Chicago International Film Festival

by Anna Pulley

You, The Living (Du levande, Roy Andersson , Sweden)

A wry, observational comedy composed of about 50 sketches of some form of human suffering that varies from absurd (dog stuck in an old man's walker and being dragged across the sidewalk) to dead serious (literally, heart attack), You, The Living is a delightfully irreverent take on urban malaise. Shot using extremely long, static takes that change neither in distance or pacing, You, The Living comprises the grim hopelessness of modern living played on a tuba. It's non-sequitur, hilarious (but in a subdued, Swedish way. Don't expect Will Ferrell to pop up anywhere in this film...though that would be hilarious, for entirely different reasons) and with a keen sense of placement and mise-en-scene.

Andersson's many frumpy, miserable characters don't interact with each other much, although there are some re-occurrences that tie the film together, making it somewhat less random and pointless (though isn't that the essence of life really, random pointlessness?) One of these themes is music. The Louisiana Brass Band makes several appearances, at funerals, in military parades and in angry confrontations with neighbors. One character, after a melancholic tirade that "no one understands me!" suddenly bursts into song about how her greatest wish is to own a motorcycle. Another theme involves dream sequences that are told directly to the camera and sometimes visually brought to life - the most poignantly humorous one revolved around a man being sent to the electric chair for not properly executing a tablecloth trick at a dinner party (where someone quickly removes a tablecloth while leaving all the dishes and silverware intact). Another repeat character and dream is about a misunderstood goth chick in unrequited love with the singer/guitarist of The Black Devils. "You play really good," is basically the only thing she can say to him and about him, even on their dream honeymoon.

For all the bleak solipsism that enshrouds the film, You, The Living does have its moments of optimism. "Tomorrow is another day" is an oft-shouted phrase, mostly by a bartender during last call, which causes the throngs of desolate drinkers to shuffle, lemming-like up to the bar for one last chance to dull the agony of human existence. Characters go about their days interacting but not interacting with each other. A pessimistic psychiatrist who's given up on life prescribes prozac for everyone, then comes home and casually talks about getting screwed out of his retirement pension while his wife f*cks him in nothing but a gold Brumhilda-type helmet. Another character calls her friend's mother a sadist for serving non-alcoholic beer at dinner. And yet another character, an Arab bartender, takes revenge on a racist customer by shaving a line down the center of his head. Revelation is certainly not on the menu, nor is resolution (though the ending, which shall not be revealed so as not to spoil its comic brilliance, does provide some narrative release).

The settings often appear muted, with washed-out tones and dismal, lingering background characters who stare at the camera with their cow-eyes and their broken dreams, but don't do much else. One gets the sense that the zombies have landed and that they're just as neurotic and worn down as the rest of us. If You, The Living were to be made into an off-Broadway production, it'd be called "Existential Crisis, the Musical."

And we need more films like that, desperately. Almost as much as we need drunken YouTube videos of David Hasselhoff and cheap beer.