Smiles of a Summer Night (Sommarnattens leende)

SMILES OF A SUMMER NIGHT (Sommarnattens leende)              A                    

Sweden  (108 mi)  1955 d:  Ingmar Bergman

After a series of financial failures, where Sawdust and Tinsel (Gycklarnas afton) (1953) was a box-office catastrophe, Bergman created one of the finest romantic comedies ever filmed, erotic and lyrical, uncommonly wise and beautiful, all the more remarkable as it was written during one of Bergman’s darkest depressions, not only undergoing financial difficulties, but he lost weight (reduced to 125 pounds), suffered stomach pains, while his romance with actress Harriet Andersson was coming to an end (taking up instead with his new love, actress Bibi Andersson).  Without his knowledge, the film was entered into the Cannes Film Festival where it received rave reviews and a Jury prize as Best Poetic Humor in 1956, becoming the first Bergman film (his 15th overall) to win international acclaim.  The director discovered this purely by chance while reading the newspaper, but the film changed his fortunes forever, making Svensk Filmindustri lots of money, as the production company gave him free reign to do whatever he pleased for the rest of his career, even stimulating an interest in distributing Bergman films in the U.S. specifically an exclusive deal with Janus films (which would eventually become Criterion films) which also distributed Fellini and Kurosawa films as well.  In October 1959, as many as 5 Bergman films were playing simultaneously in various New York City arthouses, while in early 1960 Bergman made the cover of Time magazine, the first foreign filmmaker to do so since Leni Riefenstahl in 1936.  A sophisticated European comedy of manners, a masquerade of convention with mismatched lovers, a sex farce, battle of the sexes, and brilliant character study, Bergman delves into the lives of an economically successful upper crust social class, only to discover cracks in the fault lines, where presumed happiness is only a façade, yet this merry crew are surprisingly upbeat as they undergo a series of personal challenges, veering headfirst into the arena of sexual politics, speaking more candidly and perceptively about relationships than his other films laced with brooding melancholy and an acrid bitterness, becoming an elaborate partner-swapping bedroom farce as a summer of love and good fortune brings new erotic opportunities, given a delicious Shakespearean Midsummer Night’s Dream twist, as if all have been subject to drinking a love potion.  Filled with sharp satire and flirtatious innuendo, this delightful film is one for the ages, legendary for its razor sharp wit and comic timing, mostly taking place at a Renoir-style weekend in the country, an exaggerated romp exposing pretensions and insecurities along the way (Who knew humiliation could be this much fun?), filled with a classical style of unrestrained beauty and poetic eloquence.  The fact that this mirrors Bergman’s own life makes it that much more insightful, married five times, yet a serial adulterer, never one to hide his scandalously public relationships with several of the actresses in his films.  The writing is exceptional, finding Bergman literally bursting with ideas, inspiring tribute works, including Stephen Sondheim’s magnificent musical, A Little Night Music, winning the Tony Award for best musical, best book, and best score, and Woody Allen’s hilarious love fantasy A Midsummer Night's Sex Comedy (1982).

Set in turn-of-the-century Sweden with legendary actress Desirée Armfeldt (Eva Dahlbeck), anxious about her advancing years, inviting her former lover Fredrik Egerman (Gunnar Bjornstrand) and his 30-years younger virginal wife Anne (Ulla Jacobsson), a still unconsummated marriage after several years, along with his son (of the same age) Henrik (Björn Bjelfvenstam) studying for the priesthood, remaining virtuous yet inflamed by his growing desires, torn between carnal lust and his devotion to God, literally a walking contradiction, also inviting her current lover, Count Carl-Magnus Malcolm (Jarl Kulle), basically a married man looking gallant in a uniform, and his present wife, Countess Charlotte (Margit Carlquist), looking to avenge her husband’s indiscretions, to her mother’s picture perfect country estate for some fun in the sun, bringing along the hired servants, including the sultry maid Petra, Harriet Andersson, in one of her sexiest performances on film.  As it happens, the film is Bergman’s farewell to Eva Dahlbeck and Harriet Andersson, and though Andersson would reappear in later films, it would be in a distinctly different role, no longer the sexy young beauty from Summer with Monika (Sommaren med Monika) (1953), taking on mature roles, demonstrating more of a dramatic reach.  Moving away from his exploration of women, Bergman would make a series of films dominated by anguished men tormented by religious doubt and spiritual uncertainty, never really developing Bibi Andersson’s potential until much later.  Shot by Gunnar Fischer, with luminous images of a quaint country estate, placid rivers with swans, and flowering gardens, coupled with elegant costumes and décor, this film accentuates the seductive splendor surrounding the Swedish midsummer, where it could possibly affect destinies in strange and mysterious ways, becoming a morality play pitting together scheming wives and mistresses who resort to devious methods to reclaim the men in their lives who have gone astray.  Fredrik, in particular, is seen at the outset as living an idyllic life with a beautiful young bride, yet love remains an illusion, as she’s more of a youthful showpiece than an actual wife, having little say in their marriage, where he makes all the decisions, and while declaring his unending love, it’s an empty and meaningless gesture.  No one knows that more than Henrik, his exasperated son, who is brilliant as a student, thoughtful and well-read, but completely innocent to the ways of the world, regularly flirting with Petra, who seems to be schooling him, but keeps him at arm’s length, resorting to a quick slap in the face from time to time, but also enticing him with her sensual charms.  None of this escapes Fredrik, who finds it all amusing, suggesting Petra is well-deserving of a raise.  This only inflames the ire of Henrik, as his father doesn’t take him seriously, constantly reminded of his youthful innocence, despite expressing complex philosophical ideas.  His mind, however, is stuck in the testosterone-raging body of an adolescent child, feeling imprisoned by his naïveté.

When Fredrik obtains theater tickets for the traveling theater troupe, it reignites desirous thoughts of Desirée, who broke up with him years ago, but she was once the love of his life.  This quickly becomes apparent to Anne, who finds the salacious stage material too close to home, feigning illness, requiring a quick exit from the theater.  After putting her to bed, Fredrik sneaks back out to the theater, greeting Desirée at her final curtain call, where she eagerly grabs him and invites him backstage.  Both the same age, their easy rapport with one another is apparent, as she openly mocks him, bosses him around, yet also smothers him with affection, amusingly taking a bath in front of him, reminding him what he’s missing, before taking an evening stroll together with a glass of wine.  But their evening soirée is hilariously interrupted by her handsome young lover, Carl-Magnus, an army officer who pretentiously views everything in purely militaristic terms, with one party dominating another, winners or losers, overdramatizing his bitter jealousy felt towards any man who dares interfere in his sexual affairs, though the cigar-smoking Desirée (who shows uncanny awareness) is overly amused at this highly charged spectacle, believing something good can come from it.  Losing all interest in the Count, she quickly changes her focus, asking her elderly mother to host a formal weekend gathering at her luxurious estate (given to her to stay quiet and never reveal her precious secrets in a tell-all memoir), bringing together the offended parties, hoping for spectacular fireworks.  Furious at her husband’s open display of infidelity, the proud Countess (whose contempt for men is priceless) pays a visit to young Anne, hoping to embarrass her about her husband’s late night prowl, but she takes it all in stride, pretending she knows all about it, though it infuriates her as well, as social manner is always about saving face.  This is exactly the kind of behavior that upsets Henrik at the weekend dinner table with all the invited guests, refusing to hear any more of this cynical conversation, where meaning is shrouded by polite manner meant to disguise the barbs and arrows of sarcastic assertions.  While he runs away in a dejected state, actually contemplating suicide, the fates are with him, along with a special potion of wine served at dinner, as miraculously, the push of a specially-engineered knob causes a wall to raise allowing a bed from the room next door to enter his bedroom chambers (to the accompaniment of music-box chimes), and lying upon it is Anne fast asleep, which intoxicates his soul, awakening her with a kiss, immediately declaring his love, with the two lovebirds running off, together at last, in a state of ecstasy, setting the stage for more to follow.  To preserve his honor, the Count challenges Egerman to a game of Russian roulette over a bottle of aged brandy, though pulls a prank instead, thoroughly humiliating his rival in love, and Egerman is such a stuffed shirt that audiences love to see him take the fall, with the comforting Desirée at his side to “soften the landing.”  The Count goes back to his Countess, where he will invariably stray once again, believing it’s a rite of conquest (unable to fathom the emptiness this behavior brings), and even Petra takes solace in the arms of Frid (Åke Fridell), her male counterpart coachman, as both spend a night romping in the haystacks, magically transformed, suffering the same fate as “the clowns, the fools, and the unredeemable,” where by morning she compels him, in her own assertive way, to take the marital vows, all in good fun, with the sun rising over the summer night, where this is one of cinema’s great erotic comedies, one of Bergman’s most perfect films, and easily the sunniest work he ever created.    

The Favourite

Director Yorgos Lanthimos 

Left to right, Actress Olivia Colman and Emma Stone 

THE FAVOURITE                B                     
Ireland  Great Britain  USA  (119 mi)  2018  d:  Yorgos Lanthimos             Official site 

As it turns out, I am capable of much unpleasantness. 

―Abigail (Emma Stone)

This is what you call a good old-fashioned costume drama, the kind kids love to play when they’re young, able to ham it up in colorfully dressed-up attire, freely exaggerating characters to extremes, as after all, they’re seeking attention in their young underdeveloped lives.  Add mature subject matter to a room full of adults and you’ve got yourself a lavish theatrical spectacle, with sexual intrigue galore and a government that loves to play dress-up with wigs and powdered faces, all pretending to be something they’re not, like being noble, where the game is getting underneath the surface to discover the real lives underneath all the comic buffoonery.  Rivaling the deceptive wit of a Monty Python sketch, written by Deborah Davis with help from Tony McNamara, this deliciously entertaining 18th century historic sex farce reeks of flowery language and sarcastic double entendres usually meant to disarm or humiliate the person spoken to, where language is a means for personal assault, with characters trading surgically precise barbs and insults with great regularity, while the reigning powerbrokers protect their vested interests with aplomb, literally dismissing anyone or anything that disagrees with them.  While Queen Ann (the meekish Olivia Colman) who ruled England from 1702 until 1714 sits on the throne, her physical and mental capacities are diminished by gout (so extreme she had to be carried to her Coronation), burdened with a cane and wheelchair, having lost 17 children in her lifetime (replacing them with pet rabbits in her bedroom chamber), five were stillborn, eight were miscarriages, while the others survived for brief durations, expressing little interest in running a government, viewed as ridiculously frail and not of sound mind, spending nearly all of her time locked away in her room, stuffing herself on cakes and what nots, an infantile caricature of what power represents (remind you of anyone?), with regularly occurring temper tantrums, having more in common with the randomly capricious moods of Lewis Carroll’s Queen of Hearts, utterly mad, disagreeable and quarreling all the while, screaming out orders as the mood suits her like “Off with her head!” as all she can really think about is herself.  While it’s a disparagingly weak portrait of a nation in crisis, suffering the delusional rantings of a simpleton on the throne who is in constant need of companionship, all that is righted by the corrective substitute of Lady Sarah Churchill, Duchess of Marlborough (Rachel Weisz, supremely dominant with a carefree spirit, exuding utter abandon and joy), the Queen’s advisor on all things from fashion to waging war, who effectively runs the government in abstentia, gallivanting around the court like one of The Three Musketeers, shooting pigeons with rifles, riding horseback through the forests, and manipulating the will of the Queen with utter nonchalance, treating her like a child, scolding and rebuking her at will (as she does the other men on the court), acting as her sole protector, the only person in her trust, as she’s also her secret lover.  While the men amuse themselves with the delusions of power (the film ignores whoever the Queen is consorting with to get pregnant), playing war games with France and arguing over taxes, their role is completely diminished by the effusive power of the women, content instead to serve in a subservient role.   

The film had its premiere at the Venice Film Festival, winning the Grand Prize (2nd place) to Cuarón’s ROMA (2018), while Colman came away with the Best Actress award.  Shot on location at the Hatfield House in Hertfordshire and the Knole House in Sevenoaks, Kent (The Many Lives of an English Manor House - Archaeology Magazine), the darkened chambers are massive, with humans dwarfed by the immensity of the empty spaces, illuminated by candlelight, shot in a stretched and warped super wide-angled lens by Robbie Ryan, distorting reality as much as possible, with messengers continually moving in and out of the corridors, like a Shakespeare play.  Using amusing chapter headings that describe a distinct moment in the next sequence, upbeat classical music adds a degree of romp and hilarity to the proceedings, as the mood in the Queen’s chamber is constantly dour, yet the happy strains of Bach, Vivaldi, Handel, or Purcell add a certain luster to the overall mood and charm of life in a castle.  The only film in his repertoire that doesn’t include the suffocatingly restrictive writing style of the director, this has a much more open and freewheeling style, where gossip and back-stabbing are the main activities inside the castle, while an updated dance sequence is stunningly unconventional, featuring flamboyant Madonna-like vogue hand movements and the remarkable dexterity of early break dancing, yet set in such a traditional costume ball setting that is drop dead hilarious.  While it’s clear Lady Sarah wears the pants of this government, toying with men as mere sport, all in good fun, with her acid tongue and acerbic wit having a good time at their expense, running things smoothly without interference, she literally commands men at will (as well as the Queen) to carry out her wishes.  She is, as the title suggests, the court’s favorite, where a running joke will have Lady Sarah unable to attend to the Queen, being told she’s too busy running matters of the state, with the Queen interrupting the messenger, exclaiming “That’s me!  I’m the state.”  While the film has a kind of goofy feel about it, the mood quickly changes with the introduction of a third female character, Abigail (Emma Stone, who relies upon charm and trickery), Lady Sarah’s distant cousin, whose royal lineage took a tumble when her father gambled her away in a card game, fallen out of favor, leaving her impoverished in a life of “whoredom,” doomed to pleasing men she didn’t know, now searching for a way out of this misery, doing menial work as a scullery maid in the palace, she assumes the role of Cinderella, detested by her sadistic rival servants, treated as the lowest of the low, wishing for that magical turn of events at the masked ball.  Hoping to ingratiate herself into the good graces of the Queen, she searches the forest for herbal remedies that might soothe her inflamed legs, violating protocol by applying the remedy herself, without permission, for which she is brutally punished, yet the Queen finds the treatment effective, as it eases her suffering, so Lady Sarah makes Abigail her lady-in-waiting, soon discovering the benefits of such a position, as the men in government wish to pry secrets about Lady Sarah’s various positions on matters of the court, going to great lengths (in other words demeaning humiliation) to get her to comply.  Abigail is surprisingly literate, able to match wits with anyone, and sexually precocious, not to mention ambitious, willing to do anything to get her title and royal standing back.  In other words, she’s a mirror reflection of Lady Sarah, as both have their own designs on favor. 

While secretly burroughing herself into the hidden realms of the palace, Abigail is able to spy on the sexual dalliances of Lady Sarah and the Queen, which is little more than kissing on the lips, with suggestions of so much more, as we learn that the Queen’s appetite knows no bounds.  With this in mind, Abigail starts the sexual machinations, rubbing the Queen’s legs on command, which begins the exploration of more fertile territory, with the camera honed in only on the Queen’s facial expressions, as she obviously agrees with this discretionary exploration of the forbidden fruit.  Once Lady Sarah gets wind of this, her inclination is to have Abigail sent away, punishing her openly defiant transgressions, but the Queen will have none of it, as she likes this latest turn of events, spending her nights sleeping with the young maiden, hoodwinked into believing a selfless Abigail wants nothing from her.  Knowing she’s a liar and a cheat, Lady Sarah is about to mount a frontal attack exposing the young upstart, but Abigail spikes her tea, causing her to pass out while riding a horse through the woods, disappearing for days on end.  In this interim, Abigail not only worms her way into the Queen’s heart, but cleverly manipulates her into granting a wedding with a young nobleman, which reinstates her royal standing.  The honeymoon is a thing of beauty, about as short-lived as a short fuse, all the while mulling over the supposed revenge tactics of the missing Lady Sarah, who ends up in a flophouse, her face mangled and badly bruised, with a wide gash causing permanent scarring on her cheek, slowly recovering until the Queen finally dispatches a search party to find her. When Abigail suggests they are even and can now drop any foul intentions, a quick slap to the face suggests Lady Sarah doesn’t share her views on an existing detente.  Upon her return, however, dressed all in black with a veil over the right side of her face (“If I were a man, I’d be quite dashing with a scar like this”), she resembles the look of a pirate, but not only that, Lady Sarah has lost her leverage with the Queen.  Taunting Sarah with her newly reinstated royal status, Abigail leads a charmed life, as her fairy tale dreams apparently did come true.  Unable to convince the Queen of Abigail’s foul motives, Lady Sarah threatens to expose the Queen with the utter embarrassment of her prurient love letters sent to Lady Sarah, which would raise a royal scandal and threaten her rule, but this only leaves a bad taste with the Queen, not only refusing to send Abigail away, but banishes Lady Sarah instead, whose utter fall from grace (by nefarious means) is a knockout blow.  What truly elevates this film is the relation it bears to Kubrick’s masterwork BARRY LYNDON (1975), but from a female perspective, where there is no infamous duel scene, but if you stay over the end credits you can hear the fluttering of the doves.  Kubrick’s film astounds with an infamous Schubert Piano Trio, Schubert / Piano Trio No. 2 in E-flat major, D. 929: 2nd mvt - YouTube (3:07) playing a major musical theme, while this film utilizes another sublimely elegant work by Schubert, his Piano Sonata #21, D. 960, played by Artur Schnabel, Artur Schnabel plays Schubert Sonata in B flat Major D 960 (2/3) YouTube (11:22), which plays over Lady Sarah’s masterfully conniving fall from favor.  While all three women are adorable and irresistible, the film is comically subversive, way over the top, with plenty of glitz and glamor, yet it doesn’t hold a candle to the epic tragedy that befell Barry Lyndon in Kubrick’s film.