Early 60s, Sweden. A social experiment. Six hopelessly criminal juveniles are packed in a guesthouse – cynically named Objectivity – and loosely supervised by social workers and a reverend. The public servants speak of a new lease on life, God's servant of how Jesus forgives; all speak on their own behalf. We follow the young men closely and sense their need to break out, to be young, to be out of that house. We learn that their world, in or out, is eternally equally irrelevant.

“Jesus Christ has promised to forgive you 490 times, whatever you have done… because those were his words. But about the 491st time… He has given no words. None at all.”

– Reverend Mild

Vilgot Sjöman's 491 is an extremely, bleak, aggressive, and hopeless depiction of youth in postwar Sweden. Forgiveness is a tool of power, a method of control. And as empty as a repetitive lecture.

“I want to be good, but no one believes me. Is it any wonder I cry?”

– David Holm

– All I can offer is pancakes? Will they do?

– They'll do just fine.

– We're out of love potion. What now?

– Take this one, for colic and bunions. What matters is how the bottle looks and how the potion tastes.

#Sisters Ester and Anna arrive with Anna's son Johan in the small Central European town of Timoka. The country verges on the brink of war. Unwell Ester is confined to her hotel room, Anna roams Timoka's establishments, Johan wanders the hotel corridors.

“You need to watch your step among all the ghosts and memories.”

– Ester

It's hard to watch #Bergman's Tystnaden without #StanleyKubrick's ghosts sidling in. Tystnaden however doesn't need consternation to cause dread. The interaction and lack thereof between the three leads and the few extras translate into something merely tangible and evermore frightful.