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| Holger Andersson and Nils Westblom sell their wares in A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence. |
Two salesmen traipse about shilling novelty goods from their briefcases.
A dance instructor’s advances are rebuffed by her young, handsome student. A
military man tries and fails to attend a seminar. The king of Sweden wages war
on a Russian tyrant. A couple lounges on the beach. Another couple stares out
the window. Three people die in the middle of mundane tasks. Just out of our
view, of course, a pigeon sits on a branch.
If you cannot tell what you are in for by the title alone, Roy Andersson’s
A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on
Existence is more than happy to hammer home its weirdness in a series of
absurdist, serio-comic tableaus. It is a strange work, to be sure, but it is
also a masterful piece of heart and humanism, unique in a cinema landscape that
often has little time or place for real people.
Henry David Thoreau said in Walden:
“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” Andersson has taken that
now-clichéd idea and extended it to a feature film about desperate men, women,
children, monarchs, and monkeys. There is much humor to be found in the film –
again, anyone who would burden his film with such a cumbersome title must have
a sense of humor, as well as a hell of a lot of confidence – but it is all
shrouded in a general air of dissatisfaction and despair.
There is no plot, per se, rather the film acts like a buffet of life.
We pick up a story thread, follow it for a bit, put it down for a while, and
try the next one. Maybe we will come back to it, and maybe we will not. At the
end, nothing is finished, but there is satisfaction in exploring so many
different options. Because this is a film about life as it is lived, there
would be no way for Andersson to encompass all of that. Instead, he smartly
carries us in and out of the experiences of a variety of people.
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| You can't take it with you. |
Andersson opens the film with three vignettes titled “Meeting with
Death Nos. 1-3.”
Meeting with Death No. 1: A man has a heart attack while opening a
bottle of wine. His wife is cooking in the kitchen and does not hear his
struggle or notice his demise. She may be in the background of the frame, but
her husband is in the background of her story.
Meeting with Death No. 2: A dying woman wishes to take her favorite
handbag to heaven with her. One of her sons tries to pry it from her hands,
insisting she cannot take it with her and refusing to leave it unguarded at the
hospital since it contains valuable family heirlooms. Regardless of the mother’s
cries, her adult children will not have a mother when she dies, but at least
they can have her jewels.
Meeting with Death No. 3: A man dies in the lunch line on a cruise ship
after he has already paid for his meal. The staff offers the meal for free to
any of the other passengers, and one man steps forward to take the beer. Life
goes on.
The thesis of the film seems to be: We are all background players in
someone else’s story. No matter what is happening in our own lives, something
of equal import is happening in the lives of others. At its core, it is a
beautiful message. The culture at large tells us each one of us is special or
that we can take steps to become special. Andersson argues it is life itself
that is special. Our individual stories mean little against the simple glory of
existence.
The salesmen, Sam (Nils Westblom) and Jonathan (Holger Andersson), are
a bit like the Rosencrantz and Guildenstern of the film, acting as functionaries
in the larger tale of humanity. They hover on the edges of the story, peddling
their wares when they see an opportunity but mostly just observing. Sam is
bitter about his life, while Jonathan is more philosophical. Jonathan sees the
comedy and tragedy unfolding all around him, and sometimes he is so overwhelmed
he breaks down in tears.
Late in the film, he is listening to a record alone in his room, and he
becomes obsessed with the ending, picking up the needle and replacing it to the
same part over and over. Sam asks what is wrong, and Jonathan tells him about
the song, of which he says: “It’s so beautiful but horribly sad, too.” The entire
film is summed up in this line.
Sam and Jonathan travel around trying to make people happy, as they
claim, selling items such as extra-long vampire teeth, a laugh bag, and a
hideous but endearing mask they call Uncle One-Tooth. However, they do not
inhabit a universe of joy. One woman screams and runs away in terror at the
sight of the mask. One shop that has accepted their goods cannot afford to keep
them. They are offering whimsy in a world that knows nothing but war and
atrocity. Sam lashes out in anger, while Jonathan collapses in sadness. Neither
reaction is unwarranted.
As all of this unfolds, Andersson’s camera never moves. He simply sets
it down and allows the sorrow and pain to become evident, even if it is only
clear to us as observers. Of course, it is not all sadness because life is not
all sadness. Relief can be found in the margins, in the quiet moments of peace
we share with our loved ones or the simple novelty of another day coming and
going. These pleasures may be few and far between, but A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence seems to argue the
elusiveness of happiness is not what is heartbreaking but that when we capture
it, it cannot last.
See it? Yes.
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