The Seventh Seal

The Seventh Seal

Det sjunde inseglet

Writer & Director ~ Ingmar Bergman

1957, Sweden

Stars ~ Max von Sydow, Gunnar Björnstrand, Bengt Ekerot, Nils Poppe

 

His seventeenth film, Ingmar Bergman’s ‘The Seventh Seal’ was adapted from his own play ‘The Wood Painting’ (‘Trämålning’,1953/1954) which he wrote for an actor’s workshop as director of the Malmö City Theatre. The title ‘The Seventh Seal’ refers to a passage from the Book of Revelation:  "And when the Lamb had opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven about the space of half an hour." (Revelation 8:1) In Bergman’s original play, Death is represented by silence, but Death here is personified by Bengt Ekerot, coming for a knight on his way home from The Crusades. But the knight, played by Max Von Sydow, challenges Death to a game of chess for a delay until he can find meaning.

The influences on the film range from Picasso, Shakespeare, the frescoes at Härkeberga church and his upbringing in a devout Christian household, his father being a rector. A religiously themed film running on symbolism, ‘The Seventh Seal’ is the tonal opposite of Jodorowdy’s ‘The Holy Mountain’, which feels like a film made by a very naughty boy. Instead, Bergman’s vision is playful, clear, pristine, austere, mature, aided by the high contrast black and white. The seriousness of intent and purposeful staginess is the stuff of endless parodies, but there is a confidence here and a surprising humanity that immediately disarms. There’s a lot of lolling around in love and contemplation. The tone is that of a fairy tale being treated to the veracity of a historical drama, although its historical accuracy is erratic: for example, The Crusades were before The Black Death, and witch persecutions in Sweden came much later. But its strength as allegory is not in doubt, and Bergman’s magic touch is in its surety in making such potentially humourless premise easy entertainment.

 

 

Characters speak to one another in existential angst and contemplation, adrift in a world of plague casual misogyny, piety, doubt and stalked by Death. A frivolous and somewhat bawdy mobile theatre is interrupted by a procession of self-flagellating religious zealots that only pause to tell the crowd they are all going to die. It is perhaps telling that the one character without dimension is the hectoring preacher. And yet it is anything but a dark film, offering instead bright black and white and a lightness familiar from Bergman’s earlier amusements such as ‘Smiles of a Summer Night’ and ‘Summer with Monika’. It makes a pit stop for a comic sequence where the blacksmith confronts his wayward wife and her lover the actor, for instance, more like his earlier work, but still has dark gags of Death putting the work in by chopping down a tree and cheating at chess. Interviewed by Melvyn Bragg on the South Bank Show, 1978, Bergman spoke of how he was very scared of Death, how the film acted as “medicine” for this, and spoke of Death’s appearance as a clown or a priest. Indeed, Death is mistaken for a priest a few times.

The squire Jöns (Gunnar Björnstrand) is almost a self-aware character, almost meta in his approach to others and the crisis of Faith all around him. In that sense, he acts as an audience guide through this doomed landscape. And you have actors synonymous with Bergman, for he had a reliable and loyal troupe of actors and crew. Max Von Sydow has a natural, unmatched gravitas but without condescension, which is perfect for the existential crisis of Block the knight. Bibi Andersson was Bergman’s lover at the time and instrumental in convincing to cash in his long stint as a director to produce this project. She provides all the natural, earthy warmth acting as a counterbalance to all the “I should murder my wife” humour.

‘The Seventh Seal’ is considered a benchmark film that contributed to cementing if not creating the idea of the Art Film after its screening in Cannes in 1957. Bergman’s questions about Faith and mortality are persistent and open to the subjective biases of the individual, right through his subsequent films to varying degrees. That they serve both believers and non-believers – the knight, for example, is evidently struggling with sensing he’s lost Faith – is a sign of the complexity, generosity and universality of his treatment of these themes. These questions are always tied in with theatre and performance and often the trimmings of horror, from ‘Hour of the Wolf’ and others like ‘Wild Strawberries’. I always enjoy the fact that I never know if he is going to drop in a little horror motif. Even ‘Fanny and Alexander’ begins with Death casually walking across a room. And here, Jöns’ early encounter with a corpse is a full-on genre moment. From the unsettling flagellation parade to the beautiful coastal vistas, from the horror of witch burning and robbing corpses to the broad “but my wife” comedy and the wild strawberries communion, Von Sydow’s knight rages philosophically and carves his way through all the tonal fluctuations. 

In the end, the knight finds no meaning from Death – who declares himself “unknowing”, so no answers there – but rather, meaning in moments of mercy and acceptance. This is enough because, of course, Death will always win in the end. A film that remains enigmatic, humanely philosophical and resolutely positive, despite the subject matter. 

FrightFest Halloween 2025

FrightFest Halloween 2024

 

Primate

Director ~ Johannes Roberts

Writers ~ Ernest Riera, Johannes Roberts

2025, USA

Stars ~ Johnny Sequoyah, Troy Kotsur, Jessica Alexander

 

Rabid simian versus privileged/uninteresting/obnoxious pretty young things. Fearing the audience isn’t one for a build-up, it starts by skipping ahead to its first kill, which is admittedly a good one for grabbing the attention. From there, we’re in a super-deluxe picturesque house on a cliff edge (why do they call for help? Who do they think will hear?) where the family keep a chimpanzee as a pet: unfortunately, sweet Ben gets rabies (the film even notes that Hawaii isn’t an area that gets rabies?) and goes on the rampage. It’s as if someone saw the more disturbing chimp sections in ‘NOPE’ and went, “oh! I have an idea!” (although there is a history of killer chimps from ‘Phenomena’ to ‘Link’). Good kills, nicely filmed and staged but distinctly standard fare. Its most impressive aspect is the performance of Miguel Torres Umba as Ben.

 

 

Deathgasm 2: Goremageddon

Writer + Director ~ Jason Howden

2025, New Zealand

Stars ~ Milo Cawthorne, Kimberley Crossman, James Joshua Blake

 

Crowd-funded and shot in Canada, this is the sequel to the 2015 original, which I remembered liking as being a sort of ‘Bill & Ted’ metal-horror funny crowd pleaser full of affectionate fun-making of the scene. This sequel is rude crude gory silly, occasionally amusing in its excess (the glory hole episode will likely be your test) but overlong, sometimes simply crass and more hit-and-miss.

Every Heavy Thing

Writer + Director ~ Mickey Reece

2025, USA

Stars ~ Josh Fadem, James Urbaniak, Barbara Crampton

 

Although opening with its weakest scene – bare breasts and vocal fry – there’s increasing intrigue, jazzed up with video effects and dream sequences that are integral. There’s a pleasing retro-futurist tone to these interjections. Josh Faden impresses as the “almost cool” Joe, an underachiever finding himself embroiled with serial killers and tech bro obsessions. There are women disappearing without a trace (even if there’s blood spray left behind?) and Joe isn’t feeling too good. The vibe is everyday living, which works well with the hint of Philip K. Dick-like “Failing Reality” and being caught up with another’s sociopathy, but there’s also a closing scattering of “that’ll do” that undermines any conclusion. A fascinating and ambitious near miss.

 

Dolly

Director ~ Rod Blackhurst

Writers ~ Rod Blackhurst, Brandon Weavil

2015, USA

Stars ~ Fabianne Therese, Russ Tiller, Michalina Scorzelli

 

Hitting that 16mm ‘70s Tobe Hooper and Wes Craven vibe hard, Blackhurst’s Don’t Go Off the Trail public service announcement is ugly and derivative in all the right places, making this a solid homage to those bareknuckle disturbing trendsetters. It introduces a formidable porcelain baby-faced monster, lots of ikkiness to do with her obsession with making a kidnapped woman her baby and some shock-gore that delivers exactly what it sets out to do. Fabianne Therese also makes for a better-than-average victim that must kick in her brutal survivalist mode to get out, as well as confront fears of monstrous motherhood.

 

Affection

Writer + Director ~ BT Meza

2025, USA

Stars ~ Jessica Rothe, Joseph Cross, Julianna Layne

 

The emotional and physical range of Jessica Rothe truly elevates what could have been a fun enough Who Am I? sci-fi thriller. She is scary in her confused state as well as warm and maternal as things evolve. Julianna Layne’s child performance is also above par, and Joseph Cross never gives up on the emotional motivations of his character. As a chamber piece of unravelling identities and revelations, the themes of gaslighting, mistrust, insurmountable grief and choosing what to care about again show that science-fiction can get to those nooks and crannies of the human condition that other genres can’t quite reach. It not adverse to plot holes and the other weaknesses, but it is fun, ambitious and full-blooded.

 

Posthouse

Director ~ Nikolas Red

Writers ~ Nikolas Red, Jericho Aguado, Kenneth Dagatan

2025, Philippines

Stars ~ Sid Lucero, Bea Binene, Andrea Del Rosario

 

The search to complete the first Filipino silent horror film and – of course – inadvertently unearth an ancient monster in the setting of an abandoned editing suite are winners, setting up strongly for the supernatural. Sid Lucero gives a fully rounded performance, torn between completing and owning his father’s legacy or his own future with editing commercials.  The supporting cast is mostly rudimentary, which leaves this chamber piece somewhat floundering. Despite its fascinating historical grounding, moments of creepiness and themes of an unshakable past (can you guess what the true ancient emerging monster is?), there is the sense of lost momentum and confused focus that leaves this an underachiever.

 

 

The Turkish Coffee Table

Director ~ Can Evrenol

2025, Turkey

Stars ~ Alper Kul, Algi, EkeÖzgür, Emre Yildirim

 

Remake of Caye Cassas’ dark farce original – one that goes into the “steel yourself!” pile when thinking of a rewatch – hitting most of the key beats of the original and therefore retains its shock, providing the darkest twist on cringe comedy. It was Turkish comedian Alper Kul that was integral to this being made. It is a little more blatant and changes the emphasis of the conclusion but nevertheless stands as a solid tracing.

 

 

Coyotes

Director ~ Colin Minihan

Writers ~ Tad Daggerhart, Daniel Meers and Nick Simon

2025, US

Stars ~ Justin Long, Mila Harris, Brittany Allen

 

Obnoxious, privileged characters must battle to survive attacks from bad weather, CGI coyotes and obnoxious direction. Despite Justin Long and Kate Bosworth knowing what they’re doing, plus a couple of genuinely amusing gags, there’s a lot of insufferable affectations and annoyance to get through, not least the most aggravating of teen daughter characters. Although the film drops cartoon character name cards (e.g. obnoxious direction) signalling we shouldn’t take it seriously, there’s also very little here to care about. Except maybe how CG the coyotes look. And yeah, it’s all about family, as if that’s justification.

 

 

Mag Mag

Director ~ Yuriyan Retriever

Writer ~ Eisuke Naitô

2025, Japan

Stars ~ Mai Fukagawa, Ôshirô Ma, Sara Minami

 

The opening of the first victim being killed by the ghost whilst pissing all over his friends should have been a clue. Then what follows is the pleasant comfort of J-horror tropes, looking like it will be a series of ‘The Grudge’ style vignettes (there’s even a knowing cameo by ‘Grudge’ director Takeshi Shimizu), and perhaps you are wondering how it will fill out its runtime this way; but then it takes a somewhat leftfield turn into hysteria, perhaps parody (the exorcism), heads off in its merry whim, skipping ahead of the audience, but ends up knowing exactly what it is doing. A revenge curse ghost – Mag Mag herself is pleasingly creepy – turns into a deeper tale of weaponizing various iterations of “love”, from obsessive crushes, abusive, to an innocent child. The chapter narrative means you never quite know where it will be heading and just when you think you do, it ups the stakes. Quite the rollercoaster oddity that delivers the long-haired ghost goods whilst also shaking up the genre to see what else is possible: art love, musical numbers, surrealism, body horror, a note on the corrosive power of loneliness, etc.

 

Once Upon A Time... in Hollywood

Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood

Quentin Tarantino, 2019, USA-UK-China

(You shouldn’t read this if you haven’t seen, as it discusses major spoilers.)

And here’s another Tarantino film to be conflicted about.  I’ve noted many have wondered where its narrative is, but this time he has chosen mostly to be character-led than plot driven. Tarantino has always been as much about digressions as set-pieces, but here the former are dominant; or perhaps because for the most part even the set-pieces seem like digressions. There’s still conceit and indulgence but there is a more of a roaming, loose-limbed atmosphere without the feeling that set-pieces are just being stacked up. He’s always liked to cosset his characters and actors, so it’s perhaps surprising he hasn’t gone this route before.

These characters live in a vision of Hollywood derived from those anecdotes you find in autobiographies of golden eras of outrageous behaviour and washed-up stars. The mock-ups of TV shows of olden days and fabrication of an actor’s career are fun pastiches, and the rambling tone surely lets it breathe; I for one was happy to soak in the atmosphere. It’s probably baggy but with an immersive free-floating aesthetic. It’s reverential rather than critical or discerning. Also noteworthy here is that characters are less defined by Tarantino’s speechifying, where characters are talking at rather that with each other. I am of the opinion, and I have heard others say, that for its ether alone it is his most enjoyable beneath ‘Jackie Brown’.

But then there are the many red flags that I can’t quite reconcile.

Leonardo Di Caprio gives the most depth, playing a movie star who seems to be of average intelligence and talent, trying to stand against both his ego and insecurities. The moment where the precocious kid tells him he’s done the best acting she’s ever seen and the camera lingers on his tears which contain desperation, validation and relief is, for all the film’s bigger picture, its truest moment of pathos. Sometimes Tarantino is like a kiddie playing in the adult sandbox; sometimes he knows to hold a moment just right. The director’s voice is foremost – there is no doubt this is Once Upon  A Tarantino and his interview in ‘Sight & Sound’ conspicuously lapses into me-me-me: for example, when he says “that’s how I like to talk to people who are in my costumes” as if the work of Arianne Phillips didn’t exist*; or when he says that no one except him has spoken to an actor about a certain part before. But he casts so well that many weaknesses are passed over because the folks he casts know how to carry a movie. This has been true since his debut onwards.

For example, Brad Pitt pouts, sucks up celluloid and effortlessly charms even as he chills; his run-in with Manson’s clan is the tense highlight. The way he deals with the situation without ever doubting he can handle himself is just as much an indicator of his self-assurance as his scars and his run-in with Bruce Lee.

Counter to this, Margot Robbie as Sharon Tate is just a blast of sunshine, radiating warmth and disarming charm, the vibrant centre of the film, although she really doesn’t have any other dimensions. With Robbie’s radiance, that’s not a problem. Her visit to the cinema allows her to enjoy her success, but this isn’t so much an act of ego rather than experiencing the entertainment she gives to others. And in this scene, Tarantino’s fetishism for film and feet meet, Tate’s bare feet framed against the cinema screen. This becomes a love letter to Sharon Tate and would be even without the following revisionism. Even so - as a friend pointed out - it's like she's just paraded on and off as necessary, without any real depth, continuing her objectification.

Although he’s often done the “Boys Together” thing, I never had a sense of true misogyny from Tarantino; exploitation yes, but not toxic masculinity. But that was until ‘The Hateful Eight’ where the fact that the men are united and triumphant over the death and sadistic treatment of the sole woman was hugely problematic. And coming from the back of that, ‘Once Upon A Time…’ continues the trend (and this is not including the troubling behind-the-scenes footage of Uma Thurman’s car crash from ‘Kill Bill’). It’s not like Tarantino hasn’t invested and made several female pulp icons in his past, so his last two films seem like a regression. After all, ‘Inglorious Basterds’ contained a take-down of a Nazi “Nice Guy”, so he is previously engaged with such issues. Firstly, for what ends up a love letter to a woman, it’s male angst that takes centre stage. And as a love letter to Sharon Tate, as an objection to her appalling murder, here is a film whose sadism towards women takes up more screentime than the men. There’s an underage temptress who doesn’t need to be called Lolita because she’s called Pussy (yeah yeah, it’s “Pussycat”, but who are you fooling?). An underage sex gag; it’s not even innuendo. And even though Booth rebuffs her, later the camera will still do a heel-to-hot-pants pan up her legs. Perhaps it’s imitating exploitation’s male gaze, but in a modern context, that feels just an excuse: there is something notably ill-judged here.

The Bruce Lee encounter is the one scene that has come in for much criticism for being, at mildest, wrongheaded to outright racist. The fact that there are so many interpretations of this scene perhaps hints that it’s nowhere near a solid as intended. It certainly feels mistaken and unwarranted to portray Bruce Lee as arrogant, preening and laughable when he is the only ethnic representation of note. It may be taken from his actual quotes, but in the film’s context, it’s negative. As Tarantino is an obvious Lee fan, this seems odd: of course it would be wrong to see this as a realistic representation, but at the very least it feels unfair. Or a “cheap shot”, as Wendy Ide writes, also taking issue with the “the jarring scene featuring Damian Lewis as a polyester version of Steve McQueen”.

Perhaps Tarantino’s wisest choice is to treat Charlie Manson (Damon Harriman) briefly, to deny him any kind of platform. This is not his film. When the killers draw nearer, there is a sense of trepidation because nowhere has Tarantino previously shown that he is capable of tackling such a grim and delicate scene such as the truth of the Tate murders. Well, he doesn’t. As we follow Tate through the film, there is the sense of suspense and dread, but we needn’t worry.

I saw a Twitter comment where someone said he now looked forward to a cinematic rewriting of the Emmet Till murder and other racial injustices (quoting specific examples which I now ruefully forget, but there are too many to mention; the Emmet Till horror always sticks out for me). This comment was an admitted provocation by the commentator, but it still sheds light on Tarantino’s inability to quite see life outside the movies. He even filtered slavery through an absurdist Movie Western Cult Character called Django, undid any chilling veracity achieved in ‘Inglorious Basterds’ with a fantasy ending and, here, his whole sympathy is for an imaginary version of a film star. Not that that in itself is wrong, but just that he hasn’t quite been able to write himself out of total movie fandom aside, except for ‘Jackie Brown’ – written by Tarantino but taken from an Elmore Leonard novel – which feels hinged on something more real, a mature melancholy provided from its source. It’s where he insists on bringing his cinephilia into the real world that I find contention. But he still knows to linger on De Caprio’s tears.

Like ‘Inglorious Basterds’, having spent the first two thirds of the film working up a genuine emotional investment with its recreation of another time and place, the third act happily goes off the rails into something else. What emerges is another example of Tarantino rewriting history to avenge real past atrocities with movie violence (or literally with celluloid stock in ‘Inglorious Basterds’). But it doesn’t articulate a strong recognisable argument against the cult’s justification that they kill celebrities because they were taught to kill by their screens. Their delusion is intriguing but not investigated. Even a lesser film like ‘Child’sPlay’ (2019), for example, has its internal young audience recognise that the cartoon violence of ‘The Texas Chainsaw Massacre II’ is laughable, even if Chucky is taking the wrong message from it: they’re real and he’s not. It cannily presents a demarcation of audience and fantasy world. Rather, Tarantino offers a typical revenge fantasy without any question: is there any question that these guys deserve it? Therefore, anything is vindicated.

Our avatar for dishing out retribution is Cliff Booth, a wife killer… but she was apparently a nag and shrew and so *shrug*. The flashback to the wife killing is framed as a joke to which we already know the punchline. But anyway, Cliff Booth has previously been established as having kick-ass powers when he matches if not bests Bruce Lee. Where the rest of the audience seemed to be enjoying his laying waste to the cult – in the manner I recognise from audience laughing and applauding the absurdist violence in FrightFest, or which I experienced in ‘JohnWick: chapter 3 – Parabellum’ – there was I, equally as chilled by the acknowledgement that Booth was as loathsomely violent as had been hinted at throughout the film. But your interpretation may vary. It can also be read as Tarantino’s payback towards a younger generation that ended an Golden Era he idealises with their heinous crime.

And this final showdown too is set up like a comedy sketch because Booth is high as a kite from a cigarette dipped in acid. But he’s sober enough not only to take-down the killers, but to indulge in a lot of brutality too. It is here that the sadism visited upon the women far exceeds that visited on the male killer: the women’s face smashed all over the place, a dog set upon the other, then she’s set upon with a flame-thrower. Although why Rick Dalton would immediately reach for a flame-thrower has more to do with what an audience already knows from Dalton’s history more than what he is aware of, or what we know of his character. A fully working, antique ready-to-go flamethrower just kept within easy reach? And then he is just left to pal up with neighbours. But it should be noted that a friend of mine found Dalton’s closing introduction to Tate very moving.  Meanwhile, the police seem to just accept what we the audience already know and leave Booth and Dalton without further questioning.

It’s just a movie. What does it matter?

And when it starts ‘Once Upon a Time…’, it’s a fairy-tale and this excuses everything.

I thoroughly enjoyed it, because there’s some great stuff here, but I don’t know if I fully trusted it.

• *          Kim, Morgan, “To Live and Die in L.A.”, ‘Sight & Sound’ (September 2019, Vol. 29 Issue 9) pg. 24-5.

 With thanks to Joe Sangre, Keen, Robert Sunday and Stephen Skopje and Lewis Rose for discussions on this.