In selected cinemas nationwide now.
In the wake of recent terrible events, there has been much reflection by those who live in the cities affected by such public trauma. “London is stronger than this,” we’re told. “This is Manchester, we do things differently here.” It’s as if these outrages have been an affront against the cities themselves, rather than the citizenry. Mark Cousins’ fictional debut, Stockholm, My Love contemplates this symbiotic relationship between a city and its inhabitants, pulling the focus in tight to one woman.
That woman is Alva (Neneh Cherry), an architect in town to give a lecture. Instead, haunted by some personal trauma, she meanders through the Swedish capital, musing on how its residents have shaped the city, and the ways in which it has shaped them.
Like his previous cinematic essay, I Am Belfast, Stockholm, My Love is an ode to the city it depicts. To Alva, drawn to its architectural modernity, it provides both succour and salve, even as it remains the place that lurks in her past and caused her such pain. Cousins and co-writer Anita Oxburgh have divided the film into three distinct acts. In the first, Alva’s narration is addressed in English to her immigrant father. The second is in Swedish, to the victim of the tragedy in which she was involved. The third is to Stockholm itself, in text and song.
As arresting and beautiful as the visuals are – Cousins sharing cinematography duties with the brilliant Christopher Doyle (In the Mood for Love, Hero) – there is also a deeply literary mood to the film. We see a bust of August Strindberg. We hear an extract from Crime and Punishment, evoking the themes of guilt and redemption. In Alva’s wander, there is much of Leopold Bloom’s epic odyssey through Dublin. This Joycean element is very much hand-in-hand with the modernist structure of its narrative, as well as the architecture of the city itself.
Perhaps the strongest element of the film, due in part to the abstract, dream-like narrative and segmented structure, is that the artifice of its fiction falls away and we almost take it as face value. It is shot as documentary, with the images coming first and the script written afterwards. This primacy of images brings to mind Terrence Malick’s Knight of Cups. However, while Stockholm, My Love is undoubtedly an occasional victim of self-indulgence, it has none of the maddening solipsism that blighted Malick’s film.
Is it a wholly satisfying experience? While it does at times stretch the patience and labour its message, there is always a particularly arresting image or moment of clarity just around the corner. Also, Cherry is engaging in a tricky role, requiring real unspoken charisma. As with much experimental cinema however, it’s a film to admire in its scope and ambition, but isn’t one to which many will return for multiple viewings.