Where to start? The title. A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on it's Existence is about as inchoate, strange, and long as its title suggests, and I doubt that anybody entering in this film is going to be misled as to what they should expect.
And different it is. Roy Andersson is already well established as Sweden's best living filmmaker, a master of macabre humor and sweeping, complex productions with shots so meticulously crafted (it takes him close to a decade between films) that it's a wonder he's still around to present his latest effort.
The set up is the same as his two previous masterpieces; Songs from the Second Floor and We the Living were startling when first introduced, a new precedent for surrealist filmmaking and imagery so alive with detail and meaning that they were immediately praised. Taking a careful look at his work shows that he has been perfecting this wide screen, hideously fluorescent - living corpse approach to just about every thing he's ever made (mainly commercials) except for his earliest film, the fairly more straight forward, but just as well crafted 'A Swedish Love Story'.
I'm not sure if Pigeon is as successful as his earlier films, or if I've just grown weary of this sort of cynical, existentialist outlook. This film was depressing. It does feel as though he has less to say here too. Instead of the tight, laser like satire of Songs from the Second Floor, or bright, surrealist musical We the Living - we get a more scattered, discombobulated theme of general malaise and unhappiness with institutions of government, apathy, and lots and lots of grey tones.
There are scenes that pick up and suddenly propel us into a world almost as vibrant as his earlier films, such as the procession of singing sailors in Limping Lotte's bar circa 1940's or several extremely long and complicated takes involving many extras that mirror back to Songs from the Second Floor's best scenes. It's also interesting to note that it appears out of all his work in the past twenty years he's moved the camera a total - I think - three times. I noticed the camera move once in this film, a process so laborious we might as well be watching somebody try and move a mountain.
There aren't many complaints. I yearn to see more films as daring as Andersson's, so I will have to make do with the fact that his world - as bleak as it is - is completely unlike any others.
And different it is. Roy Andersson is already well established as Sweden's best living filmmaker, a master of macabre humor and sweeping, complex productions with shots so meticulously crafted (it takes him close to a decade between films) that it's a wonder he's still around to present his latest effort.
The set up is the same as his two previous masterpieces; Songs from the Second Floor and We the Living were startling when first introduced, a new precedent for surrealist filmmaking and imagery so alive with detail and meaning that they were immediately praised. Taking a careful look at his work shows that he has been perfecting this wide screen, hideously fluorescent - living corpse approach to just about every thing he's ever made (mainly commercials) except for his earliest film, the fairly more straight forward, but just as well crafted 'A Swedish Love Story'.
I'm not sure if Pigeon is as successful as his earlier films, or if I've just grown weary of this sort of cynical, existentialist outlook. This film was depressing. It does feel as though he has less to say here too. Instead of the tight, laser like satire of Songs from the Second Floor, or bright, surrealist musical We the Living - we get a more scattered, discombobulated theme of general malaise and unhappiness with institutions of government, apathy, and lots and lots of grey tones.
There are scenes that pick up and suddenly propel us into a world almost as vibrant as his earlier films, such as the procession of singing sailors in Limping Lotte's bar circa 1940's or several extremely long and complicated takes involving many extras that mirror back to Songs from the Second Floor's best scenes. It's also interesting to note that it appears out of all his work in the past twenty years he's moved the camera a total - I think - three times. I noticed the camera move once in this film, a process so laborious we might as well be watching somebody try and move a mountain.
There aren't many complaints. I yearn to see more films as daring as Andersson's, so I will have to make do with the fact that his world - as bleak as it is - is completely unlike any others.