan letter from his country's greatest star, Greta Garbo, who told him that she might consider coming out of her self-imposed exile from the screen to work with him. Bergman was enthusiastic, and was initially hoping that Garbo might consider a psychological drama of a grandmother more in touch with her grandchildren than her daughter and the fracturing of the traditional family prevalent in Sweden.

Garbo, for whatever reason—whether playing a grandmother (she was 63 at the time) or not relishing the thought of Bergman's intense scrutinizing after so long away from the screen—suggested a comedy, not unlike the breaking of perceptions she enjoyed from making something lighter, like Ninotchka.


Bergman was charmed by the idea and began work on a comedy centered around a retreat for teenagers (on the island of Gotland Lans in a quiet resort by the city of Visby) and their rebellious natures, especially in regards to the couple running the area (played by Bibi Andersson and Nils Poppe), who vainly try to keep things under control, even while their marriage is coming apart at the seams.  A rivalry between a rival summer camp (run by Liv Ullmann and Max von Sydow) camps in an end of Summer sports-and-skills competition forms the nexus of the plot. As the couples are having affairs with their distaff camp rivals, the inter-camp competition gets wrapped up in the personal lives of their over-seers in chaotic and vindictive ways.


Poppe's counselor is particularly put upon, because he has a bad relationship with the camp's athletic director (Garbo), who regularly takes advantage of his frequent naps to kidnap him and place him in precarious positions—waking up in the middle of a lake with a paddle-less canoe, or behind the archery targets, or on the roof above the kitchen, face next to the fan-funnel. Garbo's relationship with the kids is like the dark side of Maria with the vonTrapp's in Sound of Music (something Bergman is well aware of—at one point, Maria grabs a guitar during a sing-along and breaks it across a log and throws a ukulele in a camp-fire). And Poppe's frequent disappearances—which aid Andersson's indiscretions—are regularly carried out by the kid-campers under Garbo's directions.


Garbo's athletic director is a dark figure, perpetually dressed in black despite the summer weather. Whether this was a choice by the star or the director is a matter of some controversy (it does make an interesting contrast with the immaculately-dressed children) but Bergman, who already was using call-backs poking at Smiles of a Summer Night, decided to go one better. The Garbo character has visions and hallucinations, and in one—filmed in rather pointless color—plays badminton with Death (Bengt Ekerot, who played the role in The Seventh Seal). Bergman does more cross-cutting in this sequence than three of his other films combined, but ultimately Garbo's character hits the "birdie" out of bounds. The face of Death fills the frame: "Jag har alltid vinner," he intones. ("I always win").


Garbo cracks him over the head with a badminton racket.


The film culminates in the inter-camp competition where despite Garbo's encouragement (at one point her pep talk has the entire camp chanting "Det bara spelar ingen roll!"), they fall way behind until the värmlandskorv-eating contest, which puts them over the top to the somewhat-joyless commendations of the adults, still preoccupied with their own issues, wondering how it will affect their personal relationships at the other camp.

Satisfied with the results, Bergman pushed through with the post-production, and prepared for a robust reception to his first real comedy at select screenings.


There was only one problem.

It wasn't funny.

Preview audiences in Stockholm sat stony-faced, with not even the hint of an encouraging chuckle. Kind witnesses offered that the patrons might have thought this was a serious Bergman film and so refused to laugh and, instead, regarded it studiously. But, when asked if they found it amusing, preview cards said "No." "I don't know what this is," said one remark "Is there a book I can read?" A confused indifference settled over the film. Yes, it was a work-print with no soundtrack (nor would there ever be) and Bergman worked for weeks thinking some editing tweaks might improve the comic timing (and there were rumors Jerry Lewis was hired as a consultant*). It didn't, and instead, merely shortened the film more and more.  The director began to bitterly refer to the still-untitled film as "Persona Non Greta." 

Bergman finally abandoned it, not sure what to do with it, letting the film languish and ultimately burning it during a particularly stringent winter. Not a frame of the film survives. 
Garbo, who had returned to New York after filming, resumed her retirement from films, vowing "never to do THAT again."

But, as will often happen, the unrealized project did not completely disappear, as a rough translation, with essentially the same plot, still made the rounds of the studio script mills without much interest until the Canadian Film Development Corporation acquired it for a vehicle for up-and-coming SNL performer Bill Murray. The resulting non-Swedish film was released in the US by Paramount in 1979.


* In his desperation for a solution, Bergman wired Garbo to ask for suggestions on how to make it more funny. "Put in some clowns," she wrote back."There ought to be clowns." Plans for a re-shoot were scuttled with a cease-and desist order from Federico Fellini. 

Saturday, September 5, 2015

Olde Review: The Seventh Seal

This was part of a series of reviews of the ASUW Film series back in the '70's. Except for some punctuation, I haven't changed anything from the way it was presented, giving the snarky, clueless kid I was back in the '70's a break. Any stray thoughts and updates I've included with the inevitable asterisked post-scripts.

The Seventh Seal aka "Det Sjunde inseglet" (Ingmar Bergman, 1957)

An odd combination of films await those in
130 Kane this Saturday night: Ingmar Bergman's The Seventh Seal and Ken Russell's The Devils.

For those of you whose only experience with
Ingmar Bergman is his wildly splintered and heavy film Persona from last quarter's ASUW series, The Seventh Seal will seem to be made by another man. At this time, Bergman wasn't so experimental, so strange. He was, as he is now, alive and vibrant with the charm of film-making and his '50's films (The Magician, Wild Strawberries, Through a Glass Darkly) although dealing with "heavy" subjects of God and Death and self still possessed a lightness in the telling, a lightness that carried over from his beginnings in films and was lost in the dark broodings of his late '50's and '60's films. There was a time for comedy, and time for deep-think in the space of the best Ingmar Bergman films.

There are many characters in The Seventh Seal, but at the film's hub are two. The most important is The Knight, who is played Max von Sydow, the supreme brooding actor. The Knight is home from the religious wars where the quest for God has been fruitless—where the point of the quest, after the year's ox-killing has been lost. But the quest for God continues. It has to. God can't be in the war, but can he be found outside amidst plague, witch-burnings and ignorance?
The answers are hard to come by, and even harder to come by while being pursued by another hold-over from the wars, the second most important character being Death. Death pursues the Knight and they engage in continuing battles of wits and of chess. The two opponents are only the hub of the story. There are others: the Knight's man-servant whose musings are concerned more with life that what is beyond; a troupe of actors; a wood-cutter and his adulterous wife. Bergman combines them all in a film that wheels between light and heavy in tone, but always excellent in quality.

Broadcast on KCMU-FM on January 8th, 1976 

Sounds like I ran out of time there at the end--I usually only had two or three minutes per film to talk. So, I didn't even mention the stark black-and-white photography that has become so iconic, along with Bergman's simple personification of Death--an actor dressed entirely in a black cassock, with just his face appearing...in sharp contrast. And the image of The Knight playing chess with Death has been copied, parodied, purloined and done...well, to death. In Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey, they played "Battleship."

It sounds bleak, and it is—it is the Plague-Years, after all. But the film ends with a touch of hope and sacrifice, that even after all the Knight has seen—and not seen, as in the form of God—he can still cling to ideals. 
One last thought inspired by the film after a recent viewing (again): Is religion a balm for the weak and superstitious as so many think, or is faith an act of bravery in a world of tangible horror? If God has an answer, he's not telling. Wise.