At first blush, Everlasting Moments seems like a litany of art-house clichés. Set in early 20th century Sweden, its saga of a quiet, strong-willed woman and her lout of a husband sounds pretentious enough to starch a collar, but the film transcends the sum of its well-worn plot. The great Swedish director Jan Troell, whose works include 1971’s masterpiece The Emigrants, creates a work that is elegiac, exquisite and, appropriately enough, filled with memorable moments.
Everlasting Moments is based on the life of Troell’s wife’s great-aunt, and the director’s personal connection to the material is palpable. Our heroine, Maria (Maria Heiskanen), is a Finnish native with the misfortune of being married to dockworker Sigfrid Larsson (Mikael Persbrandt). She raises their impoverished, ever-expanding brood while “Sigge,” as he is called, succumbs to booze and barmaids.
Money is a continual struggle for the family. Maria, who works as a maid and seamstress, eventually visits a local photography store in hopes of selling a pricey Contessa camera she had won years earlier in a lottery.
The store’s proprietor, a courtly older gent named Pedersen (Jesper Christensen), senses in Maria an untapped longing for self-expression. He persuades Maria not to sell the camera, instead teaching her how to use it. Maria discovers she is a natural. “Not everyone is endowed with the gift of seeing,” Pedersen tells her admiringly.
There is an unspoken but clear affection between these two. Maria’s exploration as an amateur photographer provides her a life away from the realm of the abusive Sigge, especially when he gets swept up in a labor strike and notions of socialism. Maria’s confidence behind the camera lens seeps into her life outside of photography, as her artistic awakening is observed by her eldest daughter, Maja (Callin Öhrval), who narrates the movie.
Episodic and deliberately paced, Everlasting Moments favors finely detailed observations that reflect the beauty in the seemingly prosaic. Troell, who served as his own cinematographer along with Mischa Gavrjusjov, lingers on fleeting but gorgeous imagery. An ostracized young girl runs on an icy lake and evaporates into a blinding white fog. A dirigible floats across a cloudless sky, casting its long shadow over the town.
The actors are just as affecting. Heiskanen’s face conveys Maria’s stoic capacity to endure hardship, but her fragility is evident when she reacts to Pedersen’s kindness. Equally impressive is Persbrandt. He has the arguably more challenging task of finding the humanity in what easily could be a caricature of a brute.
Cutting to the Chase with Phil Bacharach 