Queen of Hearts is currently streaming on MUBI in the UK, but is also available on Sky and Apple TV/iTunes. It appears to have been released by Thunderbird in the UK in February of this year so presumably it got lost somehow during the first UK lockdown? The BFI’s digital Sight & Sound archive has a very iffy search engine and I couldn’t find an entry for Queen of Hearts. This is very odd since the film won many festival prizes around the world and has received very good reviews. If you get the chance to see it, do take the plunge. It’s a compelling watch.
This film is hard to analyse in detail while avoiding major spoilers, although I can see an argument that spoilers don’t really matter since the power of the film is in the performance of the central player and the presentation of the fictional world. Danish cinema is one of my favourite institutions, mainly because it offers some terrific melodramas. MUBI promotes this film through an invocation of Douglas Sirk and the suspense of a Hitchcockian thriller. That’s a strong call but the film is up to it. I did wonder if it’s one of those films that provides plenty of talking points but then might begin to disintegrate under too much analysis. But however it might fare under deep analysis, it is certainly gripping the first time round.
I won’t spoil the narrative apart from mentioning the one central act I can’t avoid. The central character is Anne played by Trine Dyrholm. Most recently on UK screens in Thomas Vinterberg’s The Commune (2016), she had an early role in Vinterberg’s Festen (Denmark 1998), in my view the best of the ‘Dogme’ films and a film that has some tenuous links to Queen of Hearts. Anne is a partner in a law firm she started with an older man (perhaps her teacher or mentor?) and she specialises in cases concerning young people and abuse. She’s married to Peter (Magnus Krepper) a doctor of some kind. We learn little about Peter’s job – Anne is our prime focus. The couple have twin seven-year old girls and they live in a spacious modern house with access to a river and woods and no visible neighbours. We assume that the house is somewhere in the Greater Copenhagen area. They are clearly wealthy but there is a coolness between them. Their girls seem bright and are enjoying their lifestyle. The narrative begins after an unusual credits sequence which eventually reveals Anne walking with her dog in the woods. Quickly the narrative will produce two parallel ‘disruptive’ events. Peter is unhappy that Anne brings a client home – something she has promised not to do. He is about to go and collect Gustav, his 17 year-old son from his previous marriage. Gustav has been expelled from his school in Sweden where his mother lives.
Gustav doesn’t settle well in his new home at first, but gradually Anne brings him round and he becomes a friend to the two girls. But something about Gustav attracts Anne in a different way, especially when he brings a girlfriend back one night. Gradually Anne is drawn towards him in a dangerous way and as she becomes more distanced from Peter, desire for Gustav becomes too much – with all the tragic outcomes that you may imagine.
Queen of Hearts is written by May el-Toukhy and Maren Louise Käehne. May el-Toukhy directs, supported by striking CinemaScope photography by Jasper Spanning and music by the Swedish film composer Jon Ekstrand. They all deserve congratulations. One review I’ve seen suggests that the presentation of the house and its grounds is reminiscent of the similar use of the house at the centre of Bong Joon-ho’s Parasite (South Korea 2019). The two films are very different but the point about the house and grounds makes sense. This one is approached by descending a narrow walled driveway. Queen of Hearts is a family melodrama and much of the narrative is set in the house and its grounds, by the river and the woods. Both Anne and Peter are very busy but there are some family celebrations at the house. Anne’s closest friend is her sister Lina. The photography and score convey an atmosphere of encroaching danger, much of it focused on images of the woods and one specific tree as seen from the house. As well as the score there are several instances of diegetic music in the film. Melodrama needs music, but I know some contemporary audiences struggle with heavy, symbolic choices. Queen of Hearts announces its intentions when in the middle of a drinks party on the terrace with Peter’s friends, Anne gets up and plays ‘Tainted Love’ by Soft Cell rather loudly and dances around the table.
The BBFC gave Queen of Hearts an ’18’ Certificate for the UK. In Denmark it is only a 15 but Danish cinema has a long history of tolerance for sexual display. In the US the film is ‘Not Rated’. The sex scenes are carefully shot to deflect suggestions of pornography but they are much ‘stronger’ than is common in mainstream Anglo-American cinema. Trine Dyrholm is a fearless performer. I note that my review of The Commune I wrote “She gives her all” and that is similarly the case here. There are some strange comments in the reviews I’ve read (in one Anne is described as a woman at “a drab stage in her life – the transition from middle age to elderhood”). Anne is in her late 40s! From what I’ve read about the Danish ‘age of consent’ legal framework, a relationship between and adult and a 17 year-old would not be an offence were it not that Anne is Gustav’s step-mother. What makes it worse is Anne’s other position as a counsellor of young people in precisely this situation. The narrative does offer us a moment when Anne wonders whether she is a monster. The power of the film for me is that Anne can come across as a woman to be admired and also as a despicable human being. Discovering the second doesn’t invalidate the first, though it is shocking (and not because of her desire). At one point she admits that the best things that happen are also the the things that should never happen. The only thing that annoyed me in the film were the throwaway lines of dialogue that imply that Anne came from a poorer background and that something bad happened in her childhood. We do know that her father died when she was only 11, but I’m not sure about the inference that she was abused. My other thought is that the film, like other Danish melodramas, does seem to critique the coldness and sterility of upper middle-class life. This increases my feeling that Anne has herself been ‘fractured’ so that her humanity can be so easily and tragically taken away from her. Can I bear to watch the film again?
Here’s a trailer. It does reveal a little more about the events.
DNA is in its third week out of four on BBC4 in the UK. The 8 x 40 minute episodes of this long-form crime fiction narrative are broadcast in pairs on Saturdays at 21.00 and Tues/Weds (at 00.00). Six episodes are currently on iPlayer in the UK. The serial appears to be a co-production between Nordisk/Danish TV2 and arte France/Warner Bros. International TV in Denmark. The story is set initially in Denmark and moves to both Poland and France. Promoted as ‘from the co-creator of The Killing‘ it boasts an international cast that includes Anders W. Berthelsen and Nicolas Bro, both familiar from Danish films and TV, alongside Charlotte Rampling as a French police investigator and Zofia Wichlacz (a lead in the recent BBC serial World on Fire) as a young Polish woman.
Outline of Episode 1 (no major Spoilers)
The narrative begins in Copenhagen 2014 when Rolf Larsen (Berthelsen), a Danish police officer, finds himself in a difficult position while investigating the kidnap of a child called Minna. His wife has left him in charge of their baby daughter and when a lead comes up he decides to take the baby with him on a ferry to Poland as part of the investigation. Sea-sick on the ferry he is forced to leave the baby on deck for a moment (his partner, the DNA specialist Skaubo (Bro) is finishing his meal in the lounge) and when he returns she has disappeared, never to be found. It is assumed that the baby, securely in its pram, was washed overboard. Rolf’s marriage breaks up and he is transferred to North Jutland when the kidnap case is closed without a result. Then in 2019 another case brings him back to Copenhagen along with a young police officer from Jutland, Neel (Olivia Joof Lewerissa). Rolf discovers that there is a fault in the DNA database and some records have not been uploaded. When some DNA data is re-entered into the system, the European police data-sharing system links the Danish kidnap case 5 years ago to a recent murder in France and Ms Rampling appears in Copenhagen. Meanwhile in Poland, a young woman discovers she is pregnant. Poland has strict anti-abortion laws and things start to go wrong. Poland, Denmark and France are somehow linked in what might be a form of international infant trafficking.
I confess that I found the first couple of episodes of this serial difficult to engage with. That is probably my fault but it doesn’t matter because Episodes 3, 4 and 5 ‘ramped up’ the excitement (new pandemic vocabulary!) and I’m now hooked. The first point to note is that this is standard Nordic crime fiction with conventions that have now became the norm in many other territories. The plot involves important social issues. Minna, the child at the centre of the original kidnap case is the daughter of an Iranian asylum seeker father and a Danish mother. The suggestion is that the Danish police are too quick to assume that the Iranian father has abducted his own child. The young woman in Poland is up against a system which criminalises abortion in a way that isn’t acceptable in most (all?) other EU member states. France too seemingly has some restrictions in family law that I don’t think exist in Scandinavia. Second, we often discover in Nordic crime fiction that an investigating officer finds himself or herself engaged in an investigation which in some way has an impact on a personal family melodrama. That’s true for Rolf. He still loves his wife. She is currently seeing someone else but is still friendly towards her ex. I like Anders Berthelsen and his pairing here with the dynamic Neel works well I think. The presence of senior female police officers and female detectives is now a norm in Scandinavian crime fiction, as it should be. Things are different in Poland. I note that there isn’t a Polish co-production input. On the other hand Rolf is told that the whole case is an embarrassment to the Danish police (because of the DNA database mess) and I think there is a discourse questioning national typing rumbling below the surface of the whole narrative. The credits reveal that the unit which presumably supervised the Polish narrative actually comprises Czech personnel and the footage was not shot in Poland.
I am intrigued by the casting of Charlotte Rampling. She is a fine actor and the play between her character and Rolf is gripping. I don’t think it is ageist to suggest that she is several years older than seems plausible, so why was she cast? The serial extends the familiar pattern of Nordic investigators speaking English when they have to confer with colleagues in Estonia or Poland etc. and in this case it becomes a three-way English discourse. Rampling is fluent in French and English but I’m sure there are plenty of other French actors who could have been selected. (I’m fantasising how my hero Caroline Proust, aka Captain Laure Berthaud of Spiral/Engrenages would handle things in Copenhagen.) This leaves me with the feeling that perhaps Warner Bros TV or arte wanted a star name that would work in North America and the UK?
Co-productions make a lot of sense in both the TV and film industries in terms of distribution and funding deals. They also cause quite a few problems. Three things are worth considering in this case. First, there has been severe criticism by some Danish viewers about the dialogue and its delivery by the actors. Since I can only read the subtitles I can’t comment on this. Perhaps the subtitler has rescued the dialogue for anglophone viewers? The director of the first four episodes, removed his name from the credits citing the classic ‘creative differences’ – make of that what you will. Finally, some Polish viewers are angry, both about the Czech locations standing in for real Polish towns and about the depiction of a Polish convent hospital and the Catholic church in Poland generally. All these comments are on IMDb. I should add that I am also slightly confused by the time switches in the narrative. The opening episode signals a flashback ‘Three Days Earlier’, but in later episodes, the Polish scenes which are often presented conventionally as a parallel narrative, seem to me to be possibly happening earlier than the Danish scenes. I think I may need to rewatch these episodes. Below is a brief teaser trailer (in Danish) if you haven’t watched the serial yet and are intrigued. I’m looking forward to the final episodes and I hope to return to DNA in a few weeks for some more considered thoughts.
I was profoundly moved by this film (currently streaming on MUBI) for many reasons. It’s a film about a mother, a wife and a lover as much as it is about a strong independent woman determined to pursue her art. The two can’t be separated. There is one line in the film spoken by Isabella Rossellini with genuine feeling, when she gives ‘charm’ as the one word to sum up her mother and that struck me quite forcibly. It’s perhaps a strange word to choose about your mother and in other contexts we are often suspicious about celebrities described as ‘having charm’, as if we know this masks other possible less acceptable sides to their personalities. But each of Ingrid Bergman’s four children agree that their mother was always fun to be with and they remember that fondly even though she was absent from their childhood homes for much of the time. When she was there she made it up to them. Her ‘absences’ were mainly to do with work but she was clearly so determined to pursue what she wanted that needing to be close to her children was not something that would stop her.
Bergman’s was a remarkable career, arguably not matched by any other actor. She began, as many Swedish actors of her generation, in drama school and then moved quickly into films with her first credited role in 1935 aged 20. She also got married for the first time in 1936. Her Swedish film career lasted until 1940 by which time she had already repeated one of her roles in Hollywood and from 1941 she quickly became a Hollywood star contracted to David O. Selznick. In a few short years Bergman became a beloved figure in the US before she ‘scandalised’ America in 1949 by moving to Italy to work for and fall in love with Roberto Rossellini, leaving behind her husband and her daughter. Her Rossellini years ended in the mid 1950s by which time she had moved to Paris, making a film for Jean Renoir and eventually re-connecting with Hollywood, mainly on European productions. The last part of her career was spent working out of London.
Ingrid Bergman was a different kind of ‘global film star’. All the stars (and the filmmakers) of classical Hollywood were ‘global’ in the sense that their films were seen everywhere. Several stars had travelled from Europe to America and possibly back – but usually to the same country they had left several years before. But few had made films (and sometimes appeared on stage) in productions in five different languages (Swedish, German, English, Italian and French). It was an extraordinary career. I offer all this as context since this documentary focuses more on Bergman herself and less on the films she appeared in. IMDb lists 55 credits for film and television (around full 40 feature films). I feel slightly distanced from the discussion of Bergman as an actor and star simply because I don’t approach her as a Hollywood star primarily. She herself in the documentary says that the films she made with Rossellini did not appeal to audiences and there is an implication that she herself didn’t like them or value them that much. This is disappointing since it was watching Stromboli (1949) in a BFI preview theatre which first caused me to become interested in Bergman and I’ve come to like the other films with Rossellini as well. This doesn’t mean I don’t necessarily like the American films – I think her playing in Hitchcock’s Notorious (1946) remains one of the great viewing pleasures. I’ve also enjoyed Renoir’s Elena et les hommes (1956) and the Swedish June Night (1940).
In formal terms, this ‘bio doc’ might be grouped with the trilogy of similar films by Asif Kapadia which present the stories of Ayrton Senna (2010), Amy Winehouse (2015) and Diego Maradona (2019). As in those stories, the director, Stig Björkman (a celebrated veteran film writer, critic and journalist), has been able to ‘present’ the story of his subject entirely through either Bergman’s own words (recorded in diaries and letters) and images (captured on 16mm) plus archive film and television and the stories of her immediate family and friends. Alicia Vikander, in many ways a contemporary star with a similar career path, reads Bergman’s words from her diaries. The major difference between Björkman’s film and those of Kapadia is that Bergman’s is a much longer story and although it includes ‘media moments’ when she scandalised America, this is only part of the story and not a defining element of the whole. There are other lesser differences as well but overall this quartet represent a popular form of biopic, able to draw upon archive material with seeming authenticity – though of course each film is still written and edited and the choices made still determine how the narrative is likely to be read by the audience.
What emerges from Bergman’s story is a narrative that exposes her difficult childhood and teenage years when she lost her mother at a very early age and then her beloved father. This is then contrasted with her happiness in bearing four beautiful children in the difficult circumstances outlined above (i.e. the divorces and the absences). The film is full of insights and we learn that Ingrid’s remarkable poise and calmness for the camera comes from her early experience of being photographed by her father and this in turn led to her own adoption of a film camera (16mm and colour) to record her own children (she came from a middle-class family and was used to a life with the privileges of travel and nice homes). I’ve seen comments by viewers who claim to be easily bored by ‘home movies’ but I think that Bergman’s camera captures something lively and emotionally powerful. There are more ‘talking head’ ‘witness statements’ in this film than in those of Kapadia, I think (i.e. more statements recorded later). This wasn’t a problem for me and as an aside it seemed to me that more women spoke about working with her. It was interesting to hear Liv Ullman and Sigourney Weaver. I hadn’t realised that there was so much discussion about Bergman’s height (references vary but 5′ 8” to 5′ 9” seems most common) in Hollywood, but Sigourney Weaver explains that it was a relief to meet a female actor who had never been bothered by her height – which in the 1940s was tall for women. Out of all the Hollywood footage the most compelling is the first screen test Bergman had in Hollywood for Selznick, for which the clapperboard says “No Make-Up, No lip gloss”. Ingrid looks young, fresh, vital and very lovely with an immediate warm response to the camera. (See the last shot of the trailer below and the still above.) No wonder they wanted her.
I watched Ava Gardner on screen a few days ago and she was breathtakingly beautiful. Ingrid Bergman was also beautiful but she had something else as well. I’m still not quite sure what it was and it’s interesting that I have appreciated it more as I’ve got older. I’m going to look at her films again. As far as this documentary is concerned I should also report that Michael Nyman’s music is used throughout. Personally I like Nyman’s music but I know he is ‘Marmite’ – with great fans and also those who can’t stand the music. My only gripe about the film is that sometimes Alicia Vikander’s modern American-tinged accent grates. I like Ms Vikander as an actor ver much and I place the blame on the director. I’m sure she could have read the diaries and letters in a style closer to Bergman’s in the 1930s/40s. I’ve emphasised that the documentary doesn’t cover all the films, but even so I was disappointed that there is very little reference to her time in London in the final part of her career and the three pictures she made in the UK.
[Once last point for Keith. This film is listed as 1.78:1 aspect ratio, so the pre-1953 film footage should be Academy and it is, being placed inside the 16:9 frame. But having watched it on both my computer and on the TV screen and then on a recording I made when it was shown on the BBC Imagine . . . series in 2017-18, I noted that sometimes captions which had slid outside the Academy frame were clipped off by masking within the 16:9 frame. I’m not sure how that happened.]
When I started watching Echo, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Is it a documentary, a comedy, an avant-garde film? I hadn’t attempted to read anything about the film at all, wanting only to give it a try before it left MUBI in the UK yesterday. I was fascinated by the first few shots – each beautifully composed and framed by a static camera on a tripod, allowing a simple scene to play out in a single take of a minute or two. One of my first thoughts was of Roy Andersson’s films but although there are elements of comedy in some of the scenes/shots in Echo, there is none of Andersson’s playing with his colour palette or his penchant for a particular kind of actor and make-up and a style of playing. Instead, each scene features what appear to be ‘real’ situations. I couldn’t discern any overall narrative or any unifying principle and I did begin to wonder if this sequence of scenes would last for the whole length of a feature. I chickened out and glance at MUBI’s introduction but as soon as I saw the director was Rúnar Rúnarsson, whose début film Volcano (2011) impressed me greatly, I went straight back to the film, knowing I was in safe hands.
Eventually a form of narrative does become clear in the film and we realise that the scenes all refer to the Christmas period in Iceland. In fact, the film was shot from the start of Advent in December 2018 through to the start of 2019. There are 56 ‘vignettes’ and no character appears more than once. The whole offers a ‘mosaic’ of Iceland, its people and its culture across 79 minutes. I can’t imagine how much preparation Rúnarsson put into this. Many of the ‘performers’ are non-professionals (though there are some established actors too) and I imagine that the scenes were scripted and rehearsed. In the Press Notes, Rúnarsson tells us that one scene with a small child took many hours and several takes. The film presents aspects of Icelandic culture familiar from film, TV and literature. The long darkness of Iceland in December is captured in a scene featuring a young Black man (possibly an athlete from North America) sent by his coach to a solarium to ’embrace the light’. Several scenes feature music of different kinds, often diegetic but also some scoring by Kjartan Sveinsson. Where some scenes feature activities familiar from many parts of the world, others are distinctly Icelandic – cooking ‘fermented fish’ in the garage because of the smell or a son on the phone to his parents about why he won’t be there when they are eating whale meat. A couple of scenes refer to the influence of links with Poland, evident in recent co-productions of Icelandic films.
Some of the transitions from one scene to another work as comic/satirical observations, some are smooth, some more abrupt. Similarly the shot size alters from the intimate in a small room to long shots in which we see scenes played out with several characters and a staging in depth. I know I won’t be alone in remembering one particular scene in which a young man, a drug user, visits a clinic where the two young pharmacists/nurses prepare him for Christmas and assure him that they will be there on the 24th/25th. It’s a simple ‘three shot’ around a table in the corner of the room and I found it very moving. I won’t spoil any more vignettes and they are all worth your attention. One of the strengths of the film is that the scenes feature the very young and those in the final years of life and every age in between. Rúnar Rúnarsson’s most obvious collaborators are cinematographer Sophia Olsson, editor Jacob Secher Schulsinger and sound designer Gunnar Óskarsson. Along with Kjartan Sveinsson they are all long-time collaborators and contribute a great deal to the success of the film but there is also a larger overall crew responsible for this fascinating undertaking.
I’m not sure if Echo will appear in MUBI’s ‘Library’ offer, but if you can find the film, I recommend it highly. I would have loved to see this on a big screen and I hope the film gets seen as widely as possible. I’m not sure Volcano or Rúnarsson’s second film Sparrows got a UK release. He’s a talented director. Come on UK distributors give him a chance. Echo is a French co-production so all the details and Press Notes are accessible via Unifrance.
Giraffe uses footage of an animal in a Danish safari park to introduce a story about displacement and globalisation. What follows is in some ways a familiar European ‘festival film’. It first appeared at Locarno, then won a prize at the Viennale in 2019. My first thought was that it seemed like another example of a film associated with the ‘Berlin School’. Writer-Director Anna Sofie Hartmann is Danish but she trained at the German Film Academy (FFFB) in Berlin and this film has Maren Ade as one of its producers and Valeska Grisebach and Bettina Böhler are listed in the credits as mentors/consultants. Maren Eggert has a secondary acting role in the film and she has previously appeared in two films for Angela Schanelec. These names suggest that the Berlin School links are strong. They also signal a film with a predominantly female creative team and a female perspective at the centre of the narrative.
Dara (Lisa Loven Kongsli) is an ethnologist and photographer on Lolland, one of the main Danish islands, where she grew up. Though she is now based in Berlin, she is back in Lolland for a few months on a project to document the buildings and the people associated with them who will be displaced because preparations are being made for construction of a tunnel which will link Lolland to Northern Germany. There is very little plot in what is a relatively short film (85 mins). Dara meets various people and delves into local archives to research earlier inhabitants and artefacts. But there is a romance in which Dara, a woman in her thirties, becomes involved with Lucek, a younger Polish worker who is part of a gang laying a cable for services to be used by the construction workers on the tunnel.
My main interest in the film, apart from the aesthetics of its production and the performances, is in the geography of the location and what it means for the economics and sociology of the region. Although I’ve learned something through reading Nordic crime fiction and watching films and TV from Sweden and Denmark, I hadn’t before appreciated just how interconnected the countries around the Eastern Baltic Sea were, and especially how important the network of ferry services is to Denmark, Sweden, Germany and Poland. Hartmann includes various extracts from diaries and personal testimonies in ways which sometimes suggest we are watching a documentary. (Some of the characters in the film are clearly ‘real people’.) We listen to Lucek’s fellow Polish workers who sketch out the economics of why Poles take up contract work elsewhere in the EU since 2008 and these seem like authentic conversations. Lisa Loven Kongsli is actually a Norwegian actor which adds another layer to the film’s meaning with its mix of Danish, German and Polish actors and crew. Maren Eggert’s role is as a woman working on the main ferry to Germany. She has time to simply observe the passengers and she gives us her thoughts about who they are and where they are going – and again Jenny Lou Ziegel’s camera films these passengers in observational documentary mode.
I was reminded in several ways of the French film Fidelio – Alice’s Journey (France 2014) in which a young woman is a ship’s engineer who works with various nationalities, both officers and crew, and has a traditional masculine sailor’s idea about a sexual life in every port. Like Alice, Dara finds a young man even though she has a partner in Berlin and like Alice she is shown to be a highly competent and professional young woman. Both films use diaries and video calls/filmed material to communicate with lovers/friends overseas. A final similarity in the two films is a narrative strand in which the globalised workforce finds itself at the mercy of layers of sub-contractors who come between them and the multinational company who is ostensibly their employer. So in Giraffe, Lucek and his colleagues fear that they might not be paid. I’m not clear on who is paying Dara but she seems to be ‘secure’ in some way. This kind of interaction between workers from different countries often means that conversations are conducted in English, even if in this case, the countries themselves are often geographically quite close. Dara and Lucek make love in English.
I enjoyed watching this film but a quick trawl through other online responses reveals a mixed audience response. In Berlin School style, the narrative is not laid out as a conventional story. Instead each viewer simply needs to watch and listen carefully and piece together their own story. That said, I found some scenes to be humorous and some quite moving as Dara delves into the lives of the people who owned the houses that are to be demolished. The performances are all good and I found simple pleasure in watching Dara at work. Giraffe is currently available on MUBI.
Here’s the only trailer I can find, but no English subs:
It was timely of MUBI to post this film of Swedish National Broadcast Company news footage on American Civil Rights protests. Director Göran Olsson discovered the footage whilst researching and realised it needed to be presented to a contemporary audience. He starts with an interview with a white, small businessman who reiterates the myth of the American Dream and this frames the impossibility at the time of even believing in the Dream if you were a ‘person of colour’. The Swedish journalists went to where it was at and interviewed, or filmed speaking, key campaigners for Black Power: Elaine Brown, Stokley Carmichael, Eldridge Cleaver, Angela Davis, Huey Newton and Bobby Seale. Although, as Olsson says in a Film Comment interview, his film is about the Swedish point of view of the time, in order to not overly privilege this viewpoint he included a contemporary African-American view on the footage with comments from musicians Erykah Badu, John Forté (of The Fugees) and Talib Kweli and professors Angela Davis, Robin Kelley and Sonia Sanchez. As he says, these voices have a feel of a DVD commentary and it’s especially good to hear Angela Davis; the footage includes her trial for abetting murder which was such a farcical charge that (you’d hope) it had no chance of sticking.
Unfortunately what’s most striking about the documentary is how little things have changed for African Americans. The same police brutality and government connivance in repression: all in the ‘land of the free’. One difference is, of course, social media were we can readily see police violence though it is unnerving how this does not curb their brutality. The news media, in the 1960s, were probably more likely to ‘call out’ government malfeasance as the increasing corporatisation of news since the 1980s has mitigated risk taking and investigative reporting. The Swedish reporters’ ‘neutral and friendly’ demeanour comes through strongly as they were seeking the ‘truth’; though Angela Davis’ brilliant putdown, whilst being interviewed in prison on the trumped-up charges (was that phrase named after him?!), showed the inevitable limitations of their perspective. Olsson also includes footage of a tourist bus tour of Swedes in Harlem in which the racist assumptions aired are shocking today.
The ending, rightly, is bleak as heroin flooded into Harlem and so, successfully, dispersed Black radicalism; a similar policy was used in LA in the 1980s. This uses footage from Lars Ulvestam’s documentary Harlem: Voices, Faces (Sweden, 1973).
The story hasn’t ended; currently there have been more than two weeks of protest in America after George Floyd’s murder on camera by police. It would be nice to think that this will be a turning point, particularly with the Hater in Chief currently occupying the White House and the fact that the protests have extended worldwide. It was good to see slave trader Colston’s statue being plonked into the harbour in Bristol, UK, last weekend though it is likely the forces of reaction will be not far behind. That such mass protests are happening during a pandemic (though police are more likely to kill African American males than Covid19) is worrying.