About Endlessness

Operating on his own distinct plane, Swedish writer/director Roy Andersson doles out a series of brief, slice-of-life vignettes in About Endlessness, some more dramatic than others and all of which feel like variations on six-word flash fiction stories.

Each of the 33 chapters are immaculately lit and composed, to the extent that camera movements are unnecessary and — with the striking exception of two visits with a pair of lovers supernaturally floating above a riverside city in ruins — flat out not employed.

A range of characters move within these static spaces, keeping eyes glued to the frame, rapt at what will happen, though not in a manipulative, Michael Haneke manner. Most of these individuals are anonymous — a woman enjoying champagne, a priest who’s lost his faith, a man who’s shaken when a childhood acquaintance rebuffs his greeting — yet they’re given equal importance alongside a POW march to a Siberian prison and no less than the final hours of Adolf Hitler in the Führerbunker.

By having an omniscient female narrator introduce the extraordinary historical events as well as most of these relatable, everyday folks, and considering the film’s title, Andersson appears to be commenting on the perpetuity of certain archetypes, or at least the way some conflicts and emotions seem to linger eternally.

With his message(s) still fairly ambiguous, mileage will of course vary depending on viewer willingness to traverse this unconventional path. Though the action can feel fairly mundane, the “payoffs” are sufficiently frequent and the “letdowns” are still stimulating enough that the range of feelings and sense that it’s all building to a cumulative work of art sustain engagement for adventurous minds.

If that sounds like the definition of pretension, no need to partake in what could feel like a, well, endless sub-80 minutes of dry, often beautiful scenes. But for those who sense the potential for transcendent wonder in the celebration of quiet moments, a moving experience awaits.

Grade: B-plus. Not rated, but with adult themes and language. Available to rent via fineartstheatre.com

(Photo: Magnolia Pictures)