A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on ExistenceDid you ever have an ant farm growing up as a child? You can watch the ants go about the semblance of life in a confined microcosm on display for your amusement. The ants all look the same, but you might observe one ant longer than another, monitoring the behavior, and you may begin to identify individual characteristics if you imagine it to be. A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence is effectively a "human ant farm" movie, and is virtually as absurd as that analogy.
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A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence teases in its opening about being a continuation about encounters with death; certainly the characters in the film--those with a uniformly sickly pallor and some with a bloated countenance--occasionally resemble corpses. So the film opens with "death", and proceeds to gradually expand into a discourse on life, but one of many ironic turns in the movie. Comprised of dozens of tableaux of social interaction, a caricature of humans in their modern habitat, there are a few which are revisited throughout the film, notably Jonathan (Holger Andersson) and Sam (Nils Westblom), struggling purveyors of novelty gag items, meant to "help people laugh". Decidedly poor business men, the two bicker--Sam picks on Jonathan, who constantly disagrees with Sam--and cannot turn a profit at their profession, due in no small part to the cliche merchandise including vampire teeth (with extra long fangs), a "laughing bag", and their newest product--which Sam claims to have a lot of faith in--a disquieting mask of a hobo called "Uncle One-Tooth", which would be more at home in a bank robbery. These two might be the absurdist equivalent of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern in this Scandinavian dry comedy, their story cropping up more than others. But their story makes up such a comparatively small part of the film as a whole, it begs the question: what is the rest of it about?
A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence is actually the third entry in a trilogy of films by Swedish director, Roy Andersson. In a way, it reminds me of a satire of the existential angst found in the works of the famous Swedish filmmaker, Ingmar Bergman. Periodically, characters have moments of profundity, even if they come at ridiculous times, such as when a bar patron has an epiphany that his suffering has always been due to his own inner greed. There are scenes which have no apparent connection with reality, such as when an army on horseback storms a modern day bar, as they prepare to do battle with the "sly Russian". Additionally, a flashback to 1943 recalls a bar during World War II, where a salacious proprietress with a limp offers kisses for shots of liquor. Both scenes feature the melody of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic", albeit with the words altered to fit the scenes, and both scenes recall wartime movies and period pieces. And at several points, characters repeat familiar lines, notably when a person on the telephone repeats (twice) some variation on, "I'm glad to hear you're doing alright", as though they were reciting a scripted line, conditioned by years of watching people on TV and in the movies act--parroting the mannerisms. Life imitates art imitates life, and so on.
A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence is ostensibly set in a coastal town in Sweden, hinted at to be Gothenburg. Evidenced by the frequency of men in naval uniforms, like the increasingly cynical old officer, who is perpetually stuck missing his appointment outside of a restaurant, venting his frustrations in the bar, repeatedly punctuating his series of misfortunes with "of course", as though he were fated to suffer in perpetuity; it's possible he's right. There seems to be a constant sense of a higher power--or some other force--monitoring or watching the events of the story unfold. The film opens with a man walking into an avian museum, and he observes a pigeon sitting on a branch; it is, of course, an artificial pigeon, but this moment is the first of others to follow teasing the audience to justify the cumbersome title of the film. Another moment occurs when a young girl with Down syndrome prepares to deliver a poem about a pigeon on a branch contemplating (not existence, but its financial status), only to have the host erroneously believe she had in effect delivered the poem, rather than merely describing it. But mostly, there is the ubiquitous cooing of a pigeon in various scenes, as though a bird--or other unseen presence--were observing the events of humans below, watching and contemplating. In this, the pigeon is us, as we observe and associate our own thoughts and interpretations of the events, scrutinizing and allowing the plot to spread its wings. There is a moment toward the end, following a title card indicating "homo sapiens", where a pair of vignettes showcase humanity's not only willingness--but enthusiasm--to engage in cruel experiments for observation and entertainment, later suggested to be a nightmare of Jonathan's. The dream unsettles him, and provokes a philosophical outcry in the middle of the night, about if it is right for people to be used for the amusement of others. The irony here is that we have spent the film observing these others, even in these disconnected moments. These actors portray a charade of life to fill our time. These characters--and characters in all films--may suffer for our entertainment, reminiscent of how ants can be cruelly slain by children so inclined to flood an anthill with boiling water or roast them under the focused heat of a magnifying glass. Is there a moral responsibility in the entertainment or pleasure we gain from the suffering of people "under glass"?
Recommended for: Fans of an absurd but thought-provoking meditation on the connection between human interaction and observation--a contemplation--of our lives, society, and even how the medium of film and television both connects and distances us from humanity.
A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence is actually the third entry in a trilogy of films by Swedish director, Roy Andersson. In a way, it reminds me of a satire of the existential angst found in the works of the famous Swedish filmmaker, Ingmar Bergman. Periodically, characters have moments of profundity, even if they come at ridiculous times, such as when a bar patron has an epiphany that his suffering has always been due to his own inner greed. There are scenes which have no apparent connection with reality, such as when an army on horseback storms a modern day bar, as they prepare to do battle with the "sly Russian". Additionally, a flashback to 1943 recalls a bar during World War II, where a salacious proprietress with a limp offers kisses for shots of liquor. Both scenes feature the melody of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic", albeit with the words altered to fit the scenes, and both scenes recall wartime movies and period pieces. And at several points, characters repeat familiar lines, notably when a person on the telephone repeats (twice) some variation on, "I'm glad to hear you're doing alright", as though they were reciting a scripted line, conditioned by years of watching people on TV and in the movies act--parroting the mannerisms. Life imitates art imitates life, and so on.
A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence is ostensibly set in a coastal town in Sweden, hinted at to be Gothenburg. Evidenced by the frequency of men in naval uniforms, like the increasingly cynical old officer, who is perpetually stuck missing his appointment outside of a restaurant, venting his frustrations in the bar, repeatedly punctuating his series of misfortunes with "of course", as though he were fated to suffer in perpetuity; it's possible he's right. There seems to be a constant sense of a higher power--or some other force--monitoring or watching the events of the story unfold. The film opens with a man walking into an avian museum, and he observes a pigeon sitting on a branch; it is, of course, an artificial pigeon, but this moment is the first of others to follow teasing the audience to justify the cumbersome title of the film. Another moment occurs when a young girl with Down syndrome prepares to deliver a poem about a pigeon on a branch contemplating (not existence, but its financial status), only to have the host erroneously believe she had in effect delivered the poem, rather than merely describing it. But mostly, there is the ubiquitous cooing of a pigeon in various scenes, as though a bird--or other unseen presence--were observing the events of humans below, watching and contemplating. In this, the pigeon is us, as we observe and associate our own thoughts and interpretations of the events, scrutinizing and allowing the plot to spread its wings. There is a moment toward the end, following a title card indicating "homo sapiens", where a pair of vignettes showcase humanity's not only willingness--but enthusiasm--to engage in cruel experiments for observation and entertainment, later suggested to be a nightmare of Jonathan's. The dream unsettles him, and provokes a philosophical outcry in the middle of the night, about if it is right for people to be used for the amusement of others. The irony here is that we have spent the film observing these others, even in these disconnected moments. These actors portray a charade of life to fill our time. These characters--and characters in all films--may suffer for our entertainment, reminiscent of how ants can be cruelly slain by children so inclined to flood an anthill with boiling water or roast them under the focused heat of a magnifying glass. Is there a moral responsibility in the entertainment or pleasure we gain from the suffering of people "under glass"?
Recommended for: Fans of an absurd but thought-provoking meditation on the connection between human interaction and observation--a contemplation--of our lives, society, and even how the medium of film and television both connects and distances us from humanity.