This was the debut of a fresh faced Andersson in his mid twentys. Young love lingers in his mind, and he seeks to make this the core of his first feature film. But remarkably for a young debut there is also a tinge of cynicism in the world removed from the two lovebirds. The contrast of the naivety of Par and Annika with the pessimistic adulthood is not afforded a whole lot of diversity or nuance, but it is grim. In the near end where the adults party and the teenagers frolic, Par and Annika are locked in the same wordless embrace as they have been for the majority of the film, completely certain of their feelings. And the adults drink and drink and egg each other on, snidely take jabs at each other's livelihoods and class until it becomes uncomfortable to watch, and ramble drunkenly on their live's woes while no one really listens. There's a suggestion here from Andersson that the youth too will inherit this universal despair, aimlessness and quest for status - that these memories that are ingrained so strongly will become wisps in the wind as they age. It is fair to say that this issue is tackled better in his later, more iconic trilogy, about the trials and tribulations of being human.
But what he does nail is the young love. Ann-Sofie Kylin and Rolf Sohlman are appropriately cast, with the right amount of jitteriness - almost as a direct contrast to the now modern preference of casting adults as teenagers. At first it is just glances, glances that are all too familiar. They linger for just a brief moment longer, and the camera does too - a bit of exposed skin, a hint beneath a skirt. They put on a brave front which Andersson betrays by displaying their age (see the bravado of Par's motorcycling riding, only to be humorously overtaken by a ice-cream licking bicycle rider). And when they get closer, their gaze becomes focused on their own insecurities and they can barely move at all. The music, by Staffan Stenström of Atlantic Ocean, is just perfect - in that sweaty, scarlet-infused club, they dance aimlessly, and try to make their glances discreet, all while brushing past significant, hazy figures in the foreground: teenagers know what they want. The bass-line is heavy, and the vocal is practically begging them to come together. And when they don't, because at this age we are rarely direct, they instead communicate via their friends, to try and gleam some insight into how the other feels. Anyone who has been young and in love will remember this little trick, and then some.
And when they finally become a couple, they bury their heads into each other's shoulders as if was the last comfort in the world, and conversation is scarce - why talk when their bodies already radiate what their desires are? When Par is beaten up by an older boy, Annika descends into sobs as if thinking he no longer cares for her. Par is horror stricken that he has been shown up, and is no longer worthy of being with her. They make up in that iconic pose on the basketball court, and it is as if it never happened the next day. The see-sawing affections and dramatic bliss of young love. In the beginning Par watches a friend demonstrate his karate moves and poses, shouting in an exaggerated manner as if he was Bruce Lee himself. Women like big bad fighters, he says. If only it turned out to be that simple.
But what he does nail is the young love. Ann-Sofie Kylin and Rolf Sohlman are appropriately cast, with the right amount of jitteriness - almost as a direct contrast to the now modern preference of casting adults as teenagers. At first it is just glances, glances that are all too familiar. They linger for just a brief moment longer, and the camera does too - a bit of exposed skin, a hint beneath a skirt. They put on a brave front which Andersson betrays by displaying their age (see the bravado of Par's motorcycling riding, only to be humorously overtaken by a ice-cream licking bicycle rider). And when they get closer, their gaze becomes focused on their own insecurities and they can barely move at all. The music, by Staffan Stenström of Atlantic Ocean, is just perfect - in that sweaty, scarlet-infused club, they dance aimlessly, and try to make their glances discreet, all while brushing past significant, hazy figures in the foreground: teenagers know what they want. The bass-line is heavy, and the vocal is practically begging them to come together. And when they don't, because at this age we are rarely direct, they instead communicate via their friends, to try and gleam some insight into how the other feels. Anyone who has been young and in love will remember this little trick, and then some.
And when they finally become a couple, they bury their heads into each other's shoulders as if was the last comfort in the world, and conversation is scarce - why talk when their bodies already radiate what their desires are? When Par is beaten up by an older boy, Annika descends into sobs as if thinking he no longer cares for her. Par is horror stricken that he has been shown up, and is no longer worthy of being with her. They make up in that iconic pose on the basketball court, and it is as if it never happened the next day. The see-sawing affections and dramatic bliss of young love. In the beginning Par watches a friend demonstrate his karate moves and poses, shouting in an exaggerated manner as if he was Bruce Lee himself. Women like big bad fighters, he says. If only it turned out to be that simple.