One Paragraph Movie Review: Fanny and Alexander

One hundred and thirty-seventh film: Fanny and Alexander, my first Ingmar Bergman film, which I assume now makes me a proper cinema wanker. Sitting down to watch a three hour film is a scary business, as you don’t know if you’ll be rapt, disappointed, bored, or frustrated by the time it’s finished — all you know is that it will definitely be bedtime. Happily by the end of the first hour I was sitting very comfortably in one of this movie’s hundreds of turn-of-the-century seating options, utterly invested in every single character attached to the large, boisterous and perfectly wealthy Ekdahl family. On the one hand this is a dynastic story about the trials of the family, on the other it’s a series of events seen through the eyes of Alexander the boy, on yet another hand it’s the gentle and wordless introduction of ghosts and magic into an otherwise reasonable story, and on the grotesque fourth hand it’s the opportunity to boo and hiss at an evil stepfather who doubles as a puritanical bishop — two-for-one value in the stereotypical villain market. I liked it a lot and I want to eat a meal at the Ekdahl’s house please. Almost four hot mad aunties out of five.