So okay, I am not this guy or this woman or anything, but I do like my movies. First day of not working and the sun is up in London town and what do I do? Go down to the park and do nothing for a while, then go to the library and max out my movie allowance and take out three movies. I am in the library on a weekday afternoon and there's no shortage of movies that I haven't seen and have been wanting to see. But maybe because there's been a Swede in the flat the last couple of days[1] or just some weird coincidence, I pick three that I had already seen since I felt that's what I should be maxing out on today. Then I come home and find this. And in my half-open backpack, I can see Wild Strawberries, Persona and Saraband. Fuck.
[1] Emil, he of the Great City of Lund is visiting and that's what I was going to post about when I saw this. More about that later
13 comments:
I have to say this looks most suspicious. You go travelling in Sweden, visiting the islands. Then you come back and quit your job. Then, the weekend that you quit Bergman dies unexpectedly, and you just *happen* to have three of his movies in your backpack.
All I can say is, you'd better not turn out to have inherited anything in the man's will, otherwise this is going to turn into a murder investigation.
I actually saw the news on 42 before I went to the Times. Yeah, when I saw it I was almost ready to believe that Bergman somehow reached out to me from his afterlife.
I don't know about the travel and quitting the job thing but as for the movies today its a simple enough explanation - this Swedish friend has been at home the last few days and we were talking about Bergman just yesterday so its not surprising that I got the movies at the lib today.
Me inheriting all that belongs to the Bergman foundation? Well Falsie you better start being nice to me then!
The Seventh Seal
I am sorry, but the Bergman somehow reached out to me from his afterlife. forced me.
Poor Woody, he's going to be most upset. Though I don't understand why - Bergman destroyed his career.
Nice to you? Nice to you?! Woman, if you had anything to do with the man's death I'm going to stage a reenactment of Vargtimmen with you as the sheep. There'll be so little left of your body that the only way they'll be able to identify you is by the little pink luggage tag on your toe.
As for your "simple enough explanation" - what you're telling me is that you have a 'friend' from Sweden holed up in your apartment and the two of you have been sitting up late at night talking about Bergman. The plot thickens.
The most plausible theory is that Bergman watched one of his own films by mistake...
It's more likely though, that Nykvist saw a particularly good light he wanted to show Bergman.
Or some Bergman tourist actually knocked on his door and the poor man was shocked out of his life (Veena! What have you done?! Falstaff, if it's not a murder investigation, I want that pink luggage tag.)
Cat, Woody will enjoy the exquisite tortured moment, don't you think?
space bar: "Nykvist saw a particularly good light he wanted to show Bergman"
Lol. I can just imagine the two of them running about heaven taking extreme close-ups of the faces of all the Archangels. Now if only God looked like Bibi Andersson, I would so turn religious.
Cat: I have a feeling that Falstaff's Vargtimmen threat will extend to you soon. And remember there's not even a pink luggage tag to identify your body.
Falstaff: You mean you want to see nothing of the Bergman papers and other such paraphernalia?
Space bar, Falstaff: Yeah I like the Nyquist theory but why would they be in heaven? That's what you have inferred from watching their movies? Thats scary.
And Falsie: Apparently back in Sweden, junta is scrambling to get editorials and obituaries out to the press (which ofcourse has completely forgotten that anything other than the man used to exist), and no one refers to him as "Bergman". Now that he is dead they all can call him Ingmar. I see that you have also started doing that now.
"and no one refers to him as "Bergman""
That's because the one and only Bergman is Ingrid the divine.
Veena, since you don't need that luggage tag, er, could you pass it over please?
Cheshire Cat: How dare you! I asked for that tag a few hours before you did! First refusal is mine! Mine! (unless its you Falstaff is investigating and its only a matter of time and you're only borrowing it.)
Why is Ingrid divine? She only ever managed to look faintly worried when she was trying to be tragic.
Space Bar, presumably I won't be needing the tag after Falstaff is done with me... And I promise to write my name in pencil, so that it will be almost as good as new for you.
The question about Ingrid - you're not serious, are you? Of course her divinity has nothing to do with her acting. It's beyond our narrow human mechanisms of rationalization, it's ineffable.
It's like poetry. It's like morning mist. It's like holidays. It's like raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens...
OK, I give up.
Veena: No, no, the true artist lives in his work, etc. Also, you're forgetting about the will leaving it all to me that I'm going to make you sign before I dispose of you. I think about 6 hours of Persona on endless replay should do it.
Cat: I have to agree with Space Bar here. I mean, Ingrid Bergman? Really? It's a terrible thing to say of someone but I'd prefer Grace Kelly (I'd say Bacall but even I can't claim she stands for raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens).
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