By Ravi Ahuja
A clerk latches on to the legs of the boss who has just fired him, dragging slowly along the floor. His former coworkers look on through cracked doors through the hallway as he screams “I’ve been here for 30 years!”.
A lost immigrant looks for a man outside an office building and is assaulted and stabbed by a gang of xenophobes as a crowd stands by looking on.
An unemployed furniture salesman is haunted by one of his dead creditors and a teenage boy hung by the Nazis.
Almost nothing connects these events except that they take place in the same bleak and cold city in Sweden. The only other connecting threads are the same feelings of alienation, absurdism, nihilism that pervade the entirety of Songs From the Second Floor. The first film in Roy Andersson’s so called “Living” trilogy, Songs From the Second Floor cares little about narrative structure or character development, focusing almost entirely on asking philosophical questions about what life is like for us humans who have to live it.
A lost immigrant looks for a man outside an office building and is assaulted and stabbed by a gang of xenophobes as a crowd stands by looking on.
An unemployed furniture salesman is haunted by one of his dead creditors and a teenage boy hung by the Nazis.
Almost nothing connects these events except that they take place in the same bleak and cold city in Sweden. The only other connecting threads are the same feelings of alienation, absurdism, nihilism that pervade the entirety of Songs From the Second Floor. The first film in Roy Andersson’s so called “Living” trilogy, Songs From the Second Floor cares little about narrative structure or character development, focusing almost entirely on asking philosophical questions about what life is like for us humans who have to live it.
The furniture salesman (Lars Nordh, center) stops by a cafe after his business burns down
Watching this film is an experience similar to watching one of Charlie Kaufman’s later movies, especially Synecdoche, New York or I’m Thinking About Ending Things. Themes and concepts are introduced in bits and pieces through a combination of philosophical dialogue and surreal events. Although there is no one central message to the movie, the movie always seems to be portraying a very absurdist-existentialist view of life through one allegory or another, as if each scene or vignette is a variation upon the theme. A massive traffic jam lasting for days on end is described as “chaos… that just goes on without anyone being able to give a reasonable explanation”. The owner of a furniture store that has burned down says that he shouldn’t need paperwork to prove that a pile of ash was (and still is) a chippendale sofa. “A chippendale is a chippendale” he says, “even if it doesn’t say it on paper! You are who you are, whether or not someone takes note of it”. The ideas and dialogue in Songs From the Second Floor are much less cryptic than they are in Kaufman’s work, although no less substantive and open to interpretation.
Aside from the pervasive existentialist themes, there are also anti-capitalist ideas throughout, specifically critiquing society’s prioritization of money over art. The previously mentioned furniture salesman frequently visits his son in a mental institution, who he claims has gone insane from writing poetry. Every time he visits, he invariably ends up shouting at him and becoming agitated at his refusal to respond and behave rationally. Ironically enough, the salesman is often the one that gets restrained by the staff there, yelling to his son, “Life is a market! It’s all about buying things you can sell with an extra zero. Everyone in the world understands that but you!” even while he is being dragged away. Indeed, there is a feeling throughout the film that much of the hopelessness and absurdity we face in modern society comes from an obsession with money. A crowd of stockbrokers move slowly through the city in the background of several scenes, flagellating themselves as they march. At a high level board meeting, a crystal ball is passed around for the executives to peer into while they wait for someone to find some very specific papers detailing some arbitrary business numbers. As if in response to this bizarre capitalistic attitude, the “insane” poet is comforted by his brother, who tells him that even if it seems that no one cares about art anymore, there are still those that do, and their time will come again.
Aside from the pervasive existentialist themes, there are also anti-capitalist ideas throughout, specifically critiquing society’s prioritization of money over art. The previously mentioned furniture salesman frequently visits his son in a mental institution, who he claims has gone insane from writing poetry. Every time he visits, he invariably ends up shouting at him and becoming agitated at his refusal to respond and behave rationally. Ironically enough, the salesman is often the one that gets restrained by the staff there, yelling to his son, “Life is a market! It’s all about buying things you can sell with an extra zero. Everyone in the world understands that but you!” even while he is being dragged away. Indeed, there is a feeling throughout the film that much of the hopelessness and absurdity we face in modern society comes from an obsession with money. A crowd of stockbrokers move slowly through the city in the background of several scenes, flagellating themselves as they march. At a high level board meeting, a crystal ball is passed around for the executives to peer into while they wait for someone to find some very specific papers detailing some arbitrary business numbers. As if in response to this bizarre capitalistic attitude, the “insane” poet is comforted by his brother, who tells him that even if it seems that no one cares about art anymore, there are still those that do, and their time will come again.
A host of businessmen prepare to go on vacation
It would be a mistake to assume that this film is only concerned with philosophy however. There is a very important visual component that helps establish a certain mood and feeling in each scene. The sets are as meticulous as they are depressing, using a palette of sickly greys and greens and browns. There is a great deal of care in the framing and blocking of every character, door, and prop. Interiors are either cramped and claustrophobic or massive and empty. The camera moves only once in the entire film, a slow tracking dolly shot that still keeps the frame relatively static. Each scene is done in one take with no cuts, which combined with the consistently static wide shots makes them feel more like living paintings than film.
Although he is never explicitly mentioned in the film, the work of Peruvian poet César Vallejo is present throughout and highly influential, with Songs From the Second Floor even being described by IMDb as “A film poem inspired by... César Vallejo”. The movie opens to a quote by him, “Beloved are the ones who sit”, a quote which is then repeated several times in the film along with several of his quotes. Although the context of his quotes may change their meaning, they seem most often to be used in Songs From the Second Floor to celebrate the ordinary and the mundane, the everyday pains that humans face. Taking a certain sense of pride in experiences such as catching your finger in a door or having a torn shoe in the rain has a rebellious effect. By turning the sufferer into someone beloved, by experiencing a satisfaction in pain, life’s existential torture is transformed into an experience worth having.
Although he is never explicitly mentioned in the film, the work of Peruvian poet César Vallejo is present throughout and highly influential, with Songs From the Second Floor even being described by IMDb as “A film poem inspired by... César Vallejo”. The movie opens to a quote by him, “Beloved are the ones who sit”, a quote which is then repeated several times in the film along with several of his quotes. Although the context of his quotes may change their meaning, they seem most often to be used in Songs From the Second Floor to celebrate the ordinary and the mundane, the everyday pains that humans face. Taking a certain sense of pride in experiences such as catching your finger in a door or having a torn shoe in the rain has a rebellious effect. By turning the sufferer into someone beloved, by experiencing a satisfaction in pain, life’s existential torture is transformed into an experience worth having.
A magician (Lucio Vucina) performs a trick on stage
Although it would be hard to interpret all of Songs From the Second Floor many vignettes, or analyze all of its themes, there are a number of recurring motifs worth mentioning. The passive act of observing and being observed is everywhere through this film, with characters occasionally glancing right into the camera. In one instance both the characters on screen even stop eating their dinner to stare right at it. Many scenes contain crowds of people who say and do nothing as they look on at horrifying acts of violence. The victim is often the only one speaking, crying out for help. The feeling is one of helplessness and isolation, as if one is being examined in a zoo exhibit.
Old age and time also continually recur as themes. Almost every character in this film is old, or at least middle-aged. The one child that is shown gets ritually sacrificed for the benefit of a crowd of seniors. A speechwriter talks about a general who is celebrating his 100th birthday, for which he has written a speech. “Life is time, and time is a stretch of road. That makes life a journey. Tradition is our map”, he tells his taxi driver. The general who has lived for so long and collected so much wisdom and experience is supposed to be a guiding force for those younger than him. In truth however, he is a senile old man trapped in his bed. Whatever wisdom he once had is now long gone. As sure as we are that our life is made stable and safe by our traditions, that we know what we’re doing, the reality that Songs From the Second Floor tries to convey is that we are on a journey with no map.
To be sure, this is another film that is not for everyone. Songs From the Second Floor is idiosyncratic and confusing at times. The pacing can feel slow for someone expecting a normal three act structure. It shows the ugliness and pain rampant in our lives, without the happiness that goes with it. It is however, more accessible than other highly conceptual movies due to its bite-sized vignette structure and short runtime. Someone seeking to begin exploring the world of “art films” would find a good starting place in this film.
Old age and time also continually recur as themes. Almost every character in this film is old, or at least middle-aged. The one child that is shown gets ritually sacrificed for the benefit of a crowd of seniors. A speechwriter talks about a general who is celebrating his 100th birthday, for which he has written a speech. “Life is time, and time is a stretch of road. That makes life a journey. Tradition is our map”, he tells his taxi driver. The general who has lived for so long and collected so much wisdom and experience is supposed to be a guiding force for those younger than him. In truth however, he is a senile old man trapped in his bed. Whatever wisdom he once had is now long gone. As sure as we are that our life is made stable and safe by our traditions, that we know what we’re doing, the reality that Songs From the Second Floor tries to convey is that we are on a journey with no map.
To be sure, this is another film that is not for everyone. Songs From the Second Floor is idiosyncratic and confusing at times. The pacing can feel slow for someone expecting a normal three act structure. It shows the ugliness and pain rampant in our lives, without the happiness that goes with it. It is however, more accessible than other highly conceptual movies due to its bite-sized vignette structure and short runtime. Someone seeking to begin exploring the world of “art films” would find a good starting place in this film.
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