The Seventh Seal

And when he had opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven about the space of half an hour.
² And I saw the seven angels which stood before God; and to them were given seven trumpets.
³ And another angel came and stood at the altar, having a golden censer; ...
⁵ And the angel took the censer, and filled it with fire of the altar, and cast [it] into the earth: and there were voices, and thunderings, and lightnings, and an earthquake.
--Revelation 8:1-3, 5

Ingman Bergman's The Seventh Seal, shown last night at the Seattle Art Museum, was the third of nine Bergman films to be shown in the current series.  It was the first of the director's four most famous "metaphysical" films, films released in the 1950s, shortly before and during my undergraduate years: The Seventh Seal, Wild Strawberries, The Magician, and The Virgin Spring. .  

It's hard to think of any director who would now have the same impact on audiences.  The films were black and white; the dialogue was in Swedish with English subtitles; and those four films dealt with ultimate issues of human life and destiny.  Something very different from the usual movies of that era, films specializing in heart-warming American families, cowboys, or gangsters.

For fairly unsophisticated college-aged kids with pretensions of sophistication, the films -- even more than the earlier neo-realism films from Italy -- showed us that movies could be an art form, not just entertainment.

The Seventh Seal has been re-released a number of times, and is a favorite at "art film" series.  According to Wikipedia, it is considered "one of the greatest movies of all time."  Although the film deals with a hero who questions the existence and/or beneficence of God, and leaves the question bleakly unanswered at the end, the Vatican in 1995 listed the film as one of its 45 "Great Films."

Antonius Block is a Crusader knight who has returned home to Sweden after ten disillusioning years in the Holy Land.  He is accompanied by his squire Jöns, a cynical sort who seems more modern than medieval in his thought and speech, and who provides a pessimistic commentary on the action. The Black Plague is sweeping across Sweden.

The movie begins with Block playing chess alone on a silent ocean beach, a setting that exemplifies much of the cinematography of Bergman's films -- lonely, dimly lit with the northern sun low in the sky, an unending twilight as the waves beat in upon the shore, one after another.  Block is joined by a mysterious man in a hood -- a personification of Death -- who advises Block that his time has now come.  Block, having heard that Death is partial to chess, suggests first a game.  If Death loses, he will allow Block a longer time on Earth.

The game progresses over several days, a few moves per visit.  Death asks Block what this slight delay will gain him -- he replies that he would like to perform one "memorable deed" before he dies.  He ultimately loses, although Death has to cheat to win.  But before he loses, he befriends a young juggler and his wife, and their infant son.  Before he makes his final chess move, unable to avoid a loss, he "accidentally" knocks the chess pieces off the board, diverting Death's attention while the three young people escape. 

The pieces are replaced, Death checkmates Block, and reminds him that when they next meet he will take Block and whomever is with him.  The sky is black with storm clouds -- flashing lightning and roaring thunder.  Block joins others taking refuge in his castle, where he hopes they will be safe. 

But Death enters. 

Antonius Block returned from the Crusades doubting the very existence of God and God's love for humanity.  Many terrible deeds occur during the movie that would support those doubts.  Throughout the film, Block repeatedly begs God to show himself in some way, to confirm his faith, to show him that life is not meaningless.  Death admits that he himself knows "nothing" -- he is able to tell Block nothing about what, if anything, occurs after death. 

But Block accepts death in the end, satisfied that in saving the lives of the young family, his own life has not been meaningless.  Block's satisfaction is of no more concern to Death than were his doubts.  Whatever the meaning or absence of meaning to human life, Death always wins the game. 

Maybe.  After the horrors of the night's storm, the juggler and his wife wake to a beautiful sunny morning.  The infant child is playing happily.  The couple smile at each other.  Life looks good.

In the final, iconic scene, the young juggler -- who sees images no one else can see, including Death sitting at the chessboard with Block -- looks off in the distance and sees Death leading Antonius Block and his ensemble away, silhouetted against the dimly lit Scandinavian sky. The seventh seal has been opened, and for them, judgment awaits.

Or, Bergman contemplates, perhaps nothing awaits.