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The Seventh Seal
Bergman's batty and brooding take on his favourite brow-furrowing topics...
The Journey
A knight returns from the Crusades to discover his homeland being dragged to damnation by the plague. To make matters worse, the first person to welcome him home is Death. Fortunately, he has some questions he wants to ask that particular hooded 'clown'. In a hard-nosed gambit, he staves off the reaper with the challenge of a game of chess, and spends his borrowed time in a continued search for God and sense.
The Crusade
Bergman performs an admirable balancing act between his childhood dedication to a God-guided world and his emerging beliefs in a one-strike-and-you're-out reality. The seeds for everthing that's doubting and life-affirming about his work seem to lie here.
The cast is quality, with Sydow leading the way as the conflicted knight, complemented admirably by Bjornstrand's sardonic and life-sharpened squire, not to mention the fuzzy acrobatic family. Some of the dialogue has a real bittersweet kick to it too - notably the church-painter and strawberry speeches - and just about every contrasting conceit that comes from the not-entirely-detached squire and the not-entirely-all-there frolicking family.
If you can get passed the white-faced incarnation of death stumbling on the beach, and the odd 'stagey' comedy nod to camera, this is a wonderfully crazed, involving and heartfelt journey into the preoccupations of a 14th Century land - and the terrifying moral mazes that are still at hand.
Bergman's batty and brooding take on his favourite brow-furrowing topics...
The Journey
A knight returns from the Crusades to discover his homeland being dragged to damnation by the plague. To make matters worse, the first person to welcome him home is Death. Fortunately, he has some questions he wants to ask that particular hooded 'clown'. In a hard-nosed gambit, he staves off the reaper with the challenge of a game of chess, and spends his borrowed time in a continued search for God and sense.
The Crusade
Bergman performs an admirable balancing act between his childhood dedication to a God-guided world and his emerging beliefs in a one-strike-and-you're-out reality. The seeds for everthing that's doubting and life-affirming about his work seem to lie here.
The cast is quality, with Sydow leading the way as the conflicted knight, complemented admirably by Bjornstrand's sardonic and life-sharpened squire, not to mention the fuzzy acrobatic family. Some of the dialogue has a real bittersweet kick to it too - notably the church-painter and strawberry speeches - and just about every contrasting conceit that comes from the not-entirely-detached squire and the not-entirely-all-there frolicking family.
If you can get passed the white-faced incarnation of death stumbling on the beach, and the odd 'stagey' comedy nod to camera, this is a wonderfully crazed, involving and heartfelt journey into the preoccupations of a 14th Century land - and the terrifying moral mazes that are still at hand.