The Seventh SealAt one point in Ingmar Bergman's The Seventh Seal, the knight errant Antonius Block (Max von Sydow) observes that faith is a heavy burden...like loving someone in the darkness without any sense of reciprocation. Faith exists, and Block has no questions about that--for this plagues him--but he is no longer satisfied to believe that he should have faith without proof. Block's strategy to seek this absolute proof is to quest alongside his witty squire, Jons (Gunnar Björnstrand) in the search for God, the sands of his life running out as he prolongs his inevitable demise by challenging Death (Bengt Ekerot) to a decisive match of chess.
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From the first lines in The Seventh Seal, we are reminded of the lines from the book of Revelation, that when the titular seventh seal was broken (heralding Judgement Day), there was a silence in heaven, which lasted for about "half an hour". This silence is "God's silence", the absence of his presence, or at least our perception of His absence. Those familiar with how the passage of time depicted in the Bible may not be literal would be quick to consider that this "half an hour" could signify a much longer expanse of time, and could represent a generation, or even centuries. Though Antonius Block had spent his last ten years crusading--likely involved in killing and warfare--this has not tempered his faith, but rather burdened it with doubt. When Death comes to claim him, he recognizes the figure in black--having ridden by his side--and welcomes its existence, but is left with the inner compulsion to prove the existence of God. And Death manifests not as an abstraction--nor a mere inevitability--but as a person, who operates on a ruthless agenda, but is also droll, witty, and even dryly funny, although all that is really "human" about him is his white face, a mask for the abject terror he embodies. Why should Death entertain the idea of playing a match of chess with Block, when the supernatural avatar would have no obligation to do so, and would likely win? Perhaps it has to do with the malicious playfulness which Death embodies; could this not be said for the nature of death that an unfortunate death can also be darkly ironic, even unfair in its timing and circumstances--maybe even Death needs a recess, especially when the plague-ridden land is keeping him working overtime. The omens circulating throughout the medieval countryside are grim and exaggerated. Jons recalls these rumors, just as other townsfolk do; the doomsayer who strides into town with the cross over his shoulder proclaims as much that the world is ready for the apocalypse. And yet every generation believes it to be the last, with the horrible state of affairs--it always seems to get worse--which is turned to be a vindication for end times mania and religious zealotry. As if to emphasize the manipulative pageantry of the pilgrims, the performance by the travelling troupe of actors consisting of Jof (Nils Poppe) and Mia (Bibi Andersson) is upstaged by the arrival of the flaggelants.
Perhaps in the whole of The Seventh Seal, Jof's vision of the Virgin Mary remains the most enigmatic moment--does he actually see the presence of the divine, or is it all in his head? Certainly he might be touched by a higher power, or he might just be "touched"; maybe his vision was motivated by the familial paradigm he is now a part of. (Notice how "Jof" and "Mia" sound like "Joseph" and "Mary"?) It is generally accepted that the camera is supposed to be objective, showing us what is, unless we are devoted to one particular character's solitary vision; so then how can we come to terms with the visions he sees...and we see? Jof's vision might signify that the silence that is the central theme of the movie is the silence which befalls the unfaithful, those who don't "get it" when it comes to God--like Antonius Block--and claim faith but worship something else. If Block had one moment to realize and accept the true presence of the goodness of God in the world, it is when he shares the symbolic feast of strawberries and milk with Jof and Mia; it is a pity that this moment of transcendent enlightenment is so fleeting for the crusader. The simple Jof--the merrymaker, the family man--is the true "scribe" of the message of God, one who is worthy of the vision. By this same rationale, the manifestation of Death is also a "divine presence", and appears to those whom are worthy to see him. His faithful may be unconvinced that he is their God, until the final moments when he is treated by most with awe and respect, for in their lives he is the great power in the world. Similarly, the girl who is burned as a witch claims that she can see the devil, though when Block makes the attempt to see him in her eyes, he cannot, because ultimately Block does not believe in Satan any more than he does God; this may not simply discount her own visions as false, since she expresses devotion to the "black one". Death makes no claims to be a god, but this is perhaps a deception--a coy strategy, which would be in keeping with his mannerisms throughout the film. Block has no real satisfaction in his pursuit of God, but is energized with the realization that he is alive and playing chess with Death, reinforcing where the knight's real allegiance lies. And it wouldn't be a Bergman movie if the film wasn't at least a bit self-aware; Jof and Mia--along with their actor companion, Jonas Skat (Erik Strandmark)--comment about how playing Death is a downer, and that people are often more excited about something bawdy. And the painter Jons meets in the chapel indicates that painting death and the plague will get more churchgoers...that a skull is more interesting than a naked woman. Even the cuckold blacksmith Plog (Åke Fridell) and Skat's row of colorful words and threats to violence is treated like a performance, complete with a play-by-play commentary by Jons. The irony here is that this film--about death and religion--is actually a dark comedy, with even bawdy moments, making The Seventh Seal as sly, secreted way charm which only the faithful will be able to see...like Jof's vision.
Recommended for: Fans of a darkly funny--but also serious--adventure of a knight chasing God and the reflections of faith (or lack thereof) in a world like ours, just centuries past. It's too often that this film gets dismissed as being dry and inaccessible, which is an unfortunate fallacy; this is a thought-provoking film on religion, death, and even acting itself.
Perhaps in the whole of The Seventh Seal, Jof's vision of the Virgin Mary remains the most enigmatic moment--does he actually see the presence of the divine, or is it all in his head? Certainly he might be touched by a higher power, or he might just be "touched"; maybe his vision was motivated by the familial paradigm he is now a part of. (Notice how "Jof" and "Mia" sound like "Joseph" and "Mary"?) It is generally accepted that the camera is supposed to be objective, showing us what is, unless we are devoted to one particular character's solitary vision; so then how can we come to terms with the visions he sees...and we see? Jof's vision might signify that the silence that is the central theme of the movie is the silence which befalls the unfaithful, those who don't "get it" when it comes to God--like Antonius Block--and claim faith but worship something else. If Block had one moment to realize and accept the true presence of the goodness of God in the world, it is when he shares the symbolic feast of strawberries and milk with Jof and Mia; it is a pity that this moment of transcendent enlightenment is so fleeting for the crusader. The simple Jof--the merrymaker, the family man--is the true "scribe" of the message of God, one who is worthy of the vision. By this same rationale, the manifestation of Death is also a "divine presence", and appears to those whom are worthy to see him. His faithful may be unconvinced that he is their God, until the final moments when he is treated by most with awe and respect, for in their lives he is the great power in the world. Similarly, the girl who is burned as a witch claims that she can see the devil, though when Block makes the attempt to see him in her eyes, he cannot, because ultimately Block does not believe in Satan any more than he does God; this may not simply discount her own visions as false, since she expresses devotion to the "black one". Death makes no claims to be a god, but this is perhaps a deception--a coy strategy, which would be in keeping with his mannerisms throughout the film. Block has no real satisfaction in his pursuit of God, but is energized with the realization that he is alive and playing chess with Death, reinforcing where the knight's real allegiance lies. And it wouldn't be a Bergman movie if the film wasn't at least a bit self-aware; Jof and Mia--along with their actor companion, Jonas Skat (Erik Strandmark)--comment about how playing Death is a downer, and that people are often more excited about something bawdy. And the painter Jons meets in the chapel indicates that painting death and the plague will get more churchgoers...that a skull is more interesting than a naked woman. Even the cuckold blacksmith Plog (Åke Fridell) and Skat's row of colorful words and threats to violence is treated like a performance, complete with a play-by-play commentary by Jons. The irony here is that this film--about death and religion--is actually a dark comedy, with even bawdy moments, making The Seventh Seal as sly, secreted way charm which only the faithful will be able to see...like Jof's vision.
Recommended for: Fans of a darkly funny--but also serious--adventure of a knight chasing God and the reflections of faith (or lack thereof) in a world like ours, just centuries past. It's too often that this film gets dismissed as being dry and inaccessible, which is an unfortunate fallacy; this is a thought-provoking film on religion, death, and even acting itself.