cinema – Cinema history

By Kevin Brianton, Adjunct Senior Research Fellow, La Trobe University, Melbourne, Australia.

The documentary Being Bo Widerberg (2025) (I huvudet på Bo), currently being shown at the 2026 Nordic Film Festival, aims to bring an important Swedish director, Bo Widerberg (1930-1997), out of the shadow of the Swedish colossus Ingmar Bergman and into the light. It presents a portrait of a chaotic, charismatic, deeply flawed, and massively talented individual. Directed by Jon Asp and Mattias Nohrborg, the documentary charts Widerberg’s career from his early days as a fierce, working-class novelist and film critic in Malmö to his international triumphs at Cannes. After writing some novels and collections of short stories, Widerberg published a collection of critical essays, The Vision of Swedish Film (1962), (Visionen i svensk film). As a film critic, Widerberg was scathingly critical of Scandinavian cinema at the time, particularly of Bergman, whose work focused on deep metaphysical, existential, and psychological themes. Films such as The Seventh Seal (1957) were then seen as the high point of Swedish cinema. Because both were Swedish, Widerberg was often compared to the more famous director. Based on interviews in the documentary and his terse, monosyllabic answers, he did not enjoy the comparison.

Long after the critical dust of this dispute had settled, the Swedish film magazine FLM in 2012 surveyed 50 critics and film experts to name the greatest Swedish films of all time. The top-ranked film was the 1921 silent classic The Phantom Carriage (Körkarlen). Widerberg came in second with Raven’s End (1963). He may have been happy to know that Bergman’s films were below him, but he managed two in the top ten, with Fanny and Alexander (1982) ranked fifth and Persona (1966) ranked sixth. However, in 2022, FLM ran a new poll with 72 participants, and Raven’s End slipped to fourth, with Persona taking third, while Fanny and Alexander dropped to ninth. Widerberg is still a rival of Bergman, but he is certainly a lesser known director.

While he rejected Bergman’s approach, Widerberg was deeply influenced and excited by the French New Wave, particularly Truffaut’s The 400 Blows (1959). Widerberg wanted to make films along these lines, featuring people with jobs who lived in the real world. He put these ideas to the test with his feature film debut, The Baby Carriage (1963). In the same year, he directed Raven’s End, in which the central character tries to become a writer while grappling with poverty and an alcoholic father. Widerberg painted a portrait of a youthful spirit grappling with working-class despair. It is certainly his most autobiographical work. What is immediately apparent from these two films is that Widerberg was willing to take chances, and often people living or wandering near the film set would become part of the film. This approach closely aligns with the view of the acclaimed Italian director Bernardo Bertolucci, who reportedly argued: “You always have to be ready to accept what real life presents you with.”

Widerberg’s first films were well received, and he found himself a regular feature in Cannes among the cinematic glitterati. Having succeeded on this critical front, he shifted direction and moved a world away from the French New Wave. His film Elvira Madigan (1967) received widespread international attention. It was a radical departure from his austere black-and-white films, featuring glorious colour cinematography accompanied by a stunning Mozart piano concerto. It is a staggeringly beautiful film, yet it tells the darkest of stories. A couple run away together in a highly romantic fashion, only to watch their lives disintegrate, ending in death.

Swedish poster for Elvira Madigan. Image courtesy of eMovieposter.

Following the success of Elvira Madigan, his cinematic career took a highly political turn with Ådalen 31 (1969). The film focuses on the shootings, in which Swedish military forces opened fire on labor demonstrators in the Swedish sawmill district of Ådalen, killing five people, including a young girl. These shootings led to the rewriting of Swedish labor law. The documentary shows that Widerberg used footage from the time’s protests to present the clash, giving an historical film a topical feel.

Swedish poster for *The Man on the Roof*. Image courtesy of eMovieposter.

Regarding his later cinema, the documentary focuses heavily on The Man on the Roof (1976), a pioneering Swedish crime film known for a helicopter crash in central Stockholm. It examines the crash in detail, including Widerberg filming the stunt from a highly dangerous position directly beneath the crashing helicopter – it was a real helicopter, and there was no CGI here – and the camera operators refused to do it. The film proved to be a massive box-office hit in Sweden.

While some time is devoted to this film, the documentary could have explored Widerberg’s influence on broader cinematic culture. Every major modern Nordic noir owes part of its formula to it. The film combines a grim procedural with deep societal critique. The director cast comedian Carl-Gustaf Lindstedt as Inspector Martin Beck. Rather than a slick Hollywood detective, Lindstedt portrayed Beck as an ordinary, world-weary, physically exhausted civil servant. This formula established the flawed detective image that defines modern characters such as Swedish police inspector Kurt Wallander, Danish police inspector Carl Mørck, or the Norwegian detective Harry Hole.

Equally, Elvira Madigan contains elements of cinematic beauty and outright horror that would reemerge in the United States-Swedish co-production Midsommar (2019). Both films share a striking visual irony: they mask devastating, fatal tragedies with the lush, sun-drenched beauty of the Scandinavian countryside. The documentary could have explored these and other aspects of Widerberg’s legacy more fully.

In the final section of his career, Widerberg made only four films over 16 years. But he did not follow the traditional arc of a director whose powers decline and whose films grow poorer. He continued to reinvent himself. His last film, All Things Fair (1995), was about a teacher’s affair with a student, played by his son Johan. The film received some critical acclaim at various European festivals and was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film.

Being Bo Widerberg offers some glimpses into the director’s private life, including his long string of extramarital affairs. It even suggests that the themes of Elvira Madigan were influenced by issues stemming from his marriage breakdown, but this intriguing line of thought is left hanging. Throughout the film, people who knew him offer insights into his character, yet no clear picture emerges. We see footage of him clearly enjoying his children. Yet it is said that Widerberg appeared uncomfortable with family life and created a family from his film crews and actors – the same was said of John Ford. A few sources faintly suggest that he was a manic depressive, but the idea is not properly explored or explained. The film is always interesting, but at times it jumps too abruptly from the personal to his cinema and back again, before moving quickly on to the next topic.

Regarding his cinema, Widerberg is presented as a director who constantly reinvented himself. He appears to be a man of immense creative energy, yet also self-destructive in his personal sphere. Despite his chaotic private life, his filmography is impressive and broad. From the French New Wave to beautiful pastoral settings with romantic drama to political films to family films to proto-Nordic noir, Widerberg emerges as a brilliant director who was willing to try anything. Being Bo Widerberg offers a compelling glimpse into the work of a neglected Swedish filmmaker and, hopefully, will encourage people to look again at his work.

Being Bo Widerberg (I huvudet på Bo) is currently screening at the 2026 Nordic Film Festival, along with a retrospective of Widerberg’s films featuring Raven’s End (1963), Elvira Madigan (1967), and Ådalen 31 (1969). Bergman’s Persona (1966) is also being shown.

In *Night People* (1954), Gregory Peck played an American colonel Stephen Van Dyke who was in charge of an operation to return a kidnapped American soldier called John Leatherby.
Image courtesy of eMoviePoster.

Kevin Brianton

Senior Lecturer Strategic Communication

As the Korean War petered out in 1953, and memories of the HUAC investigations began to fade, most of the real sting went out of anti-communist films. The new style of anti-communist film depicted Russia as a dangerous and determined enemy which had to be treated ruthlessly. In Night People (1954), Gregory Peck played an American colonel Stephen Van Dyke who was in charge of an operation to return a kidnapped American soldier called John Leatherby. The soldier had been kidnapped because the Russians wanted an anti-Nazi couple and hoped to swap the corporal for them. The film informed us that Himmler’s men now worked for the Russians, and they wanted their revenge on the couple.[1] The central conflict of the story rested between Van Dyke and the father of the soldier, ad American businessman Charles Leatherby played by Broderick Crawford. Leatherby felt that the Russians could be negotiated with as if they were hard-headed businessmen. Van Dyke refuted his ideas.

This is not a cash and carry business. You are not dealing with A & P. These are cannibals. Head hunting, blood thirsty cannibals who want to eat us up.[2]

The conflict between civilians and the military in dealing with the Russians was one of the central themes in many anti-communist films. Originally called The Cannibals, the film plays out the emerging confidence of dealing with the Russians. Crawford was identified with the Eisenhower administration by the fact that he played golf and had heavy political connections. Peck was a soldier who was on the cutting edge of the cold war in Berlin.

Charles Leatherby was a tough businessman who wanted results. He found that this attitude got him nowhere in the cold war diplomacy of Berlin. When he arrived at Berlin Airport, he asked State Department official Frederick Hobart what the situation was:

HOBART:	It’s another big squeeze apparently. We get them from time to time. You know. Yesterday, they held up the autobans and they cut phone lines into East Germany. Anything they can think of to make nuisances of themselves.
LEATHERBY:	What do you think they want really?
HOBART:	Well, for one thing they want us out of here?
LEATHERBY:	Alright so we get out?
HOBART:	Then they may take a fancy to Toledo.
LEATHERBY:	Are you trying to be funny?
HOBART:	… I’m only sure that whatever happens is not isolated. They kidnap a 19 year old boy, your son, and we can’t tell if its just a local needle or another Korea.[3]

By the end of the film, Leatherby had seen the error of his ways and realised that the military had the answers for the cold war. He told Van Dyke that he could not let two innocent people be exchanged for his son. Van Dyke replied that although it was a major decision for Leatherby, that his opinions had never mattered in the first place. The military, not the civilians, made the decisions about dealing with the Russians.

Van Dyke discovered that his mistress and contact with the Russians was a Soviet spy and fooled the Russians by swapping her for the soldier. When it was needed, Van Dyke was ruthless. After strangling and punching his former mistress, he had poisoned absinthe poured down her throat. Night People showed a blend of the paranoia of the early anti-communist films with the a return of an assurance that America had in its military. The opening sequence of marching soldiers, tanks and helicopters was quite impressive as they moved across the wide CinemaScope screen. Subversion still existed, but it was not from within the American ranks. It is interesting that they spy had been carefully replaced by Russians, rather than indoctrinated. The final scene had Van Dyke looking over the skyline of Berlin confident that he could handle the Russians. The film added a note of reassurance to anti-communist films that had been missing since The Big Lift. The more positive tone appeared to helped it at the box office. Variety ranked it 51^st, making $2.1 million.

In The McConnell Story (1955) directed by Gordon Douglas, a General introduced the story of an American ace who shot down more planes than any other person in Korea. He said that because of people like McConnell, women were safe in their homes, children in their schools. People were free because ‘there are no chains on your mind’.[4] When McConnell arrived in Korea, he was told that this was the communist testing ground. ‘If they succeed here, there’ll be no part of the world that’ll be safe’.[5] The role of the army was simply to slaughter and make them think twice before trying anything again. There was no mention of subversion within the American ranks. The threat was simply external. The film was reasonably popular and was ranked 27^th by Variety with rentals of $3.5 million.

[1] Linking the Soviet Union with the German Nazis in the popular imagination to become a totalitarian blur is discussed in Les K. Alder and Thomas G. Paterson, ‘Red Fascism: The Merger of Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia in the American Image of Totalitarianism, 1930s- 1950s,’ American Historical Review, April 1970, pp. 1046 – 1064.

[2] Night People, (d) Nunnally Johnson, Nunnally Johnson.

[3] Night People, op cit.

[4] McConnell Story, (d) Gordon Douglas, Ted Sherdeman.

[5] Ibid.

Tag: cinema

“Being Bo Widerberg” brings Swedish director back into the light

Night People (1954)