by Miguel E. Rodriguez
DIRECTOR: Ingmar Bergman
CAST: Josef Köstlinger, Irma Urrila, Håkan Hagegård, Birgit Nordin
MY RATING: 8/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 91% Fresh
PLOT: Valiant prince Tamino and his zestful sidekick Papageno are recruited by the Queen of the Night to save her daughter from the clutches of evil.
Here lies the noble, magical illusion of the theater. Nothing is; everything represents. – Ingmar Bergman
Ingmar Bergman’s whimsical staging of Mozart’s opera The Magic Flute is a movie made by a theater fan, for theater fans…and to a certain degree, it’s about theater fans. I use the word “staging” instead of “film of” because, throughout the movie, Bergman never once lets us forget that we’re watching a staged production. The opera’s overture plays over shots of the audience members, and at intermission we watch actors passing the time by playing chess or smoking where they shouldn’t be. Once or twice, we see the hands of the stage crew as they move from one “cue card” to the next. Fishing wire is clearly visible when objects “float.” But the very artificiality of the production is what makes it so charming. It celebrates artifice and scorns reality. It wouldn’t surprise me if this were one of the favorite films of Tim Burton or Terry Gilliam.
Since my only previous knowledge of the story of The Magic Flute comes from a precious few scenes in the film Amadeus (1984), here’s a brief summary for anyone else who knows as much about opera as I do. The brave, handsome prince Tamino and his enthusiastic sidekick Papageno are recruited by the Queen of the Night to rescue her beautiful daughter, Pamina, from the clutches of the evil Sarastro. Before the opera is over, there will be revelations, separations, reunions, laughter, tears, semi-divine intervention, and even an operatic strip-tease. There are monsters, woodland creatures, villains, three angelic young boys in a hot air balloon, and, of course, a magic flute. And it’s all portrayed as it might be seen if we were watching it on a real stage in a real theater, with some obvious cinematic licenses taken with time and space.
I’m gonna be brutally honest: having never seen an opera, I had moderate-to-low expectations of how much I would enjoy it, even if the music is by my second-favorite classical composer of all time. (Beethoven is the king, and that is that.) But Bergman’s film sidestepped my expectations by not trying to present anything in a realistic way, or by simply staging a live production and just filming it from multiple cameras. By keeping everything clearly artificial, clearly staged, and occasionally using clever movie tricks, The Magic Flute held my attention, making me curious about what other tricks Bergman might have up his sleeve.
For example, he’ll start a scene with a wide shot, showing the entire stage with the flats and fake backdrops, then cut to a medium shot, making us think we’re in the space we just were, then panning over to reveal a completely separate set that was invisible before. But because it’s been established that we’re in the realm of theater, this kind of spatial paradox isn’t jarring, it’s almost expected. You can get away with certain things in theater, especially opera, especially in a fantasy, that would never fly in a regular movie. In The Magic Flute, a person’s face can be completely made over with a simple edit. A picture in a locket can come to life. A journey through a fantastic hellscape can be suggested by clever editing and careful camera placement.
But what if you simply don’t like opera? Is The Magic Flute enough to convert you? I mean…maybe? If you’re a fan of the films of Terry Gilliam, particularly Brazil (1985) and The Adventures of Baron Munchausen (1988), then this movie is going to be right up your alley. They share the same visual strategies and production design sensibilities. Even if you believe you don’t like opera, The Magic Flute could still win you over for at least this one movie, simply because it’s such fun to look at.
Looking back over what I’ve written so far, I don’t believe I’ve accurately conveyed how the deliberate “fakeness” of the film enhances its effectiveness. Live theater has the ability to get audiences to suspend their disbelief in a way that film cannot always achieve. I’ve seen community theater productions where, for example, the walls of a café are supposed to “fly” off the stage revealing a night sky, and the effect was accomplished by simple lighting tricks. A clubhouse foyer can be magically transformed into a golf course with a green carpet and some more selective lighting. In live theater, the audience is constantly aware that it’s fake, but when they’re in the grip of a good story, their mind fills in the blanks. That’s the effect Bergman is going for in The Magic Flute, and it works.
So, in the end, what you have here is a love letter to the stage, to opera, to Mozart, to fantasy. Throughout the film, Bergman will cut to the face of young girl, an audience member, who watches with rapt attention and an almost Mona Lisa-esque smile. Not only is he reminding us, the viewer, that this is a staged production, but maybe he’s also sending a reminder to filmmakers to never forget that, for a movie or play or opera to work, you have to remember who you’re making it for: the paying audience. Speaking as an occasional audience member myself, I know that, when I buy a ticket, I want to be taken out of myself. I want to believe that a man can fly, or that a wooden puppet can come to life, or that a valiant prince can overcome three tasks to win the heart of his beloved. The Magic Flute is a tribute to the magic-makers and the storytellers, to the genius of Mozart, and to the people out there in the dark who make it all possible.
2 UNPAID MOVIE CRITICS!!!! 