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TIME: Almanac 1990
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1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso
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time
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010289
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01028900.006
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1990-09-22
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CINEMA, Page 94Hail the Epic-Size HeroBy Richard Schickel
PELLE THE CONQUEROR
Directed and Written by Bille August
Whiteness: the perfect whiteness of an enveloping fog. Muted
sounds: voices, the creak of sails and rigging. Very slowly, the
outlines of a 19th century sailing ship begin to take shape through
the brume. The great image that opens Pelle the Conqueror turns out
to be a perfect emblem for the long, entirely absorbing work that
unfolds: very simple yet powerfully, mysteriously absorbing.
That ship carries Swedish immigrants seeking work in Denmark.
Among them are an old man, Lasse (Max von Sydow), and his young son
Pelle (Pelle Hvenegaard). The former is too old and the latter is
too young to be prime prospects for the labor force in a land that
is prejudiced against foreigners. Besides, Lasse is a recent
widower who drinks too much. Although he is capable of bluster, it
is impotent, one more demonstration that a long, hard life has
defeated him.
They are the last of their ship to be hired, by the casually
sadistic foreman of Stone Farm, which is both ironically and aptly
named. Its holdings, bordering a wild, beautiful seacoast, are
large and fertile; there is nothing stony about them. But its
walled farmyard is like a prison; its heavy gates are locked each
night, and workers are treated like convicts.
To live thus in the midst of plenty naturally increases the
workers' wretchedness. And their condition mirrors their masters'.
For the farm's owners also live hellishly in heavenly surroundings.
Their home is as handsome as their well-favored lands. But the
husband is a womanizer whose wife literally howls her misery over
his infidelities (and ultimately takes a just and terrible revenge
on him).
Stone Farm is clearly a microcosm of the world, Eden after the
fall. And Pelle must inevitably lose his innocence as he explores
this ruined Paradise, but not his sense that there must be more to
life than the evils that incessantly assault his eye, or his
inarticulate hope of finding some new Jerusalem beyond his
constricted horizon. This maintenance of faith is, indeed, his
conquest. And it is given force and poignancy by its contrast with
the defeat of his father's ever dwindling dreams.
Yes, allegory is quietly at work here. But it is a form of
generalization, and the greatness of this film derives, finally,
from its specificity. Pelle is rich in characters and subplots, and
as the seasons turn, they intersect, diverge and intersect again,
forming a rough, wonderfully textured weave, unlike anything one
is used to brushing against in the modern cinema. The boy's chief
tormentor is a trainee manager, an arrogant ninny. The figure Pelle
most admires, because his courage contrasts so vividly with Lasse's
discouragement, is the farm's resident revolutionist, risking all,
losing all (in the film's most shattering passage), by boldly
leading a short-lived revolt.
These little lives, spun out in a time and place far distant
from us, would be easy to ignore. But they are all vividly played,
and Bille August's gifts for austere, striking imagery and for the
short, perfectly shaped scene impart to this film an epic richness,
range and energy.