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DVD: Fanny and Alexander
Criterion Deluxe Edition
Reviewed by Erick Mertz
To say with reasonable assurance that one work - a single film from 1982, for example - stands out as the defining effort of an artist's career is daunting; especially so if that artist's name is Ingmar Bergman. Then 64 years old, and already the director of some of the finest cinematic work the world had ever seen Bergman set out to create a love letter to family and to theater with Fanny and Alexander his cinematic bildingsroman. In the process, he re-defined the benchmarks by which his career would be measured with what is arguably its crowning masterpiece.
Fanny and Alexander are two children in the Ekdahl family, a turn of the century Swedish bourgeoisie clinging to a theater company as they struggle to maintain their internal structure. They are crude and quarrelling and in a wonderful move Bergman drops the audience, first scene, in the middle of their Christmas celebration to experience that first hand. Their home is alive with playful adultery, flowing cognac and reflective moments, all of which are captured through the eyes of children. The younger Fanny is cherubic and quiet while Alexander, the real focus of the film, watches the world with discerning eyes and a wit far advanced of his nine years. The story steps off on Christmas then winds its way through death, marriage and the church, to end up largely back where it began at another celebratory dinner, this time welcoming two new children. All the while Fanny and Alexander are caught in the middle, enduring abuse, spawning the spiritual cycle of their own release and ultimately witness to the rebirth of their family.
The performances in Fanny and Alexander are nothing short of special. Bergman sought regular performers Max Von Sydow (Hour of the Wolf and The Seventh Seal) and Liv Ullman (Persona) for principle roles in the film only to be rebuffed. One can't help but salivate at the prospect of Von Sydow as the sinister Bishop Edvard Vergerus, or Ullman as matriarch Emile Ekdahl in light of what the director had accomplished with them in the past, but the material is so rich and emotions so bereft of pathos, nothing was sacrificed. Young Bertil Guve as Alexander is the film's truly triumphant performer, delivering new life to the role of misunderstood youth like no other since Jean Pierre Leaud in The 400 Blows decades before. His look is so cold it is frightening to watch, yet simultaneously capable of captivating vulnerability. One need only see his challenge to stepfather Vergerus, and the chilling intonation of hatred and subservience to feel enraptured by his every move.
It is Bergman's relentless, demanding style of filmmaking that brings out the most in his talent. Weighing in at over five hours, the shots are long and often static, sometimes rolling for more than five minutes without cut. He demands this frame of every character, even brief roles like Isak Jacobi who tells an old Hebrew tale in full length to the children. It is filmmaking at its most theatrical, drawing the audience's attention with medium to deep close ups and then training them to hold through long, stirring conversation. Deeply hypnotic, it also lends itself to the ghost story subplot that surrounds Alexander. He sees his dead father and speaks to him; his step father's children visit from beyond the grave and taunt him with stories of their demise. There are moments when the audience clings, genuinely scared for Alexander, and in large part, that effect comes from Bergman allowing his characters to openly discuss their intents, however nefarious. In a film built on relationships built and those in disrepair, Bergman leaves nothing to the imagination: everything is discussed in lucid detail.
Visually appealing Fanny and Alexander is a study of full, rich color. Of all of Bergman's films, it most closely resembles Cries and Whispers where tone is crucial in understanding characters and situations. The walls of the Ekdahl home are painted red, full of ornate furniture and artwork (pausing the film to fully examine set design is almost necessity) while Veregus' home is stark and white. When summer comes, the family retreats practically in solitude to a light and airy country home. Bergman layers his sets with trinkets of the imagination, a doll house provides the introduction to Alexander and his early gift of a magic lantern foretells the fantastic turns the film will take later on. As the film wears into its final act, the image of fire emerges as if on cue in dreams, in repeated hallucinations, drawing out the almost comatose young boy to the awakening of his deep seeded powers. While Fanny and Alexander relies heavily on conversation, there are enough well placed, events of visual stimuli for the film to assume a feel and look like the encompassing fantasy it becomes.
Originally the theatrical cut of Fanny and Alexander came in at a little over three hours, but with Criterion's recent reissue both this and the five hour Swedish television version are now readily available in American markets. Bergman struggled to edit his masterpiece down, and now it is clear what was lost. While many of the cuts are disguised by action, one view might be that the shorter lacks emotional punch; another is that the shorter version creates a more magical appeal, disguising narrative changes as magic and imagination. The main question comes down to how much goes on within Alexander's own head, a question vital to the story.
Available individually, or as a group, the Criterion presentation is a long overdue treasure trove for collectors. As an additional incentive of the 4-disc box set is the "making of" documentary, an occasionally sentimental, persistently dramatic view into Bergman's creative process. He is undoubtedly a master filmmaker and watching his actors toil to please him only feeds that understanding. Not to be mistaken for some throwaway extra, Criterion has assembled two pristine editions and a feature length behind-the-scenes teaser into one definitive document, detailing the struggle of a family to hold fast in a changing world and one filmmaker's quest to capture it.
© 2004 - Erick Mertz