Songs from the Second Floor (Sånger från andra våningen) (2000)

dir. and writ. Roy Andersson
feat. Lars Nord, Stefan Larsson, Bengt C.W. Carlsson, Torbjorn Fahlstrom, Sten Andersson

From the first frame of Songs from the Second Floor, a sense of ill ease permeates the film, a missed connection between people, each other and the world initially illustrated by a hunching businessman struggling to discuss layoffs with his virtually invisible boss, hidden by a tanning bed with only his wriggling feet exposed. Life doesn’t get any easier for the characters in Songs, this breach seemingly impossible to bridge in Andersson’s attack upon the state of modern society. Though his assault is rooted in the conditions of his native Sweden, the message translates effectively. And it's an ambitious breadth of notions he skewers and mocks, with swipes at health care, employment, the military, religion, and poverty.

Andersson's scenes play out like paintings in motion, a single static shot with meticulous production design and pronounced perspective and depth, with slow, deliberately limited movement by the characters. This gentle presentation permits the often absurd imagery to assert itself more casually than one might believe possible, avoiding cheap and easy shock value. That isn’t to say that certain images aren’t shocking (try to quell a queasy feeling at the sight of crucifixes being kicked around a dumping ground,) but they somehow belong to the world of the film even when one can’t imagine them existing anywhere in the real world.

While those seeking a strong narrative might get lost in the film, forced to wait quite some time to even meet the main character (if that term is even appropriate,) the overarching theme and mood never strays. And though the action may proceed at a glacial pace, surprisingly striking details emerge as each scene progresses, and this near lack of momentum mirrors Andersson’s portrayal of a damaged, inert society.

There may be something perverse about so thoroughly enjoying a film that is as persistently unsettling as Songs from the Second Floor, but it’s hard to fight the feeling that the protracted sorrow and anguish is hopeful, intended to stir the viewer to think, and even act.