In a properly scripted world, cinematic greats such as Ingmar Bergmann would be granted the right to die on a day free of other celebrity deaths, in order that an appreciative audience might pay their last respects from the stalls, their view unimpeded by such distractions as passing actors casting their shadows across the screen of solemn remembrance, as they make an impromptu exit of their own. But as we know, the script to this world is in a constant process of being written, over-written and re-written at a nano-second's notice, in a rolling revue, without end or intermission.On this day that the death of Swedish director Ingmar Bergman was announced, there is a debate as to whether he, or comedian turned actor, Mike Reid, has had a bigger impact on our culture. For non-UK viewers, Reid starred as the hapless Frank Butcher, a troubled man with a turbulent past, whose presence of mindlessness condemned him to a set of eternally uncertain futures – in TV's 'East Enders', the schl-epic soap-opera that stupefied a nation.
Continually bearing the weight of an uncaring world on his bulky frame, Frank navigated his way through one crisis to the next, buoyed along by the type of optimism only the terminally condemned can truly survive on, escorted through the dips and troughs of his sinking fortunes by his wife Pat, a veritable battleship of a character, armed with a face of thunder and a tongue of flame, frequent destroyer of familial threats that darkened their horizons.
Whilst hundreds of miles away, across the other side of the North Sea, on an island called Fårö, that seems only to have existed in black and white, lived a man not quite as insular as his films would have us believe, a director not known for his comedic touch, but one who nevertheless profoundly changed the way in which mid to late 20th century film-goers would experience cinematic interpretations of a post-war world that was growing up fast.
As with Reid's early stage career, Bergmann's directing began with a comedy, 'Smiles of a Summer Night' which Woody Allen referenced in one of his works, “Midsummer's Night Sex Comedy” - both Allen and Bergmann shared a dislike for watching their own films – they may have watched each other's, although whether Mike Reid did a Larry Sanders and watched his own shows, I have no idea. Perhaps after a hard day's graft propping up the bar in the Vic, he preferred to cast aside his persona and watch films directed by the greats. Who knows, on their days off, Allen and Bergmann may conceivably have opted to check in on Albert Square, if only to comfort themselves that nothing they could come up with would ever match the despair etched into the faces and voices of faux traders and vaudeville publicans, drivelling their way through dreary lives, like so much old froth pouring down the glass-washer's arms.
It was only towards the end of his career when he released the autobiographical 'Fanny and Alexander', that Bergmann ventured into colour, permitting himself, and us, another brief glimpse of an optimism that was in a way similar to Frank Butcher's - born of hopelessness, but one that was always, somehow, going to have the last laugh, before the final curtain got in on the act.
I'm not sure that either character really affected my culture to any noticeable degree, so I'd have to declare it a drawn result; but suffice it to say, the world tonight is bereft of two more flickering souls that once lit up our nights. (or shone through our days – whichever you will).
Of course, anyone with even a passing interest in either of these characters will realise that the above obit is but a passing pastiche, written for dramatic effect with only the merest of nods in the direction of a comprehensive appreciation of the men and their works. Fortunately, we live in the age of the hyper-link, and those contained herein should serve to provide further highlights.
see also: Michelangelo Antonioni - Director of 'Blow-Up', dead at 94.
image from 'The Seventh Seal', Ingmar Bergman, 1957
