Another tempting possibility is to write one of my long-winded essays on LTROI, which is, of course, what I have just started doing. Naturally, you can expect all the usual things: “gasoline”, “indirect personal attacks” (clever, I hope
), my pet loves (history, mathematics, physics), my pet hates . Or perhaps not. It really depends on how I feel while writing this and your own creativity in seeing through all the disguises. Whatever may happen later, at this moment my motivation for writing (apart of the need to kill time) derives from an idea that I had a few days ago to use my Mac’s multilingual abilities to search for some reviews of LTROI written in Russian. Soon after I first saw the film I read quite many reviews in several languages but only ones using the Latin script. There were a few that I found helpful and interesting and these I saved, but the great majority I found superficial and derivative so I quickly lost interest in looking for more. I then joined this forum which only served to confirm the above impression . But perhaps because of my whimsical story of Elina - the magical Byzantine wonder-child that I remembered that my Mac can use non-Latin scripts too, so I tried searching on google for “Томас Алфредсон”.
A fairly large number of pages turned up and I soon realised that most of them seemed to be in Bulgarian, which I understand poorly. But there were also pages in Russian, among which I found the review section of the “Contemporary Cinema” site, which contained two reviews of LTROI. The first one, by Anatoliy Yushchenko, was a kind of revelation which vividly brought to my mind the memories of how I first saw the film. There was also a second review; this one by a reader using the name Begemotic (I believe this is an allusion to the demonic cat Behemoth - Begemot in Russian, from “The Master and Margarita”.) This was also a good review but of a different kind and addressing different aspects of the film.
These two reviews seemed to me to represent the two basic types of reactions to this film I have found among those who were deeply affected by it. In fact, these reactions are not mutually exclusive - most are some kind of combinations of these basic two taken in proportions that probably reflect the viewer’s background and personality. And this seems to me to be even more interesting than these reactions themselves.
Yushchenko’s review is beautifully written but in a way that carefully avoids creating any “spoilers” so naturally he does not say very much about the story itself. However, in any case, he makes it clear that it is not in the story that he sees the value of this fim, which he views as an unquestionable classic masterpiece. For Yushchenko the film is a piece of poetry; poetry expressed not through the medium of word but vision and sound, which are used not to make statements but to create metaphors. Thus according to Yushchenko the blood of which we see so much in the film is “not simply blood but a symbol of the birth of tender feelings.” There is also something else, something difficult to describe: the ability to evoke disturbing emotions by pairing together scenes and images which by themselves are very direct: snow and blood, childhood and adult problems, eternal loneliness and evil, first love and death. The emotional impact of the “poem” is sharpened by tactility of almost every scene, for example, Eli’s gentle caress of Oskar’s hand in the bedroom scene, or the warmth felt by the viewers arising from the touch of two pale hands separated by an unpassable barrier in the form of a window.
This emotional impact of the film does not, writes Yushchenko, come from the script as such but from the way it is handled by the director. A key element in this is something that has become forgotten by contemporary cinema and can be found only in the work of directors with the rarest of talents such as Tomas Alfredson and Claire Denis: the ability to treat cinema as a kind of “plastic art”. (Here I would make only one criticism of the review - it completely ignores the role of sound which is, of course, equally important in LTROI ).
Almost every sentence in Yushchenko’s review reminded me of my own impressions of the film, but nothing more so than his comment on the final scene: among this darkness the wise and talented authors found enough courage for an indescribably beautiful finale: the most life-affirming and the most just of all possible endings.
Begemotic’s review takes a different approach. His admiration for the film is just as great as Yushchenko’s but more along the lines one can often read on this forum. He (I am guessing the gender here) begins with the quote “go away an live or stay and die” and then proceeds to describe the story, in a way that would find wide approval here (in other words, he sees it as unquestionably a love story). At the same time is is clear that he has not read the book (the issue of Eli’s gender is not mentioned in any of the reviews). In fact, after explaining about the “invitation rule” he praises the film for leaving the nature of vampirism mysterious, which , in his view, makes the dramma much deeper. But perhaps his most revealing remark is “if you are able to recall yourself at the age of 11-13 or if you have children of this this age you will no doubt understand this film and appreciate its excellence.”
Now, it seems to me that, as I wrote at the beginning, these two reviews capture the two most important aspects of the film responsible for its impact on its admirers. Some, like me, appreciate it primarily as poetry and for these people discussion of the “details” such as “what did Eli do with her wings on the way from the hospital to Oskar’s flat” is quite beside the point and, if anything, undermines the poetic mystery of the film.
It is difficult for me to imagine that a person who primarily sees this film as poetry will have a good word to say for JAL’s novel. For a start, there is invasive narrative: always trying to tell the reader the things that should be shown and left to his own judgement rather than “told”.
Then there is the stereotyping of everything the author has no interest in or knowledge of, resulting in the crudest of caricatures of history, science, religion.
And then there is the language, totally devoid of any hint of poetry or alternatively, verbal paining (for which the reader should probably be thankful).
(I suppose, I should give JAL some credit that none of these shortcoming made its way into the film, although perhaps that was Alfredson’s doing. I am particularly grateful that they abandoned the “flashback” and did not try to portray 18-century Sweden as a country of feudal lords - vampire or not).
On the other hand, people who are attracted to the film primarily because it speaks directly to their own childhood memories, probably find this also in the novel or perhaps even more so. I cannot judge this issue myself, but reading this forum gave me the impression that it is the vividness of JAL’s representation of his childhood experience that many find the strongest reason for its appeal. Presumably these are the people who find that some of JAL’s experiences and feelings similar to their own.
When I reflect on my own childhood and compare it with Oskar’s, I see very few points in common. In fact, in many ways we could be seen as opposites. My own childhood was more than a decade earlier than Oskar’s and was spent in a country that was geographically near but in most other respects in a different universe. Moreover, our social situation was almost exactly the opposite. Socially Oskar’s family is close to the bottom of an affluent and democratic country - we were close to the top of a poor country governed by a austere dictatorship. Thus in absolute terms Oskar’s situation appears materially more confortable than ours was, but in subjective sense the opposite must have been true. I was not an only child and my parents were not separated but actually very close. My father was not a drunk whom it was difficult to respect, as Oskar’s father was, but a well known university professor, to whom I was close and who strongly influenced me.
But probably the biggest difference was in relation to other boys. Both mentally and physically I was a bit of a prodigy. Intellectually I was way ahead of my classmates - I read profusely books that were considered grown up. The result was an isolation that was self-imposed, there was nobody in my class that I wanted to play with or even to talk about anything else but, perhaps, sport. Fortunately for me, physically too I grew very fast and was almost a head taller than almost all boys of the same age. Besides, I always had exceptionally strong hands and fingers, which combined with basic but effective knowledge of judo meant that I could successfully take on and defeat almost any two boys of my own age and stood a good chance against a single one or two year older one (particularly if the fight went down “to the ground”).
Hence naturally I never had any experience of bullying - I did not know even that the phenomenon existed. In my native language there is not even a special word for it. The first time I remember hearing the concept and thinking about it was in England, when reading "Tom Brown's Schooldays".
As for other things: I did not fall in love until I was in my 20s. And the only “escape” in my life was our emigration, but we did it as tightly knit family of four, and not by train but by car.
Thus just about the only moments in the film, which I could identify with my own experience are found in the scene where Oskar is facing Conney, having to make up his mind whether to strike back or allow himself to be humiliated and then, after successfully carrying out Eli’s advice, is almost overcome by a feeling of elation. I have know many moments when I was facing the same dilemma and the excitement and elation that I see in Oskar’s face reminds me very strongly of my own.
The 1980s also mean something entirely different to me - I was already grown up, even married and it was then that I first came to Japan. It was an exciting time for me. So this was as different as can be from the experience of Lindqvist, Alfredson and Soderqvist. For example, here is Soderqvist talking about this period:
But for me it has a lot to do with the fact that I grew up near the end of the 70’s and the start of the 80 ́s - the same time that is portrayed in the film. Tomas captured that feeling 100 %. The stillness, the boringness, ... that might sound familiar. SoI felt like the boy, Oskar. It’s a lot about snow and darkness, and kids being cruel to each other. There’s also the silence. That’s way more emotional for me than the horror elements.
I can really relate to that loneliness. My childhood felt a bit like that sometimes. My parents got divorced at the same time and it felt exactly like that. You ́d go out in the snow all alone, in total silence, and you’d go hide in a tree. He really captured that feeling. I think the music is much more related to that than to the vampire horror. It’s much more about loneliness, love and friendship.
Well, none of this has any relation to my life at all. And yet, in spite of all these differences, sympathy for Oskar certainly played a big role in making me so involved in the film. That this happened without my having almost any shared experience with Oskar is a bit of a marvel. I attribute this to the art of Alfredson and Soderqvist. I think that what I share with both of them is not so much any common experience of life but a certain common aesthetic taste. There are quite many things that Alfredson says about beauty and art in his interviews that remind me of my own thoughts. And Soderqvist, like myself, loves early music, particularly Baroque (even though his knowledge of it is clearly rather limited, judging by his interviews).
So in the end, I conclude that my own liking fror the film owes little or nothing to such things as childhood experiences, the 1980s, or even JAL’s story. When I watched the fim I knew nothing about Eli and knowing more would not have made me any more sympathetic. In my case it is all more abstract, just as Yushchenko describes it: it’s all to do with the way Alfredson weaves his magic, making use of the great talents of Lina, Kare and Soderqvist. That must also be why no amount of discussion has ever made me like anything about this film better.
Finally, a few more words about my story of Elina (probably the last time I am writing about this). From what I wrote above about the way I saw the film and how close it is to Yushchenko’s description of it, it should be clear that I did not need to write this story - I was entirely happy with seeing the film as a kind of mysterious, metaphysical poem. I still find this the most satisfactory way to view it.
I started to write my Byzantine story because of the annoyance I felt while re-reading JAL’s novel with the grotesque travesty of history and religion I felt it contained. I was also unhappy with the image of Eli that emerged from the book, quite different from the Eli I saw in the film. So my writing was intended solely as a kind of antidote to the novel.
But then once I started, it became just as excuse for indulging in writing and thinking about my favorite themes - the writings of Jorge Luis Borges (I wanted to write a story in his style) and one of my favorite historical subjects: history of the Byzantine Empire. And once I was at it, I could not resist the chance of making Eli a relative of one of the most fascinating and mysterious figures of that history - the emperor John Tzimiskes, who started his imperial career with a sicking, brutal murder (of his uncle) and then somehow trued himself into one of the most virtuous: kindest, generous, wisest and brilliant rules any state ever had (and this opinion commands the universal consensus of even the most sceptical historians). So I enjoyed writing the Byzantine part of this story but never managed to get as far as the beginning of the film, as I was first distracted by other tasks and later lost the incentive to continue. But the first part is written and I think its probably the best “literary” achievement of my life, which is not surprising since my only other attempt was made when I was 14. The fact that I attempted this after so many years shows that this film had quite an impact on me.
But now I am quite happy to go back to my original “poetic” and “mysterious” way of looking at the film, not requiring any backgrounds or explanations, neither of JAL’s authorship or my own. And, after all, I definitely am not interested in JAL’s “Epilogue” for it has nothing at all to do with the film that I love.
PS. Finally I did not watch a film. I started “District 9”, a science fiction film, which, according to the review “is that rarest of things, an action movie with brains.” This may be true, but unfortunately the brains are those of an idiot.
But I give you this, seeing LTROI in the air might be something really special. So far I've watched it at home, a theater, school, on the bus, and even in a mental hospital (don't worry, I was only a visitor), but on a plane? Man, that sounds way too good.
