Cult Cinema: Songs from the Second Floor (2000) - Reviewed

Courtesy of Canal+
Swedish surrealist writer-director Roy Andersson first burst onto the cinematic scene in 1970 with A Swedish Love Story before withdrawing from the film scene altogether for some twenty-five years after the failure of his 1975 film Giliap.  In the downtime away from feature filmmaking, the Swedish filmmaker spent the next two decades generating some of the most visually stunning television commercials the world has ever known. 
 
Like Terrence Malick, Roy Andersson stopped directing full length features before making a grand return decades later, refreshed and having mastered his newfound niche.  His return to the director’s chair came in the form of Songs from the Second Floor, an abstract series of visually astonishing and increasingly absurd and grotesque vignettes that form a tapestry that feels borne out of some unholy union between Jacques Tati and Hieronymus Bosch.
 
Like Lech Majewski’s picturesque investigation into Pieter Bruegel’s The Procession to Calvary with his stirring art project The Mill and the Cross, Songs from the Second floor is all but completely disinterested in characters or a formal plot.  Instead the film is a darkly comic collection of moving paintings with most everyone in the shot sitting still as the camera remains in a fixed position with minutiae slowly presenting itself in the visual composition.  Movement is minimal and the film is often bathed in depressing grays or blues, making the film’s color palette somewhat overcast and near rainy. 

 
Mixing everything from Tarkovsky to Bergman to Dreyer while also evoking the surreal absurdities of Bunuel and Dali, Songs from the Second Floor is an audiovisual smorgasbord that’s at once sterile and messy, agnostic and devout, hilarious and horrific.  At times the film randomly bursts into song including a subway sequence where everyone starts singing at once.  All of these extreme emotional reactions are being stoked simultaneously by meticulously constructed sequences where all the actors and set pieces are carefully arranged in key positions, seeking to somehow evoke everything and nothing.
 
Loosely inspired by Peruvian poet Cesar Vallejo, the film is more of a surreal experience of being dropped in a netherworld where human life seems to have lost all of its humanity.  Songs from the Second Floor is chock full of utterly astounding wide-angled vistas yet is as colorless and bloodless as a doctor’s office, making this Tati-esque tragicomic waking nightmare simultaneously opulent and oppressive.  

Reportedly this labor of love project took Andersson over four years to complete, shot by three different cinematographers, and it shows with many of its impossible and improbable images seemingly rendered in camera in real time and not in post-production.  Music by Benny Andersson is minimal and secondary with most of the film focused on the imagery.  Whether you understand or enjoy the experience of watching the film starts to grow secondary to your fascination with how so many of these jaw dropping scenes were accomplished technically. 

 
While sporting a sizable Swedish cast, Songs from the Second Floor cares less about individual performances than having actors stand in place in certain spots on the set while other figures move around in the shot.  The film paints a picture of a world lived in by well dressed salarymen marching from one point to the next in between evoking biblical imagery such as a salesman chucking his overstock of life-sized crucifixes into a trash heap.  People become figures on a large cinematic canvas rather than portraying individual characters.  If a film director has ever attempted to dramatize Hiernonymus Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly Delights with all the good and bad (mostly bad) on display, Songs from the Second Floor is undeniably it! 
 
As close to being an unfettered expression of pure cinema as Sweden has ever come, Songs from the Second Floor like Hard to Be a God is somewhat akin to visiting another planet which looks like our own but bears key differences that render it alien.  The first film in what soon became known as the first installment in a trilogy of films followed by You, the Living in 2007 and A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence in 2014, Songs from the Second Floor is by no means easy breezy viewing. 

 
Deliberately flighty and even meandering as we’re chauffeured from vignette to vignette, some of which come together while others not, the film achieves a rare feat of being enthralling and distancing, drawn closer into a world determined to push us out of it.  Most certainly not for everyone but for the adventurous cinephile searching for a new wholly unique cinematic voice, look no further than the cinema of Roy Andersson, one of the most original cinematic voices in the world today!

--Andrew Kotwicki