SCANDINAVIAN CINEMA A survey of the films and film-makers of Denmark, Finland, Iceland, Norway and Sweden by Peter Cowie in collaboration with Frangoise Buquet, Risto-Mikael Pitkanen and Godfried Talboom Produced by The Tantivy Press (London) on behalf of Scandinavian Films' - Nordic Cinema/Cinema Nordique Distributed in the United States by Samuel French Trade, Hollywood Norwaj mK* ami nature have achieved an even distribution of the „ among the Nordic communities. Finland has always m to the tore in music and architecture, Denmark in nlosophy and ballet, Sweden in film (and runner-up in just .Mil everything else), and Norway in painting and -iroueh Ibsen - in drama. M until the 1980's, however, did Norway excel in the art the cinema. Indeed until the early 1970's, lack of liiate government funding meant that the domestic film industry was languishing in anonymity and mediocrity. Jan ;rik Hoist has pointed out the relatively large number of .jmpanies involved in production in Norway. *A consistently recurring feature is that often a company was formed in order to make a single film: during the period 1908-75. 314 full-length films were produced by 105 impanies. This remarkable distribution can be ascribed jainly to the economic factors which have played a decisive irt in film production in Norway; during the early years ie industry was dominated by purely commercial consider-ions.'1 few months after the Lumiere brothers' first projections Paris, the German pioneers Max and Emil Skladanowski (presented their 'bioscop' at a circus in Oslo (then known as •Kristiania). According to Nils A. Klevjer Aas, Tor the next :ien years itinerant cinema exhibitors roamed the country setting up their gear at fairs and following the fishing fleet and the construction crews on railways, roads and building projects. Most of these early cinema pioneers were foreigners, as were their films - French and German, Swedish and Danish.52 No individual, however, seized the initiative as Ole Olsen Bid in Denmark or Charles Magnusson in Sweden. Norwegians remained content in regarding the movies as a pastime pure and simple, and ironically the first recorded 'Norwegian' film, a tense, quasi-documentary entitled The Dangers of a Fisherman's Life — an Ocean Drama (Fiskerlh-ets farer - en drama pa havet, 1908), was directed by the Swedish cameraman Julius Jaenzon - with ending from Hugo Hermansen, the 'Cinema King' who at *nat juncture owned 26 movie theatres. This one-reeler described a fisherman whose son falls overboard in high *eas. He and his wife try in vain to save the boy. He is pulled on board, but too late for him to be saved. The sea features Jungly in Victor Sjostrom's screen version of Terje Vigen yee SWEDEN), but not so frequently in Norway's own films through the decades. The mountains that run like a f^ed spine up through the country have attracted the film-r**T much more often. Pjdgement on the work of Norway's lone pioneer before Peter Lykke-Seest, can never be definitive, for all his films have been lost. He had begun his " M a screenwriter in Sweden, and he established the audio, Christiania Film Compagni, in 1916. He a nu hand to any reasonable story: the gypsy lad in "I happiness in Paris (1916), the romantic lovers in young Hearts (II 19'9). Christ Ffc°/0 Boy <»i»o%Xlm*!' Jiling ,o sell S£ST£5 * *™ £ American market. Its product* on the lucrative £ 1913, the Norweoia.....— i neatres' Act, which not"nnitU,Crn™em Dassed the Film censorship but EllSl^P^ municipal councils alone hffi*M € C°W^ screening of films. 'Municipal ci^Sn, "Se the Public according to Klevjer Aas ^first to ^ ^ established-' exploitation, second to emolov thl ~ 31 0PP°rtunistic Norwegian film industry began * lagthmJ ufffiS neighbours, where the major chains ploughed back mucS of their profit into film production. Despite a resolute campaign by the film distributors the municipal cinema system survived and indeed became entrenched. Even the radical new Film and Video Act of 1987 failed to change the basic principle upon which the showing of films has always depended in Norway: the local municipality has the right to sanction every public showing of film in whatever form. Rasmus Breistein led Norway's effort to establish a national cinema during the 1920's. He had started life as a musician, and then enjoyed a spell as a stage actor. The energy and competence of his first film, Anne the Gipsy-girl (Fante-Anne, 1920) came as a surprise. Piling on one melodramatic plot twist after another, Breistein traces the story of the gigsy-girl Anne who has been brought up as a foster-child on a large country estate. Her childhood sweetheart, Haldor, is the son of the estate-owner, and is not permitted to marry Anne. In a fit of jealous fury, she sets fire to the house with Haldor and his bride-to-be inside. One of the estate workers, Jon, justifies his secret affections for Anne by assuming blame for the arson. Years later after he has been released and made his fortune in the United States, Jon returns to claim Anne. Breistein, like Sjostrom and Stiller in Sweden^, exploited o the full the natural locations his country offered. Studio nteriors were few and far between in these early films viewed them, eager as they grown Sated Norwegian;l^S^l^^Si ^ * Ten years later, Breistein demons^trateo no * „ Valine with human predicaments ■ .TndscaV"' «» the DM8hter °f 87 y*Un>uiitttťt again comes lo the defence of n young Z».acow hrnul on a country form who Is lelt pregnant h Mtm, British ,,..-.«, ■"JP^Ä-'SÄ Zuihter. who grows up ignorant ol her parents Identity, Í7..í.!.........i.-ir -......iiompmin convention, w,,h .1 uvo.u ili.iuon Mwccn ago uml youth, as the dying ngl.sh Km J ulc.i.l.cs himself to his long lost cliiiiffhter and iVmi h.v inonn io her ami her hushniui to he. wo oihe. sin v i\ mg luclodinmas of the silent period merit uticniion direct hy llarald Sell wen/en in W2 I mm a novel In Kiuit Hamsun, uses a military hiickgrouml to untoK! .1 lale of passion mul jealousy that ends with a murder du.i.h'aln.nimgi.ipm Mgci.a the Mayje l\lk (Troll WtfrVi. |v>27) hears some resemblance in lone lo link Blomberg*s I mnish inasici pili e lh< ll hite Reituh ft I see I INI AND), in that the 'magic elk* is a reincarnation of a dead man. and Invokes the tear and wrath of the local fanning folk, Harry [virion1 r Madame Visits Oslo (Madame bestfker ( Wo, I*J27) is a lively comedy about two swindlers who try to Meal the property of a wealthy hanker who has just died. Ilu- film's leading lady, Naima Wilslratul, became familiar lo a whole new generation of filmgocrs during the I^MVs, when she worked with Inginar Bergman on stage in Malmo and on the screen in such films as Smiles of a Summer Night and 'Hie ľaee. Carl Dreyer's the Britle of Glomdal (Qtomdalsbrvdiflt 1923) far outshone anything being made in Norway during this period (see DKNMARK. page .*2), One of the last silent films made in Norway has withstood the test of time, Raid on the ller#vn Express (Brrgenstoget plyndret i nattt l«)2K) is nothing more or less than a fast-moving soap opera, with the rivalry between its two main men similar lo the struggle between the sibl n" ■ in Dynasty. The director, uwc Jens KraHt. handles the opening sequence at the National Ski-Jumping Championships with great aplomb. And Riehtcr's chocolate-box beauty makes hei Crete an object of desire for both Torn and the young army olficer. I und. As (irete's father is (ieneral Manager ol the Norwegian State Railways. Tom must achieve a Manning coup if he is to win her hand. So he singes a robbery of the Bergen express, outwits I,und and his pursuing hoops, and then hands over the loot lo Circle's father In a gesture that even (he old man applauds not least became ol the fabulous publicity accruing to the railways Locations enhance the quality of this film considerably compensating In. die frivolity ol the uppei class dialogue uilih..ugh Hollywood was indulging in identical charades like Show Pťople und // al around the same time). When I und and his men tan out in search ot Tom near (ieilo. lliey ski by the light of llurci against the hurd-pueked snow, I he silent epoch in Norwegian cinema lacks distinction. made in neighbou.iug Denmark and ian pioductions contained no spiritual u ol the kind luimshed by the literary sources ol 11i.i111i.ii Itcigmau in Sweden, and none ihiniils ii|>on w hu h the ituagioahoi. ()| I teed, and which is so manifest in the m. lo. example Noi, apart Idiiis oi die pci loil look n ol expression They seem toolMma us • medium, if HtSíS? 't Us hi lot '111 %llv The decade also yield of comment Tanci The Early Sound Period The volume o! film production in Norwi IWO's did not exceed one or two hJ Pathetic though this appears by ccwipirj^ *5 Nordic countries (excepting Iceland) then **«55 wilhoul signilicance. The establishment ol nZK. ,!l * in IW2 (with shares owned by 52 ot a? ^'S municipalities), and the opening of that com^?^ at Jar outside Oslo in IW, provided a basis that woulil survive into the IWO's. ProOfi^ .elded at least half-**!* Wmi ^ :red Ibsen dominates the scene C part to the wealth ol practical experience he hiul mUIlc? Hollywood and Sweden. The grandson of the drumm llenrik Ibsen, he accompanied Victor S|osiiomtn ■\nil!n^ as the Swede's assistant. After two years he returned to Scandinavia, and in Wl directed Ihe luK Hupiim in,,, More barnedapen) alongside linar Sisseuer. I he influx of the French cinema is immediately apparent IV unemployed llarald cares for the lonely Alvitde's huh) whose sailor papa has perished in a storm at sea \s m Clair's world, the characters arc viewed with intense sympathy. The grim reality of factory life, unci the ixtvem of the rooming-house where llarald lives, seem mitigated by the jollv music and the cheerfulness ol the people \-\u\ Sissenei himself plays HtlRlki with uw genua, » deprecating charm of an Albert Prejean; his nana at patience enables him lo look after the baby while Alvildc eocsonu> work. Ibsen shows his enterprise from the opening sequence Ihe tin; Baptism, emphasising the rhythmic sound otuj machines as tliev start up in the textile factory Hy when he directed Victor Sjostrom in Svnmfive Stmtkm io the iiulcpcndent Swedish company. lretihn. lancivoin" had become a muster of his craft. The most influential * Swedish critics. Bengl Idestam Ahuquist. wmtewilh^ irony that il was 'the cows, the bucolic imagery, vu Siosiiom and Hugo Allven |the composerl that save -Iretilm." But the Swedish press has never been kmu directors from other Nordic countries. , ^ The perception of Tucred Ibsen as a director steeped i« countryside traditions of Norway may not, however, nc^ fai from the truth. In ham [ W7), he nu.de an efferves^^ screen version ol liahiicl Scott's novel about No.wcg»' lisherlolk. Alfred Maurstad stars as the roguish 'r:ant * * takes advantage of a young girl (Sonju WigerO aboard"1' liny boat. His reckless behaviour contrasts an.usiugb Ihe conventions ol the light knit community, and when to plays his guitar and springs Ins practical jokes it i> ch|,KU not lo like bant, who resembles somewhat the personality 1,1 Muhel Simon in / '.itolante Mis death b\ di owning following -in accidental muulci', allows No.n.i W.geiiN Jose la to return lo the aims ol hei decern' love. But I ■tlU like the daik. handsome siiangei who pops up m so mam tllius has given her a taste of another lifestyle. ¥^JL involvement with him she can appreciate more ^ .he sensual pleasure ot open-air dances beside the feeewJ " h0 glistening undulations ot the water beneath the toW*1* . clKh imagery outlasts the slapstick quarrels suflwner sv ■........—*----------. . r-.....sweeps down like s..^ ,vavuca °y uJest Baai ; nelm os to cater for his audience's expectations. i„ similar cTrcS ^ mseI X l^pular films of the I930's proved to be accept the ^S^^S^l character* 5*tS&r Dead (To levende ov cn d*iL 1937). Giest and :Z~c,^^^Hi ft* ' **tSted"in the thriller genre in telling of a post-office .n0 on the verge of retirement, is robbed one cmpl^'00 T ^|ujs himself sucked into psychological nifiht ,an vitn tnc criminal after he has moved to Oslo. ,vinpllClt\yv(7; ihsen's most accomplished film, appeared tfjest vattm~ \Q$9t not long before the Nazi occupation of at Christnw* ^_ccntury hero is a blend of Robin Hood and um^HoiKiini- In the briskly-edited opening scene he v-itpes ft°m Prison and takes t0 the felIs* GJest rePresents Tancred Ibsen's 7to Living and One Dead (1937) the ordinary people's cause in the face of the arrogance and corruption of the Law. When the local Customs officer's daughter seems about to fall into the arms of the crooked Warden of Bergen, she is rescued by Gjest Baardsen. who sweeps down like Superman to save this damsel in distress. In similar circumstances, Sjostrom's characters decided to accept the destiny Nature reserves for them. Not so Ibsen's. Gjest and Anna give themselves up to the police and serve their sentences. '1 intend to pay my debts to society,' declares Gjest, tongue-in-cheek. At their trial, he denounces the Warden for his villainy, and although sentenced to life imprisonment he and Anna are set free by the magistrate. Gjest Baardsen suffers from several naive close-up shots of faces in reaction poses, and it brims with melodrama in scenes like the discovery by Anna's father that the money has been stolen. Against that must be set Ibsen's delightful 8« rfrhe Berßen locations, from the narrow streets of the «hetic treatment of the gipsy community in The Gipsy 3EEm, 1932) brings into sharp focus the prejudice with which outsiders are treated in Norwegian society: gipsies still during the 1930's, Middle Eastern immigran workers in the 1980's. Even Sinding seems to suggest hat oipsies should be tolerated but held down as second-class citizens. Iver, the baby gipsy boy who survives an avalanche in which his mother perishes, grows up on a farm and longs to wed the insouciant Ragnhild. Caught like a half-caste between the two communities to which he belongs, Iver recognises that in the eyes of Norwegian society he wears the mark of Cain, while at the same time he finds himself captivated by the sexual charms of a gipsy girl in the locality. In a powerful climax, he must intervene to stop this girl being whipped in her own encampment for having seduced him, and his quandary is complete. Like Ibsen's Fant, this film contains romantic musical numbers, presumably aimed at domestic audiences who, as in Sweden and Finland, expected such interludes when they went out to the cinema in the 1930's. Leif Sinding felt more confident about tackling social issues when he brought to the screen Gabriel Scott's novel, The Defenceless (De vergesse, 1939). The abuse of child labour colours this picaresque story of an adolescent Albert, whose mother is a wxiore and who is forced to work from morning to night with other similarly deprived children on a rudimentary farm in Norway. This latter-day version of slavery cannot be entirely blamed on the farmer, who earns more money from the government for every orphan he accepts. The daily round is a tough one, interspersed with corporal punishment meted out by the old dragon of a woman who runs the domestic side of the farm. If on the one hand Sinding adopts a critical stance to his material, in the idiom of Sweden's Hampe Faustman, on the other he develops the notion of rebellious young love that Bergman makes his own a decade later. The film's most serious handicap is its cast. The young orphans look far too well-fed and healthy to attract our pity. Nevertheless, it is difficult to comprehend how Leif Sinding, so alert to the injustices endemic to Norwegian life, should have collaborated with the Nazis to the extent of making inane comedies and propagandist films during the wartime years. Olav Dalgard specialised in films about the working classes in Norway in the 1930's. Growing Up in the North (Gryr i Norden, 1939) was one of several productions made for the National Unions' Congress. Dalgard reconstructs the matchmakers' strike of 1889, using a cast of semi-professional players. Many sequences look contrived and sounds sententious, although the sequence omen wave triumphantly to each other from the ays and fire-escapes of the workers' houses remains a ■cc of agit-prop, backed with the tones of the The Shadow of Occupation Although annual film production had c\\^ features in 1939, the market share for °nlV to • reached 10.4% compared to just 0 6% * egian The Nazis took less than a year to exerX^rs every aspect of Norwegian film production i and exhibition. 'Exhibition was run by decre \ point of forbidding admission between th'eVentQt^ newsreel and the main feature.'6 The so-cu^?1^ Directorate' imposed on local producers a stand h ^ \ comedies and thrillers. In the words of Nils A Kl dletof 'Escapist farces were the order of the day [du/^ Nazi/Quisling years]; even with words from Dr cSl^ on the importance of films indoctrinating the Nazi ringing in the background, only one or two of t^S wartime films may be said to have had an ideological si towards Nazi ideals.'7 Alfred Maurstad's A Gentlem^ with a Moustache (En herre med ban, 1942) transcended the level of most Norwegian films of the time, taking as its model the Hollywood screwball comedy. The one undeniable step forward implemented by the Film Directorate concerned the subsidy of feature films. A tax on every ticket sold contributed towards the production budgets of Norwegian films - a concept not far removed from Harry Schein's radical policy via the Swedish Film Institute from 1963 onwards. At war's end, a sizeable residue (10.5 million Norwegian crowns) remained in the production fund, and in 1948 the income from ticket taxes amounted to no less than 20 million crowns. It allowed the government to save the ailing Norsk Film A/S by taking a minority shareholding in the company. The Second World War exerted an impact beyond mere economic considerations. The Norwegian authorities, despite the efforts of the Quisling regime, preferred resistance and exile to collaboration. There was a tremendous struggle for Narvik, for instance, while King Haakon's personal indignation and resolve led him to resist the invasion at all costs. In 1946, Olav Dalgard and Roll Randall's We Want To Live (Vi vil leve) dramatised this patriotic resistance, and two years later came the widely-seen Franco-Norwegian co-production. The Battle pT Heaxy Water (Kampen om tungtvannet, 1948). Directed by Titus Vibe-Muller, and supervised by J^n Dreville, this 1 reconstructed' docudrama benefits from tne crystalline exterior photography of Hilding Bladh (who worked with Bergman five years later on Sawdust 7l). aims to switch attention from the victim of a rape to the suspeel altacker himself, and thereby to test the flexibility of the Icgul system ami to expose its inadequacies. In certain phases, the film i;i .. .I.u.i.ir Jmi in iim.'IfMilinti Klin *L-nil/ l-ivh itt* tones, with long speeches into camera by prosecutor and defence counsel. Ai other moments it launches into subjective flights of fantasy. Nothing in this grim-faced docudrama, however, suggested thai Anja Breien's next film, Wives (Hustruer, l°74), would be such a sparkling, extrovert satire on the role of women in the modern consumer society. Not for many years had a Norwegian film proved such a hit at home, and even in certain territories outside Scandinavia. An undisguised homage to Cassavetes' Husbands, this story of three women who quit their men and their families to face an uncertain future on their own contains numerous barbed references to the complacency of Norwegian life. Women are tolerated so long as they do not interfere with male prerogative rising standard ot living has provoked man/^M Question traditional values and vested interest* HT * for so long the most isolated ot the Nordic coumrieain?^' of culture and consumerism, now faced an abrupt \x^£* •The real theme oi tins film/ says Anja Breien • J conditioned sexual roles we are all expected to $L * our conditioned assumptions are, ot course, undermine so often happens when we see the normal order offou* umKd upside down/ The wives' three-day binge accJ? greater significance with each passing argument a experience; they find themselves in the male /.one. with privileges, its liberties, and its fundamental lack of domestic responsibilities. , The dialogue in Wives was improvised with the help offt, three excellent actresses used by Breien: Fr0ydis Armaml Katia Mediae, and Anne Mane Ottersen. The team had mured Norway with a play on a related theme. After each performance the actresses and director discussed the and its Wives (1974) by Anja Breien iVOlved « Eth the audience, and discovered in the If existed between so-called 'enlightened' he majority of ordinary people's perception Kft'ios were at stake ivr 1*73 <« . , ,K.iped on the screenplay of /?,/,><>, and in '"I", Ms own debut behind the cair f!«rtraii fifteen-year-old bo i;' 1,1 Btimera with Anton% toy in a small rur; i he following year iic confirmed his talent with fA/o'*.v hus)t which tackled the theme o ith even more courage than Vilgot Sjoman had in )r My love. When Petter leaves his studies in Oslo, *tottW Manege, and takes the train back to his home *■ Jj,c provinces, his journey assumes a compulsive 5** ^on His 'mother's house' is a villa set apart from its Jl"lhMirs in Gj0vik, at once refuge and trap. The subtle by which the mother undermines Pcttcr's m "'htionship with a girl in the same town are registered in ♦malic terms by Blom. The intimacy between mother and 'Trains like a dangerous current beneath the placid, formal office of everyday Norwegian life, with its courtesies and rituals (such as the sharing of Christmas gifts), so well vucsested in the accompanying Pachalbel 'Canon'. The ^rogynous Petter tries with increasing desperation to establish a 'normal' relationship with the aptly-named Eva, but his true desires overwhelm him when Eva announces that she is pregnant. In a closing sequence of soaring catharsis. Petter leaves the arms of his girlfriend, rushes home, and flings himself into the ample embrace of his mother. Their love-making represents release for both of them, and a victory for the mother. Mother's House, a miracle of innuendo and sly observation (Petter's girlish coiffure, for example), may also be regarded as a commentary on the taboo of homosexuality, to which Norway has reacted with much less tolerance than, say, Denmark. Other hidebound attitudes come under fire during the mid-1970's, from film-makers more confident of their ability to transcend the frivolous image of cinema in Norway. State guarantees mounted in size and scope; more risks could be taken in the interests of artistic expression. OddvarBull Tuhus embarked on Strike! (Streik!, 1975) with the help of NRK, the national TV corporation, and a script by himself and Lasse Glomm from a book chronicling the bmer strike at the Sauda factory (an industrial firm owned b> the giant Union Carbide). Recreating the various stages of the dispute in the spring of 1970, Tuhus and Glomm examine the tension that emerges between the unions at »d national level. By 're-staging' the fierce debates "J^ok place behind closed doors among the union the film peers beneath the outward show of unity 'isions between young and old workers, and t-Leninist dialectic and unadorned protest, tten ballot, imposed by central government, dl) Strike! stares back through time at a ii - earlier. >et the film itself may now w^T^z m M historical light too, from a perspective in °* union* have changed many of their fundamental todnputc* wnh management. to<**cernih ^een M fear of ***** re VCltli Halvor Nacss's nh . during this period. Dy the >ou"ger generation Social criticism ffathmtl m cinema of the Cl&^ Norwegian wrote Strike! and Anja Breien°mm' who c°" a stinging rebuke to b^^^^^^ authorities alike in $^1^? and urb™ youngsters steal a car la1980>- T*<> airport, one of them s killer hv i™ 3 ****** near the survivor, -^^^^^^2 response to the emotional and psychokSSS^l£ accumulate in the months prior to his toEXS Few Norwegian films had dared to foeus'on the J ob,ems of unempoyment, drug abuse, and single parenfhome? In Stop It! we can recognise the same disenchanted youths who people the films of Stefan Jarl, Tapio Suominen, and Morten Arnfred. They suffer not from the genuine poverty of the Developing World, but rather from a fatal lack of motivation and the disinterested attitude of their elders. S0lve Skagen's Hard Asphalt (Hard asfalt, 1986) deals with a similar situation, although with more gritty and aggressive exuberance. Drug addiction and alcoholism, the twin vices of Nordic life in the affluent 1980's, scar the lives of two young people (played with remarkable commitment by Frank Krog and Kristin Kajander). Mutually dependent, they laugh, quarrel, and commiserate with each other, surviving thanks to a series of cynical petty thefts. Skagen (working from an autobiographical novel by Ida Halvorsen) etches in raw detail the seamy underside of Oslo, its back streets frequented by drug addicts and child prostitutes. Hard Asphalt's bleak implications are rendered bearable by the moments of fun and satire at the expense of a society which takes itself rather too seriously. The film notes with irony that whisky is priced at excessive levels, while alcoholism on the streets appears more acute than in other countries. „ . th- Not all socially-engaged Norwegian f'"™ <^ *J naturalistic texture. Madness (Galskap!, 1983) otters its centra, character, a m.dd.e-aged mother "-^J-JS the refuge of insanty. It creeps up on Marianne almost 95 ro 0Uote the anionic title of (he movie bw« >«J^ when she esintVi>nted In Norwegian film makers, (nil a more recent menace, radial prejudiee. has not been so easily addressed. 1.1.mm l.epre, an Italian based in Os\ot had created a siiv with his bizarre debut, Henrys Back Room (Henry's haknk-/rht\ 1982, see below) and for his second film turned to a controversial issues that many Norwegians wouki prefer not to acknowledge. Landscape in White (0ye for »»wn crowns), the film reflects credit on the technician* u actors mvolved in it. But the headv cocktail of violence. u,X vin StUtfCa,° action ^-ves onlv to trivial* *» mulcil>ing theme. If P(Hlcherx u a miited moan «i SrtH ^ N°rWa>- "-n^r hip o NATO, then n. mh °U,US U> u shlil1 «WW S protest. Wbid —»»........^^asssftflS I gontroversial issue. The irony is that the "\ ,, ii describes with such gusto could not take ****** ii timplistic terms in the post-Cold War 1990's. !,,tM » Si filni. H',/m/<7rn (Landstrykere, 1989), Sll'""t 'vert political issues and emerges as an imaginative, .,ven version of Krtui Hamsun's novel about life ,11 coasts] village during the I860's. . Risan's Rubicon (Etter. . . Rubicon, 1987) strives licate the commercial triumph of Orion's Belt. Its and villains, however, do not wear such easily survi hie labels as ihey do in Solum \s thriller. At the end the NATO connection may be discerned, for the , authorities try to hush up an outbreak of 2j2ton sickness thai accounts for two young boys who MPpeti to ,v sheltering on an island in the vicinity of a sinister freighter. Although it is never directly shown, a neutron explosion of some kind eliminates the vessel's 'k-u I ike Orion's Belt, the Rim surrenders all too often to hut establishes a haunting mood in its ,n I «nH heroes ideatinaj of the day melodrama exploration of the deserted. Hooding vessel. The climate of fear and apprehension is reinforced by various unusual metaphors (for example, a stricken cat's bleeding on a white sheet as a doctor attends to it). When Rubicon strains credulit) is in its presentation of every official in the H.niimei lest aiea as a sinister agent of some foreign power 01 ;iinliorit\' bent on silencing the doctor who tries to help the \ ictims of the explosion. Both Rubicon and Orion's Belt m.i\ be viewed as prisoners of tire 1980's, just as Don Siegel's Invasion of the Body Snatchers belongs to the paranoid IOS0V They cater to the essential conservatism of the Norwegian public, while their ambivalent endings symbolise the countr) *s divided lo> alties - on the one hand, to NATO and a hawkish' political stance towards Moscow; on the other, to her Scandinavian neighbours with their liberal, neutralist traditions. A link surely exists between this discomfort with contemporary alliances, and the retrospective guilt that surfaces in films about the conduct of Norwegians during the Second World War. Tfw Reward (Belfrmingen, 1980), written and directed by Bj0rn Lien, dramatises the discovery of a man who seized the chance to make money illicitly during the Nazi occupation. Reidar's arrest after a quarrel with a former workmate leads to a trial and imprisonment. The drab, ordinary lineaments of Reidar's personalis suggest that he represents all too many who pa>fited from his country's misfortunes. At the same time. *e film implicitly criticises Norway's inability to come to terms with its past. Mot* ambitious, and flashing back and forth in time between 1942. IW and 1985. Bente Krichsen's Tlte ■ tOvsr .erc'H.vcH. 1987) peels away the layers of shame and guilt that lurk beneath the placid surface ot a *null Norwegian community. Its factual basis shields it •nt melodrama that mars Rubicon, tor _ ft#t rh#» tinv it»-» .........j----- md speech that evoke a specific time and mm Case investigates the murder ot a h couple. Rakel and Jacob Feldmann, whose bodies "und in a lake When two guide they find themselves acquitted » « argues that w« ^ ***** Germans discovering the 7in§ to prevent the Sweden. Erichsen's calm ***** ^ * reveal their pettv-mind^I!? „l/llm all°ws people to preservation, the taint ora^emTJ^1^8 for self" the court proceedings ^7^1^™^^^ journalist assigned to coverthe^Sc £ ainquincs of the The film was made under threa surviving guides who found the coZs of h, p°ih the two Bente Erichsen adopts a tone of k accusation (althou/h the musicT^tt^ focuses her attention on the tight-lipped semffofto postwar period, not on the individuals whose arTes?appears to close the case^ She also implies that during S^S Norwegians may have turned a blind eye to the fate of the Jews. Nearly half of the 1,800 Jews living in Norway in 1940 suffered deportation and certain death in Nazi confess to the crime concentration camps, by comparison with 1.6% of Jews who died in Denmark. This slow process of purgation has helped many Norwegians to accept the reality of the Quisling era. One film, Little Ida (Liten Ida, 1981), surpasses all others in the genre. Laila Mikkelsen's first feature. Us (Oss, 1976) presents a nightmarish vision of the future, as city people are compelled by food shortages to work the fields with their own sweat and muscle, and thus confront the inequities and artificial structures of urban society. Her second film. Little Ida (also known as Growing Up), marks a giant step foward in her career. In the closing days of the Second World War seven-year-old Ida starts to recognise that weakness provokes intolerance, and survival depends on minding one's own business. Norway is occupied but not truly at war; a country in which impotence in the face of Nazi might turns to bitterness and resentment. Ida's mother works for the Germans, and has an affair with one of their officers. She does not flaunt her behaviour, but the brunt of the community's scorn falls on Ida. Other children shun her, and she wanders on her own through the streets and fields, drawn by curiosity to a German interment camp where men with shaven heads toil in silence. When peace comes, and the enemy has departed, Ida watches her mother being taken away for punishment as a collaborator. This screen version of Marit Paulsen's novel is directed with consummate sensitivity and even-handed irony. No accusation sounds too strident, no defeat appears too sentimental. Ida and her mother are two unfortunate creatures tossed by the tide of war and struggling to tind their balance. Laika Mikkelsen's little masterpiece transcends its specific setting to become a universal lament for innocence defiled, and for a generation that must accept the bitter truths that those who 'transgress' are often victims of those who do not. omen Anja Breien and Vibeke L0kkeberg have remained loyal to their primary concern, the attitude expressed by a maie- 97 1 _ Laila Mikkelsen's Growing Up (1981 dominated society towards women, both past and present. Games of Love and Loneliness (Den alvarsamme leken, 1977). directed by Anja Breien in Sweden, emphasises how sorely constricted human emotions were in turn-of-the-century Scandinavia and is based (like Mai Zetterling's Doctor Glas) on a novel by Hjalmar Soderberg. Breien treats the romance with considerable respect, but beneath the grave progression of the narrative ('And the years passed . . .') runs a dark, surging current of feeling that does justice to Soderberg's recognition of the eternal clash between securit\ and contingency in the realms of love. Next of Kin (Arven, 1979) remains the most subtle of Breiens films, owing much to Ibsen while aiming its critique at the mournful, rigid, and hypocritical ethos of Norwegian society. A wealthy shipowner dies, leaving his relatives an ostensibly impeccable will, according to which his vast empire must be administered by a united family But ambition b\ degrees assert themselves, and the le, held together hitherto by a mood of armed breaks up in censure and prevarication. Although Next of Kin concludes on a dubious coup de theatre, there is no denying the two graces of Anja Breien's achievement: her sense of humour, which resounds most effectively in the sequence when the relatives strip the dead man's villa of its furniture and heirlooms to the accompaniment of Rossini's Thieving Magpie' overture; and her refusal to introduce flashbacks, in a story that might be expected to rely heavily upon them. Anita Bjork. Sjoberg's Miss Julie of thirty years earlier makes a particularly sensitive impression "as the late magnate I sister-in-law, striving to be the last to conceal the one excess of passion that has blemished her otherwise faultless commitment to the bourgeois ideal. 17 k 1' ^"-*a Breien ranSed back »n time, to a century - the l/th - often ignored by Nordic artists, who tend to opi tor me Sagas and medieval times, or to stav firmly rooted in the modern era. At the outset of Hitch-hunt '(For/plgelsen. 1981) a woman arrives in a remote community in the mountain wilderness of Western Norway. She takes work at one of the local farms, sleeps with a handsome cowhand. Lil Terselius in The Witch-Hum (1981) by Anja Breien and Provokes a breeze of gossip. The country folk dread her independence and lack of shame, brand her as a witch, and TOewe the blessing of the local authorities for doing so dialogue and characterisation leave much to be desired, but e fetor's eye for landscape, and for an atmosphere of mtoeranee, sustain this paradigm for the contemporary WW in which women's rights are distrusted with equal vigour. ^ Elisabeth Mortensen plays a young lawyer in Breien's ruper Bird (Papirfuglen, 1984), a woman determined to gravel the mystery surrounding her father's dramatic *^uY In discovering the truth about an individual so closely related to her, she also must acknowledge the gulf that >awns between men and women. The irony of the situation » heightened by the fact that the father was a famous actor, *^u»toracd to wearing a psychological mask to shield him ™*n ooOi the public's curiositv, and the incestuous nature of feu* own family life Ay Bwpcq doe* not advocate a war to the death on behalf **■»■■«"*rifbl*. Her indignation has softened through the years, and at the end of Wives, Ten Years Later (Hustruene ti dr ettei\ 1985) her three friends return home to their waiting menfolk. Elegance and discretion, indeed, mark her recent film. Twice upon a Time (Smykkeryven, 1990), about a stage designer who, despite his popularity with women, finds himself unable to commit to any one relationship. Vibeke L0kkeberg*s approach has, on the contrary, grown more severe during the two decades she has been active in the Norwegian cinema as actress and director. Her early shorts deal with topics such as abortion and the role of the unmarried mother, and in 1975 her medium length film. Rain, introduced what was to be the setting of her two principal accomplishments. The Betrayal (Uperjenten, 1981) and Skin (Hud, 1986): the coastal town of Bergen, where L0kkeberg grew up during the postwar years. The picture she paints in The Betrayal is a harsh one, castigating the nettv-mindedness of a town scarred by wartime memories. Food is in short supply, collaborators are snil beine tried, and the influence of American culture and commerce is gaining hold. The children, each seven years create some kind of are subjected to ™ih this turmoil to £WírSÍ beyond the gnmy domestic violence lor cnvi fantasy where The Head laboration cr>crg 5 "l,,u^'--; ' which she wrote in conauu.«aon Man (Mvdingen, ^Wj^w^nc directed the film. parental affection. L«*kkcbcrg\s in/lucnce may aJso be detected in tie Man (H0vq ~ua wrnre in coJIaborati with her hu Its partly (o; pater famili traditional ; more ambitious in scope, _ irbid (aic of incest in a small trading-post in ;e the obsolescence of circlcMuch its partly tongue-in traditional power distHb^nke^ergrs 5^ ^^es reality and possesses certa n affinities ^^^^^ gent's Way in its charting of a SÍÍ ob!Son in8a world devoid of love. Vilde's destmy is dependent uon the will of her 'guardian', to whom she has been pledged by her dying father. ■ The underlying themes of child abuse and female subjugation emerge from the film in sharp profile and at the expense of the narrative, which is confused - even in the original release version running more than three hours. Vilde's father resorts constantly to masculine excuses: 'You must try to understand me'; 'You must not leave me'; iťs your own fault, you made me do it, you were bom to it [incest]', and so on. This rhetoric assumes a haunting resonance in the natural ambience of the sea and the shoreline outside Bergen. Stones, in the photography of Paul René Roestad, appear alive and tactile. A ship's figurehead becomes a recurring symbol of Vildc's trapped, sculpted beauty. A broken doll lying on the rocky headland seems to embody the anguish and violation of the innocent child. A wedding gown floats briefly on the water before sinking like a dying aspiration. A mysterious painting Of an island in the ocean fascinates Vilde, giving her a vision husband m'8hl ^ ^ menacing authoritv of'her Abetted by the music of Arne Nordheim, Skin coils itself about ffle patient spectator, smoothly slipping from past to present EvEL1"!*0" t0 am,ther Vibeke Iceberg herself ř-^ř-ssí ~*— .....-Jlon t« resist her step-father's IM. ta* » « h* ctoghw. to totrtM, aihiw; tc ind and, led away to prison ^of^manwhohad^u^:^' bvbual and the.na.ic term* a Se% » laulls and virtues - was a child. IWO) confirms L^kkebc^Z^SUSSéí ř*"' hooding melodrama, ^t^^Sj^ slumbrous atmosphere of the Norwegian coastal 19th century. "immunities in the Idi the ly 1970-r tlL^K™1"'11 'rc,m-fiIm «:h€K.ls abroad in 7 1 /u *• thcV Drought with them a desire to experiment with new forms. Haakon Sand* served as assistant to Witold Leszczyriski n ' *h° hu adaptation of Tarjeii Vesaas's novel, Days 0f Ma,** p(% his own debut with a screen version of anoth Vesaas. The Fire (Branneny 1973) deals in .^k,. 'consists of different strands which create a urT^' around a young man's lack of relation to the tecTV^ society'.10 Sand0y returned to Poland three yearTi °gical make a sympathetic film concerning the life of p?** Munch's friend Dagny Juell [Dagny, 1977]. Wv*a Gianni Lepre, an Italian-Canadian resident in Norw several years, brings the principles of Antonín Art* 5* Theatre of Cruelty' to bear on a bizarre incident in S Norway's smaller towns. In Henry's Back Room ffle bakvaerelse, 1982), a barber discovers that his teenS daughter has killed herself because she was dependent? drugs and had been forced to become a prostitute. Henri turns into an avenging angel. He takes prisoner the pinl responsible for his daughter's despair, and tortures him in the basement of his barber's saloon. Lepre's film exhibits an obsessive quality rare in Norwegian cinema, as well as an uncanny grasp of the calculated cruelty that lurks in even the most innocuous of individuals - especially when the public surrounding him behaves so callously. Some measure of darkness also inhabits the flagrant world of Svend Warn and Petter Venner0d. Like thekaurismaki brothers in Finland, Warn and Venner0d have worked fruitfully and impudently outside the mainstream of production in their country. They established Mefistofilm in 1976, and in a dozen films since have addressed the issues and the disillusionment that accrued from the events of '68. Open Future (Ápen framtid, 1983) examines the doubts and tribulations of a teenage boy about to leave high school in the late 1960's. Castle in the Air (Dr0mmeslottety 1986) follows the fortunes of six friends of that same generation who, during the 1970's, buy a large house and move into it with their children in the vain hope of creating an ideal commune. Goodbye Solidarity (Adj0 Solidaritet, 1985) looks at the materialist, self-obsessed decade of the 1980's. The two principal men in this film have abandoned the high ideals they embraced in 1968, settling instead for comfortable jobs and luxurious standards of living. This cannot conceal, however, their abject failure in relationships with parents, lovers, and children alike. In the words of Jan Erik Hoist": 4The film depicts, in bold anarchistic and surrealistic tones, a world in dissolution, which the lives of the main characters so vividly illustrate. Themes dealt with include the demise of human fellowship, the conflict between left and right overshadowed by re-emergent fascism, and with the encroachment of privatisation in a social democratic society.12 Warn and Venner0d's cinema sometimes suffers from a narcissistic streak, as well as a frivolous attitude towards heterosexual relations. This can be ascribed in part to their prolific output, but films like Hotel St. Pauli {1988) descend into a vortex of absurdity and gratuitous violence. Mocked and spurned though they are by Norwegian critics. Warn and Venner0d undoubtedly know how to grip an audience by the throat in the opening sequences of a film, and their Blackout (\m) by Erik Gustavson audacious use of music and effects lends credence to their concentration on sexual taboos and frustrations. Norwegian directors do not often succumb to the allure ot pastiche. Blackout (1986) resurrects the Hollywood film noir with meticulous devotion. A balding private eye finds himself diverted from retirement in Argentina by just one '»1 job - tracking down a gangster in what looks like San Francisco's Chinatown. The offscreen monologue echoes ^ymond Chandler: lI chucked my badge in the sea and *gan to go through other people's dirty washing. It was a ^Ume for bad news. . . Backed by a mood indigo jazz J*, and rich in offbeat characters (including 22** WnO is also a Hm- ~<*<*'^ -rug aouici), Erik Gustavson's "^»ufiaignfjm ....... <-iii\ viu-iunim! > ?*ni * us *Ifg lhe ,940's fal1* ^rt of its target on crdnc Ľ^T" mise^scéne - a plethora of s and excessive attention to details of design and lighting. Herman (1990), however, suggests that Gustavson may be a force to be reckoned with. He directs his young boy actor, Anders Danielsen Lie, with consummate sensitivity in this bizarre (but good-natured and, finally, poignant) story about a child who loses his hair from a rare disease. Herman paints a convincing and heartening portrait of family life in the Norway of the I960's, and fills it with quite unexpected humour. At the opposite extreme of the spectrum stands Oddvar Einarson'sX(1986), which won a Silver Lion at Venice. If this film may also be considered pastiche, then the influence is that of Antonioni. But in 1986 the theme is not romantic iove of the kind that beguiled Monica Vitti and Gabriele Ferzetti in L'Avventura but an uninspiring relationship between a taciturn photographer and a fourteen-year-old girl in Oslo. Einarson's trademark becomes the long-held 101 .hot. underlining the slow development oi the l.nk between Z \oung man tnd his friend. The girl is hardly, a mnheltc. and the photographer .seems immature tor his a« SO that occasionally the traditional roles are reversed (Ts of course they were, in an altogether more scintillating \. b\ N«bcJco\ and then Kubrick in Lohta). Reticent, Icgmaúc, etiolated almost to breaking point, X signals the arrival of a talent comparable to Aki Kaurismäki in Finland and Kay Poliak in Sweden. All three directors analyse loneliness as a phenomenon of the consumer society, in Einarson's second feature, Karachi (1989), two people also take refuge from the outside world, but for more mundane reasons. A young woman drug courier hides in a cop's shabby apartment at Oslo while being pursued by the drug barons she has betrayed. The subtle interplay of feelings in the relationship contrasts with the violence of the external narrative. Erik Borge, who had revealed himself a shrewd observer of the female psyche in Blackbird in the Ceiling Lamp (Trost i taklampa, 1955), served as head of Norsk Film A/S for many years before retiring and writing the original screenplay for /I 0/ 7?OTr (En hdndjull úd 1989) Directed by Martin Asphaug, A Handful o/lW* something of the same delicate mood as Bergma>S Strawberries, as an old man strives to relive a,s ^ love and to expunge his feelings of guiu 2lS^ relationship that ended half a century earlier. so The* e Lapp Connection Norwegian films have attracted increasing a festivals during the past dozen or so years. AnjaBreia? Next of Kin featured in the Competition at Cannes as did Vibeke Ukkeberg's Skin. Oddvar Einarson impressed I jury at Venice, and Per Blom s The Ice Palace was select^ by several major festivals. The most impressive product of the entire period, however has never appeared at a top festival, because its producers wanted to sell it direct to audiences around the world Pathfinder (Veiviseren, 1987) was nominated for Best Foreign Film in the Academy Awards in Hollywood, but lost to Babette's Feast. Its director. Nils Gaupe. comes from the Lapp region of northern Norway, and Pathfinder Oddvar Einarson's X (1986) Ils inspiration from a 12th-century Lapp legend. The 1 * lines of dialogue arc in Sami, the Lapp language S5th*Wh ,he nianUKling Tc,hu,de iribe scem t0 be speaking * an inv< ,a""Hmvnteil tongue), and the Panavision 'scope format "V" s Erling Thurmann-Andcrsen's camera to take full "l) ntifie of the Hat, horizontal tundra landscapes. Jer touches on various aspects ot Lapp culture and T""d Aicin. the teenage hero of the film, returns from a tins expedition to find his parents and younger sister centered hy a band of sinister, ruthless tribesmen known Tchudes. Now he must survive in a hostile environment a>hTC the snow rarely relents and Lapp encampments are fewand far between. He responds intuitively to the symbols nd supernatural signs that govern the Lapp culture: to the focal noaidi (holy man), who counsels him against seeking revenge; and to the bull reindeer which appears to him in a vision after he has tricked the Tchudes into plunging to their death down a precipitous cliff-face. At every stage of his struggle for survival, Aigin finds himself accompanied by the accoutrements of his ancestors - rings, a drum, teeth on a string- Birds and animals become as significant as human beings, from the dog transfixed by an arrow in the opening A Handful of Time (1989) by Martin Asphaug scene to a huge hawk floating hatefully over the tundra The Tchudes themselves flounder like black beasts in the all-pervasive snow, and have learned to travel in single file roped together in order to negotiate the rugged mountains and treacherous slopes. Gaup displays an economy of statement rare in a debutant. He employs imagery rather than words to communicate the essential themes of his film: the peaceful nature of the Lapps by comparison with the barbaric Tchudes; the innocence of the women and children when faced with an all-male fighting force; the desperate aggression of the Tchudes deriving from their loss of bearings and. by extension, their separation from the 'brotherhood' in which all things are joined. When the film does adopt more conventional means of expression, the spell weakens. The dialogue in the Lapp tents, and the glib closing exclamation of one old woman ('We'll always have a pathfinder!'), undermines the harsh, unforgiving naturalism of the rest of the narrative. By leading his adversaries into a lethal trap. Aigin at once avenges his murdered family, saves the innocent Lapps sheltering on the coast, and acquires a personal maturity (termed by Tim Pulleine 'the boy's rite of passage into mihotalo yramj Mollberg s c<" \upcmaiu to the talc ' andsalon The White Reindeer and Rauni Mollbcrg s ..... Sinful Song as one of the most impressive films made about the Nordic wilderness and its inhabitants. Its appeal to quite \cnces outside Scandinavia may -1 ~m from its :hnical construction. The sound " dime... hostile arrow to the «.tarhine by an alien Nature. Nina, the *rness and its innaDiiama. w -rr Iargc audience*J^J^1^ sound effects, enhanced superb «echn,cal construcnom 1 { , quaIity t0 by an antipnonai scuie, e1*^ M..... mmm* ,i,. imnoAc from the whirr o. LSonSan avalanche. Gaupe tends to accentuate 2 visceral outbreaks of violence with too self-conscious a elec and he relies too often on close-ups. But nothing can detract from his command of film language and from his comprehension of the Nordic relationship to Nature. It will be interesting to see if he can refine his style still further, after his adventure with Walt Disney Productions in 1990. The American company financed Shipwrecked (Hdkon Hdkonsen), a seafaring adventure set in the 1860's and aimed at a younger audience. Lassc Glomm also attempts to capture the mystique of the remote Norwegian wilderness in a film set during the 1860V Northern Lights (Havfandet, 1985). Heikki is a small, watchful boy who leaves the hardship of his family farm and traverses the frozen wastes in his quest for the fabled 'Northern Lights', and the land of plenty where fish may be found in abundance. Glomm's film contains some spectacular imagery, and he adroitly alternates moments of ranqu.Il.ty with bursts of roaring turbulence. Northern JftHjf J|« Nordic yearning for freedom - from pitch-black nights, from ceaseless snow, from oceans that runs after him into the depths^thr^^^řW ■ courage as much as searching for ^^Sl feels drawn. In Per Mom's* Z ^5 pubescent girls respond to an unspoken /ť,Ce. h!H ' Unn, the more fey of the pair, vanished ^ «h * •ice palace', where the tumbling wai5oSfc2lí have congealed into a cathedral-like suggests with discreet sounds and im ne- Gin symbiosis between the two girls ^ the > remarkable cut from Unn's dead features £lníS * Siss's face floating above the surface of he k home. The Ice Palace eschews dramatic incid aiCTat instead the haunting beauty of the fells and m t%\ winter, and lacquering the visuals with an eth score that lulls and hypnotises the spectator into with a story that shifts constantly between f omPllancc reality. een fantasV and If children themselves could vote for the best Norwegian films, they might well plump for fim Grand Prix (1975) a delightful puppei extrav^ directed by the single-minded, meticulous craftsman i? Caprino. Its combination of model care, cleverly-desiened decor,m and a snorting, snarling soundtrack give motor-racing drama a charm unmatched by any form of animation in the Nordic countries. The attendance figures for Fláklypa Grand Prix (2.1 million out of a national population of 3.8 million) demonstrate that Norwegians é support their national cinema on occasion! It is a hopeful sign for the future that Norwegians visit the movies more frequently than any of their Nordic neighbours. Through the Child's Eye Like Denmark, Norway has long placed commendable emphasis on the production of films for and about children. Sometimes this can lead to confusion. Per Blom's Silvermouth (Stlvmunn, 1981) baffled both critics and the marketing department of Norsk Film. In one respect it is a children's movie - the protagonist is a tubby, irresistible little boy - and in another it constitutes an adult entertainment, charting the passage of a divorce and a deserted husband's attempt to introduce a new girlfriend to his son. Blom directs the film with appropriate humour and sensitivity, forcing the audience to reconsider its views of marital conflict, and reminding it that in moments of crisis children can be at once weaker and stronger than their seniors. In Knut Andersen's Friends (For Tors skyld, 1982), a slightly older boy runs away from home in the hope that hib father will give up his heavy drinking. The lush summer countryside, where father and son have enjoyed happy interludes, plays a major role in this engaging film, restoring the w ill to live and develop in the mind of its \oune from the mvstei 1 Jan-Erik Hoist, Film in Norway (Oslo, Norwegian Film In*** 1979) , cjj^ 2 Nils A. Klevjer Aas, Cinema in Norway: 70 Years oia * System', in International Film Guide 1988 (London. 1* Press, 1987) 3 Jan-Erik Hoist, op. cit. 4 Nils A. Klevjer Aas, op. cit. ^ 5 Quoted by Bengt Forslund, in Victor Sjöström, tits uj* (New York, New York Zoetrope. 1988) 6 Nils A. Klejver Aas, op. cit. 7 Id.. ibid. . ^ 8 Bo Christer Björk. Den nya norskafilmen (Helsinki. « ? The 9 Jan-Erik Hoist, in International Film Guide 1974 (Lon^"* Tantivy Press. 1973) 10. W.. ibid t* It Jan-Erik Holst, in buernational Film Guide 1986 'Loft**. i* ibid. . gag 13 Tim Putteine. ;n Monthly Film Bulletin ibnkn. Bntöö Institute. September 1988»