First Posted in The Couch Potato, December 7 2013
Title: The Seventh Seal
Year: 1957
Genre: World Cinema
Starring: Max von Sydow as the Soldier
Gunnar Bjornstrand as Jons
Bengkt Ekerot as Death
Nils Poppe as Jof
Bibi Anderson as Mia
Ake Fridell as Plog
Inga Gill as Lisa
Director: Ingmar Bergman
Writer: Ingmar Bergman
Perhaps one of the most famous and certainly most iconic films in World Cinema, Ingmar Bergman's “The Seventh Seal” was his ticket to the big time. The movie propelled him to international stardom, leading him to become one of the most respected and influential figures in cinema, directing over forty movies during his lifetime, many of which, like this one, he also wrote.
A knight, returning from the Crusades to his native Sweden, thanks God for his safe return. Just then Death appears, and the knight knows that it is his time. The knight, Antonius Block, challenges Death to a game of chess. He is an avid chess player, and prior to the arrival of Death was in the process of setting up a board. Death agrees, more out of amusement it would seem than anything else, and Block tells him that he must promise: as long as the knight can resist Death he may not have him. Should Block somehow defeat Death, then he will live and Death must go on his way. The rules agreed, the game begins.
Whatever the rules, it's clear that staying playing is not one of them, as the knight and his squire, Jons, move on from the beach, heading for the town. On the way they come across a hooded figure sitting on the ground, and ask the way to the inn, but the seated figure does not reply. It's soon clear why: he is dead. And horribly disfigured too. Further on, a family of travelling actors camp, and one of their number swears he has seen a vision of the Virgin Mary, though his wife does not believe him.
At the local church Block meets a painter, who tells him that the Black Death is rampant in the city, and people are dying in droves. Sick at heart, he goes to the confessional but finds there not a priest but Death, who asks him why he does not want to die. Not recognising the Reaper, Block says he does want to die, but before he goes he wants to understand, to know why God is how He is, to see His face and know that He exists. He does not want to go into the eternal void questioning, unsure. He wants, as Death points out, guarantees. He tells Death that he wishes to perform one last meaningful act in a life filled with careless abandon and aloofness from his fellow human beings, to atone for his coldness and lack of interest in others. He has already revealed his chess strategy to Death before he realises who he has been talking to, and curses himself.
As he leaves the church, Block comes across a young girl in stocks. He is told that she has been found guilty of devil worship, and is to be burned in the morning. Intrigued, he asks her if she has indeed seen the Devil but she does not answer. However, having remained silent while he was questioning her, she suddenly begins moaning and keening as soon as the knight leaves, perhaps recognising that someone who might possibly have come to her aid has departed, or perhaps seeing a kindred spirit.
They move on, coming to a village where Jons saves a young girl from being raped by a man he recognises as Raval, one who had convinced Block to travel to the Holy Land ten years previously, while he remained behind; it seems he has now devolved to robbing corpses. He spares him, but tells him that if he meets him again Raval will bear the scar for the rest of his life. He asks the girl to come with him, as he will need a housekeeper when he gets home. She is reluctant, but he reminds her that he saved her life, and so she goes with him.
In the town they come across the family of actors, who perform a dance and musical piece but are interrupted by a group of dour flagellants, religious doomsayers who foretell the apocalypse (which, as far as they're concerned, is already in progress) and try to placate God and atone for the sins of man by whipping themselves. The entire village sinks to their knees at the sight, but Block and Jons, who have seen the hypocrisy of religion and realised just exactly what they were fighting for in Jerusalem, do not. They watch, stony-eyed, as the zealots pass by.
As they arrive at the inn, Jof, the male actor, whose friend Jonas, also an actor, has run off with the blacksmith Plog's wife, is being hassled by Raval, the corpse-robber. Jons makes good on his threat earlier and slices the man's face. They spend an idyllic evening with Jof and his wife Mia, eating strawberries, and Block feels for the first time in a very long while at peace with himself and with the world. Deep questions of theology, the wars of men and even his own impending death seem far away, and he struggles to hold on to the memory as he returns to his chessboard to continue the game against his ancient adversary. However he has now a new view on life, and is not the dour, world-weary soldier he was before meeting and sharing a meal with the actors, and though he has already given away his strategy earlier to Death, who now takes his knight (how symbolic can you get?), Block laughs as he tells Death he has fallen into his trap, as the crusader now puts him in check.
Death though is more concerned at the change in the attitude of the knight, and wonders what has happened to have lifted his heart so? But Death has of course a trick or two up his own voluminous sleeve, and casually drops the observation into the conversation that Block and Jons are travelling through the woods with the actors who, he says pointedly, have a little son. He will not say why this information interests him, and the knight begins to worry, his facade of control and relaxation beginning to slip.
Before they leave, Jons is accosted by Plog, who begs the squire to allow him accompany them through the woods, but as soon as they are in the woods he spots Jonas exiting with his wife, and gives chase! The two face off, and initially Lisa pushes Jonas to protect her, but suddenly goes back to her husband, exhorting Plog to kill the actor. He fools the blacksmith though, pretending to take his own life in a not-quite-Oscarworthy performance, but it fools the others. As he makes his escape into a tree, the others having gone off, Death approaches. As Jonas watches first in annoyance then in terror, Death saws down the tree: Jonas's time has come.
As Block and Jons and the acting couple traverse the forest they notice it's very still and quiet, and they don't like it. Then a cart comes rumbling through but gets stuck in the mud. Block goes to help; it's the woman he spoke to earlier, the one accused of witchcraft. Having helped free the wagon, Block and his allies team up with the soldiers escorting it. There's safety in numbers, especially in this dark, quiet forest. Block takes the opportunity when they rest to again question the woman. He says he wants to meet the Devil, but she can't help him. “I only have to put out my hand and he is there”, she tells him, at least vindicating her accusation. But he can't see the dread one. Though she says the fire won't hurt her he sees fear in her eyes and knows it is only bravado. He gives her some herbs to inure her to the flames.
Raval returns, dying of the plague, but there is nothing they can do for him. Block returns to the chessboard to end his game with Death, and when Jof, who is able to see things others cannot, realises who his friend is playing with he becomes terrified and makes a break for it with his wife and child, though she can see nothing and thinks the knight plays alone. Desperately, trying to cover the actor's escape and distract his enemy, Block knocks over some of the pieces, but Death has perfect memory and knows where each piece was. He rearranges them on the board, and the game continues.
Of course, there can be only one outcome, and quickly thereafter Block is checkmated. Death has won, and the knight's life is at an end. However Death now reveals that in addition to taking Block's life when next they meet, he will also take everyone who has travelled with him. The fleeing actors feel Death's pursuit of them as they race through the forest and a great storm whips up. Block arrives finally at his castle, reunited with his wife after so many years. They have a final meal with the others in the party - the blacksmith Plog, his wife Lisa and the serving girl - before Death calls at the door and takes them all. Before he does, he asks Block casually if he has achieved his ambition of doing something worthwhile with his life, and the knight says he has, knowing that he has secured the escape of Jof, Mia and their baby. Death will not have them, at least not yet.
As they wake the next morning, having been passed over, Jof and Mia hug their baby and rejoice that they are still alive. Jof looks into the distance and says he sees the knight and his friends all walking behind Death, but as ever, Mia does not place much stock in her husband's fanciful visions, and they turn to go.
QUOTES
Block: “Have you come to fetch me?”
Death: “I have long walked beside you.”
Block: “This I know.”
(Block has obviously realised he is living on borrowed time, facing the hordes of the heathen in the Holy Land, and has probably escaped the clutches of Death more than once, though he must know that his luck cannot hold forever, and does not seem too surprised to see the apparition on the beach. The life of a knight was often a violent and brief one.)
Block (as the game begins): “You have black.”
Death: “It's most appropriate, isn't it?”
Block: “Why do you paint such daubings?”
Painter: “To remind people they will die.”
Block: “That won't make them any happier.”
Painter: “Why always make them happy? Why not frighten them a bit?”
Block: “They'll just close their eyes then.”
Painter: “Believe me, they'll look. A skull is more interesting than a naked wench.”
Block: “And if you frighten them?”
Painter: “They think, and be more frightened.”
Block: “And rush into the priest's embrace.”
Painter: “Not my business.”
(
Ah but it is. This exchange clearly shows the underlying reason for the artist painting such a frightening mural on the church wall. If people are scared they will want someone to protect them from Death, and who protects from Death like God, or in this case, his agents on Earth, the priests? And can we doubt that this painting is commissioned and paid for by the selfsame priests who hope to reap the reward of sinners converting and seeking their protection?)
Block: “How can we believe in the faithful when we lack faith? What will happen to those of us who want to believe, but cannot? What about those who neither want to nor can believe? Why can't I kill God in me?”
Jons: “Our crusade was so stupid, only an idealist could have invented it!”
Block: “Have you seen the Devil?”
Monk: “Don't talk to her!”
Block: “Is it so dangerous?”
Monk: “I don't know, but she's seen as guilty of the plague that has befallen us.”
(
Here we go again. Whenever something nasty happens people need someone or something to blame, and invariably it's minorities that pay the price. Here, as so often down through history, a woman - who is probably innocent: what proof have they that she “laid with the Evil One”? - is made the scapegoat for the infection that is sweeping through the town, the inexorable march of the Black Death.)
Jons: “Do you cook? I will need a housekeeper. I am married, but have hopes my wife will be dead by now.”
Plog: “Have you seen my wife?”
Jons: “No I have not. And if she resembled you I'd be quick to forget.”
Jons: “Ah it's Hell with women and Hell without them. Best to kill them when it's at its best.”
Jons: “Love is the blackest of all plagues. If you died from it there'd be some joy, but it almost always passes.”
A hilarious scene in which Jons shares his dislike of marriage or love with Plog, who is lamenting for his wife, who has run off:
Jons: “Henpecking and swills.”
Plog: “Screaming babies and wet nappies.”
Jons: “Sharp nails and malice.”
Plog: “The Devil's aunt for a mother-in-law!”
Jons: “Then when you're going to sleep...”
Plog: “Another tune. Tears, complaints and laments by the sackfull!”
Jons:
“Why don't you kiss me?”
Plog: “
Why don't you sing?”
Jons:
“Why don't you love me like before?”
Plog:
“Why don't you eye my new shift?”
Jons:
“You just turn your back and snore...”
Plog: “Oh Hell...”
Jons: “Oh Hell! She's gone now! Be happy!”
Jons: “If all is imperfect in this imperfect world, then love is most imperfect in its perfect imperfection.” (whaaa...?)
PORTENTS OF EVIL
As with any perceived curse, the arrival of the Black Death in Sweden is seen to be presaged by many evil omens, none of which of course can be proven to have any solid basis in fact. But when repeated they take on a life of their own, as if the listener expected such horrors, and this is only confirming what they had already dreaded.
“Two horses ate each other”
“A woman gave birth to a calf's head.”
These are the sort of things that got talked about, reported and in many cases probably completely made-up, but once they'd passed through enough mouths, probably with little embellishments added on here and there, they became accepted as solid fact, and anyone who heard the reports would nod their head wisely and agree that this was just the sort of thing to expect.
APOCALYPSE THEN?
It's hard to imagine what it must have been like back in the fourteenth century when the plague swept across Europe. Medical science being all but non-existent and religious fervour fanning the flames of suspicion and superstition, it surely must have been all too easy to have believed that the Black Death was God's curse upon the world, and that the End of Days was indeed at hand.
More than a hundred million people died across Europe during its short reign, and the world's population was reduced by about a third, up to sixty percent of Europe's alone falling to its dread influence. Of course now we have a good idea - though arguments still persist on certain points - as to what caused the Black Death, but back then the prevailing theory was that it was carried on a “miasma”, or unholy wind, and the only way to avoid it was to stay out of the fresh air, which meant that more and more people were packed together breathing the same air and eating the same food for days or weeks at a time. In addition, since it was decided that God was angry with the world, the inevitable blame fell on many women who were accused of witchcraft, as we saw here, and as cats were seen to be the familiars of witches - demons in animal form - thousands were caught and burned. This is ironic, since the cats would have been hunting the rats whose fleas are now generally accepted to have carried the contagion.
Nobody was safe. Kings and queens died as often and as agonisingly as beggars and peasants. Truly, the words of James Shirley were never more appropriate:
“Sceptre and crown must tumble down, and in the dust be equal made with the poor crooked scythe and spade”. A sense of terror and overwhelming despair must have gripped Europe as the Plague marched on, unchallenged and uncaring, and towns, cities, villages were destroyed in its wake. It truly must have seemed like the end of the world was approaching, and any day now seven angels would appear and sound the trumpets that would bring about Judgement Day.
Who could doubt it? It might seem fanciful now, but if you imagine yourself back in those times, with a total lack of knowledge as to where the Plague was coming from, no way to stop it and no sign of it weakening; as your family and loved ones died around you and you waited to be claimed, surely it must have seemed like God was levelling his final judgement on the world? As one writer put it: “How many valiant men, how many fair ladies breakfasted with their kinfolk and the same night supped with their ancestors in the next world?” Nobody knew when they might be next, and the graveyards filled up so fast that even consecrated burial became impossible, as huge mass pits were dug and filled up, more almost ready for filling by then.
The clergy, of course, loved it. No that's extremely unfair. They were no more immune to the effects of the Black Death than anyone else, and they did minister to the dying when nobody else would go near them, and died in their droves as a consequence. But the idea of this being the wrath of God was certainly pushed as an agenda by the Church, not only to fill up the pews but also to weed out the ungodly, bring sinners back into the fold and if necessary or expedient turn the anger of the righteous upon any minority group it saw as a threat, blaming them for the Plague. Thus the usual suspects - Jews, beggars, lepers, women, even those afflicted with acne or any other skin condition - could expect to burn as the hordes desperately tried to appease their angry god.
The whole idea of the movie being in black-and-white works very well too. I know that in the early fifties there were few movies made in colour anyway, but this would not work as well if it were in colour. The dark, oppressive, bleak atmosphere of the film fits in perfectly with the sparse, almost sketchy backdrop. At times it seems like our heroes are travelling across the landscape of a dead alien world, and in many ways it also reminds me slightly of the later “War of the Worlds”, where London is destroyed and there's nothing but rubble, with the occasional Fighting Machine moving among the shattered remains of Man's kingdom. It's bleak, it's barren, it's quiet: the quiet of the grave.
I would however personally question the use of music. I'm certain Bergman knew exactly what he was going for, and achieved that, but I just feel the sense of despair and hopelessness would have been added to had there been no music, no sound really except the occasional voices of the actors. It is though a true case of “less is more”: I can much more readily visualise and understand the belief of the apocalypse coming through this movie than I could with, say,
2012 or
The Day After Tomorrow, with all their glitzy special effects and thundering musical scores. Sometimes, a whisper says something far more effectively than a shout.