I just watched the theatrical version. And it was quite enough for me. But I must agree that some plot developments seemed a bit abrupt and even illogical in the theatrical cut.
I think Richard Linklater had it right, that the movie represents adult Alexander's memories of his childhood, which would explain the supernatural incidents: Childhood can seem magical in hindsight, and memory plays tricks on us. Which is basically what it is, in a literal sense, if we are to believe that Bergman based it on his own childhood.
Love this discussion but I cannot agree with you about Isak's story: it is absolutely essential to the film. Alexander is learning about the freeing of the imagination, how he can apply his experiences and feelings artistically rather than as a set of rigid ethical codes - like the priest - where such experiences will define you and become self-flagellating, pathological, like the 'sitgmata' of the woman servant.
avastyer But the whole film is about freeing the imagination so it felt like stopping a film dead in its tracks to make a point, endlessly, that had already been made through action. Also, and just for the record, It's my understanding Bergman meant for the "mini series" to be one long five-hour feature film but it was cut down to three hours for the final product. The mini series was crafted years later to be shown over a period of time simply because five hours was deemed too lengthy for a single sitting. It makes sense because each episode seems to end arbitrarily and lacks the opening titles Bergman gave to each episode of Scenes From a Marriage.
***** Well... even with a reputation as huge as Bergman's, I suspect he sliced the original five and half hours down to three purely for distribution purposes. Few directors manage to push past the three-hour limit in cinemas. He knew if he did that he would have to tell the story quite differently. As for Isak's story, Alexander is responding to an (apparently) ancient tale and peopling it with himself, Isak, his mother, the dancing circus girl, the servant, death - his world - in order to make sense of his own circumstances. Up till then he has only spoken about such things (and their being 'shit' and 'piss' etc). The scene when when there is suddenly a flame in front of Alexander's face and then he is literally the boy in Isak's story is a truly poetic - and dramatic, and filmic - moment: imagination both as escape from reality and as a route to real compassion. How can one begin to understand other lives if you prevent this other life of the imagination? Isak's story - and his entire emporium - is a manifestation of this other life. The priest's house, by contrast, is swept bare in contemplation of an impossible, unimaginable other life, that of God. This is the height of action - for me anyway!
avastyer You just got me to go back and watch that interminable - to me -scene again. I understand what you are saying but it was still unwatchable, even as a standalone. We've seen Alexander using his imagination all through the film, especially after he transitions to the the bishop's way of life, so we know imagination freed him from his harsh reality even as it exacerbated it. Take his story about what really happened to the bishop's first wife and kids. It got him whipped after being ratted out by Stigmata Maid. There's a perfect example of inner and outer life colliding. Or take the scene that has everyone scratching their heads, the children's escape from the bishop through Isak's genuinely magic box. I take that as Alexander's imagination preferring that recollection of how it happened. I just don't need that scene of Isak's story telling, I've already witnessed it, over the course of five long hours. A film that long can't afford to be stopped dead in its tracks four hours in. The clarity of the maid's eczema as stigmata during that scene was a nice but overdone touch; it was clear what it was supposed to represent when we first see her worrying over it as she's about to rat out Alexander. We've even seen it before in a Bergman film, Winter Light, where it was done with more subtlety. But I will grant one thing, near the end of that scene mom hands Alexander a bowl of some liquid as fire rings them - the warmth of mother.
***** Hi. OK. Well, to speak truthfully, you're the first person I've chatted to either online or in the flesh who hasn't found that scene hair raisingly brilliant, let alone interminable, but each to their own. As it's the first time Alexander is fully immersed in art, perhaps it also lays the ground for his meeting with Ishmael... In any case, art's effects are never going to be total, thank goodness. I find myself pretty much in a minority of one because I cannot stand most of Michael Haneke's work (he's actually often compared to Bergman). Although I've seen a lot of Bergman, I must admit that I haven't seen Winter Light, despite its fame, so I can't compare ... yet! Thanks.
avastyer This is an interesting conversation. But it's NOT the first time we see Alexander "fully immersed in art." The first time we see it would be the time he is playing with the Magic Lantern when he is supposed to be in bed that Christmas night. And what happens? He is found out by his father, who doesn't beat him, as the bishop would, but instead enters Alexander's world. The whole story the father tells of the chair - which to me is the engrossing tale - reveals the need for imagination more effectively and interestingly than Isak's tale, which comes across as merely redundant some three hours later. Alexander's imagination is handed down by his own father, and stepdad doesn't have a ghost of a chance of extinguishing it.
In a hypothetical universe where only the theatrical versions of this and SFAM existed, I would consider it a classic, but with that said I don't think it would hold up as well without the rest of the material as the theatrical version of Scenes From A Marriage would in the same universe. With that case, the abortion in the first episode is an unfortunate omission that skewers the image of the marriage (if it doesn't necessarily make Johan more sympathetic, it does reveal that he isn't just wanting to shake up a good thing with his affair out of midlife crises or whatever; he has a reason to feel disillusioned with the matrimony), but it's a reasonable omission that doesn't have any adverse effect on the picture it paints (which does give Johan less reason for disillusionment but nevertheless works). I can't necessarily say the same, though, for how F&A omits the "cards on the table" sequence. It's true that the television version gives much more time to the tale's wonderful, Dickensian cast of characters, but the theatrical version tries to do this in a truncated form that I really don't think works if you don't show what I feel to be the payoff: seeing his deeply flawed uncles get their shit together long and well enough to confront and call out Bishop Vergérus. And I shall cordially disagree on Isak's story. Maybe it's because I can't help but see Bergman in Alexander, but I see that story as the best thing Isak does for him, because it grips his imagination and thus gives him a future. There is brilliance in Alexander.
Thanks a lot for your exploration of the mini-series, but on two points your assessments are quite incomprehensible. Firstly, calling Isak's tale 'strange and out of place': a tale about the eternal human search for, what perhaps can be called, succour, comfort, deliverence, about being lost, but nevertheless staying on the path that will not give any of those things, out of a vain hope... How could this be out of place in a tale that deals with human relationships, religion and faith, trauma, etc. etc.? Secondly the scene where Isak rescures Fannny and Alexander, finding it impossible to understand:: how else could it be interpreted than that Isak calls on Jaweh, in an ultimate plea for a miracle, so that the disappearce of the chiildren will not be discovered? Remember that Isak is a Jew, a people whose connection to Jaweh is arguably more direct than that of Christians to God (Jesus as messiah, while Jews (and Muslims btw) see Jesus only as prophet, to be called so also by Ismaël in the scene with Alexander). So for Isak to call on Jaweh directly, and his call being answered, is quite logical, but only if... . if you think of the story ALSO (and perhaps to the core) as a methaphysical, magical, tale. You can approcach Fanny and Alexander from its psychological, sociological, magical and metaphysical layers. You can think of it as a story about play and reality, about lostness and wholeness, about magic as a counterpart to material and psychological reality, dominated by trauma and human weaknesses. Theatre, fantasy, play and magic are essential to this great great story. So for example to deem Oskars tale of the chair as superfluous, and 'not contributing to the narrative'; well, WHAT do you think is narrated here?? What is 'narration' if it does not also... I rest my (mho) case. ;-)
I practically wore out the VCR of the theatrical version and couldn't wait for the DVD of the mini series. What a BORE. Everything that is subtle, mysterious ond BALANCED in the movie version becomes TOO MUCH. To borrow a word that both of you use in this review "MORE" sums up what I hated about the mini-series. The movie is a LONG movie and every cut, every editing decision was made by BERGMAN as a FILM... not television.
I just watched the theatrical version. And it was quite enough for me. But I must agree that some plot developments seemed a bit abrupt and even illogical in the theatrical cut.
I think Richard Linklater had it right, that the movie represents adult Alexander's memories of his childhood, which would explain the supernatural incidents: Childhood can seem magical in hindsight, and memory plays tricks on us. Which is basically what it is, in a literal sense, if we are to believe that Bergman based it on his own childhood.
Love this discussion but I cannot agree with you about Isak's story: it is absolutely essential to the film. Alexander is learning about the freeing of the imagination, how he can apply his experiences and feelings artistically rather than as a set of rigid ethical codes - like the priest - where such experiences will define you and become self-flagellating, pathological, like the 'sitgmata' of the woman servant.
avastyer But the whole film is about freeing the imagination so it felt like stopping a film dead in its tracks to make a point, endlessly, that had already been made through action.
Also, and just for the record, It's my understanding Bergman meant for the "mini series" to be one long five-hour feature film but it was cut down to three hours for the final product. The mini series was crafted years later to be shown over a period of time simply because five hours was deemed too lengthy for a single sitting. It makes sense because each episode seems to end arbitrarily and lacks the opening titles Bergman gave to each episode of Scenes From a Marriage.
***** Well... even with a reputation as huge as Bergman's, I suspect he sliced the original five and half hours down to three purely for distribution purposes. Few directors manage to push past the three-hour limit in cinemas. He knew if he did that he would have to tell the story quite differently.
As for Isak's story, Alexander is responding to an (apparently) ancient tale and peopling it with himself, Isak, his mother, the dancing circus girl, the servant, death - his world - in order to make sense of his own circumstances. Up till then he has only spoken about such things (and their being 'shit' and 'piss' etc).
The scene when when there is suddenly a flame in front of Alexander's face and then he is literally the boy in Isak's story is a truly poetic - and dramatic, and filmic - moment: imagination both as escape from reality and as a route to real compassion. How can one begin to understand other lives if you prevent this other life of the imagination? Isak's story - and his entire emporium - is a manifestation of this other life. The priest's house, by contrast, is swept bare in contemplation of an impossible, unimaginable other life, that of God. This is the height of action - for me anyway!
avastyer You just got me to go back and watch that interminable - to me -scene again. I understand what you are saying but it was still unwatchable, even as a standalone. We've seen Alexander using his imagination all through the film, especially after he transitions to the the bishop's way of life, so we know imagination freed him from his harsh reality even as it exacerbated it. Take his story about what really happened to the bishop's first wife and kids. It got him whipped after being ratted out by Stigmata Maid. There's a perfect example of inner and outer life colliding.
Or take the scene that has everyone scratching their heads, the children's escape from the bishop through Isak's genuinely magic box. I take that as Alexander's imagination preferring that recollection of how it happened.
I just don't need that scene of Isak's story telling, I've already witnessed it, over the course of five long hours. A film that long can't afford to be stopped dead in its tracks four hours in.
The clarity of the maid's eczema as stigmata during that scene was a nice but overdone touch; it was clear what it was supposed to represent when we first see her worrying over it as she's about to rat out Alexander. We've even seen it before in a Bergman film, Winter Light, where it was done with more subtlety.
But I will grant one thing, near the end of that scene mom hands Alexander a bowl of some liquid as fire rings them - the warmth of mother.
***** Hi. OK. Well, to speak truthfully, you're the first person I've chatted to either online or in the flesh who hasn't found that scene hair raisingly brilliant, let alone interminable, but each to their own. As it's the first time Alexander is fully immersed in art, perhaps it also lays the ground for his meeting with Ishmael... In any case, art's effects are never going to be total, thank goodness. I find myself pretty much in a minority of one because I cannot stand most of Michael Haneke's work (he's actually often compared to Bergman). Although I've seen a lot of Bergman, I must admit that I haven't seen Winter Light, despite its fame, so I can't compare ... yet!
Thanks.
avastyer This is an interesting conversation. But it's NOT the first time we see Alexander "fully immersed in art." The first time we see it would be the time he is playing with the Magic Lantern when he is supposed to be in bed that Christmas night. And what happens? He is found out by his father, who doesn't beat him, as the bishop would, but instead enters Alexander's world. The whole story the father tells of the chair - which to me is the engrossing tale - reveals the need for imagination more effectively and interestingly than Isak's tale, which comes across as merely redundant some three hours later. Alexander's imagination is handed down by his own father, and stepdad doesn't have a ghost of a chance of extinguishing it.
Thank you for your analysis of the importance of all the “fat” that was removed from the theatrical cut! 😂
In a hypothetical universe where only the theatrical versions of this and SFAM existed, I would consider it a classic, but with that said I don't think it would hold up as well without the rest of the material as the theatrical version of Scenes From A Marriage would in the same universe. With that case, the abortion in the first episode is an unfortunate omission that skewers the image of the marriage (if it doesn't necessarily make Johan more sympathetic, it does reveal that he isn't just wanting to shake up a good thing with his affair out of midlife crises or whatever; he has a reason to feel disillusioned with the matrimony), but it's a reasonable omission that doesn't have any adverse effect on the picture it paints (which does give Johan less reason for disillusionment but nevertheless works).
I can't necessarily say the same, though, for how F&A omits the "cards on the table" sequence. It's true that the television version gives much more time to the tale's wonderful, Dickensian cast of characters, but the theatrical version tries to do this in a truncated form that I really don't think works if you don't show what I feel to be the payoff: seeing his deeply flawed uncles get their shit together long and well enough to confront and call out Bishop Vergérus.
And I shall cordially disagree on Isak's story. Maybe it's because I can't help but see Bergman in Alexander, but I see that story as the best thing Isak does for him, because it grips his imagination and thus gives him a future. There is brilliance in Alexander.
This conversation convinced me to buy the boxed set. Thanks!
Thanks a lot for your exploration of the mini-series, but on two points your assessments are quite incomprehensible. Firstly, calling Isak's tale 'strange and out of place': a tale about the eternal human search for, what perhaps can be called, succour, comfort, deliverence, about being lost, but nevertheless staying on the path that will not give any of those things, out of a vain hope... How could this be out of place in a tale that deals with human relationships, religion and faith, trauma, etc. etc.?
Secondly the scene where Isak rescures Fannny and Alexander, finding it impossible to understand:: how else could it be interpreted than that Isak calls on Jaweh, in an ultimate plea for a miracle, so that the disappearce of the chiildren will not be discovered? Remember that Isak is a Jew, a people whose connection to Jaweh is arguably more direct than that of Christians to God (Jesus as messiah, while Jews (and Muslims btw) see Jesus only as prophet, to be called so also by Ismaël in the scene with Alexander). So for Isak to call on Jaweh directly, and his call being answered, is quite logical, but only if... . if you think of the story ALSO (and perhaps to the core) as a methaphysical, magical, tale.
You can approcach Fanny and Alexander from its psychological, sociological, magical and metaphysical layers. You can think of it as a story about play and reality, about lostness and wholeness, about magic as a counterpart to material and psychological reality, dominated by trauma and human weaknesses. Theatre, fantasy, play and magic are essential to this great great story. So for example to deem Oskars tale of the chair as superfluous, and 'not contributing to the narrative'; well, WHAT do you think is narrated here?? What is 'narration' if it does not also... I rest my (mho) case. ;-)
Beautifully done. I love and appreciate the depth of your perspectives. Ignore the envious troll. below . . .
I practically wore out the VCR of the theatrical version and couldn't wait for the DVD of the mini series. What a BORE. Everything that is subtle, mysterious ond BALANCED in the movie version becomes TOO MUCH. To borrow a word
that both of you use in this review "MORE" sums up what I hated about the mini-series. The movie is a LONG movie
and every cut, every editing decision was made by BERGMAN as a FILM... not television.
You are to beautiful to watch Bergman. :)