the rainbow
by Douglas Messerli
Tor
Fretheim (screenplay), Frank Mosvold (director) Kysset som fikk snøen til å
smelte (A Kiss in the Snow) / 1997
I say this with a sense of humor, realizing
its absurd stereotypical assertions, but sometimes it does seem to me that
Norwegian theater and screen writers have a habit of making a great deal out of
nothing while making little out of highly significant events. A long stare out
a window might seem to signify something of immense metaphysical significance
while a roaring inferno of a fire in the orphanage might be dismissed as a
casual misuse of a match. The latter is, of course, out of Ibsen, and the fire
is of some importance since Mrs. Alving did not insure the building dedicated
to the memory of her late husband; but since she finally comes to realize just
how much she hated her husband and the disaster he has brought upon her son,
she’s not really so very upset by the new building’s destruction. The long
stare occurs in nearly every Norwegian play and movie I have ever witnessed,
spilling over to the neighboring Swedish films of Ingmar Bergman and others.
There is also a long stare out of the window of the apartment building
in which Peder lives and into which the
new tenant Stian has just moved, that window observation saying a great deal
about both boys who—after the pretense of their first meeting when Stian (Stian
Barsnes Simonsen) visits Peder (Kristian Dale Hakkelberg) to borrow a pair of pliers to work on
his bicycle—are fascinated with one another at first sight.
By
the very next scene we see Stian dancing with Cecile, while Peder sits in the
room where his previous friends seem to having an enjoyable time, he staring
away into space, not appearing to care for their company and refusing, when
asked by another girl, to dance. He suddenly seems like the new boy, while
Stian was become an insider.
When Stian later queries about his relationship with Cecile, whether or
not she is his girlfriend, he answers “sort of,” yet explains that they are not
really dating. But when Stian invites him to join him and some friends for
dinner at a local hang-out, Peder states he has to help his mother.
In
short, the handsome new boy has almost appeared to usurp Peder’s role in his
own social community—although by this time already, only about 7 minutes into a
short 21-minute film, the camera has made it quite clear through the covert
glances of both boys that they are attracted to one another. Perhaps what the
dialogue by Tor Fretheim is telling us, as opposed to Frank Mosvold’s
direction, is that the boys do not yet quite know where they stand, not only in
relationship to one another, but concerning sexuality in general.
In
any coming-of-age American or British film the Peder figure would have already
been discussing his confusion with his best friend, Cecile, who might have
helped him realize that he was gay and argued that he more openly express his
feelings; 4-5 minutes later they might have been in each other’s arms (I
present as evidence my often-cited “coming-of-age” movie models, Get Real and
Edge of Seventeen, both released less than one year after this short).
In this version of that genre, however, his girlfriend is his competitor—or at
least she thinks she is, even if Stian’s long sidelong gaze at Peder during his
dance reveals something else.
The
only time the now brooding Peder seems to come out of his funk is when, joining
both Cecile and Stian in a winter walk they begin to make snow angels in a
nearby park, the boys briefly wrestling before Stian bends down to suddenly
plant a kiss upon Peder’s pretty mouth.
Peder quickly finds an excuse to head back home, and Cecile asks Stian
why he has done that, he answering in the simplest way possible, with a slight
giggle in his voice, “I don’t know.” It is almost as if it didn’t really
happen.
Peder makes no response, but simply sits quietly, afraid to express his
own feelings which the cinematography of Brian Harding—with its close-up focus
of the camera lens upon Peder as he lies awake in his bed masturbating and
after watching from his high apartment window Stian and Cecile below, with his
memory of Cecile’s previous comments, “Do you think he’s good looking?” and “I think I’m in love” haunting him as
expressions now of his own feelings—giving evidence to the causes of his
brooding quietude.
As the cliché goes, these two boys have simply met at the wrong time in
their lives, for Stian soon after reports that he will be moving to Bergen to
live with his father, a city on the other coast of Norway which to people on
eastern Oslo side of the country seems as far away as Iceland.
It is only at that moment that is friends seem to provide some possible
sense of resistance to the natural course of events, Cecile asking why he can’t
make his own decision about where he lives since at 16 he of legal age, Peder
questioning him about how it might affect his schooling.
Stian’s admission of love comes, too late of course, in the form of a
letter:
Dear Peder,
I hope you are not mad at me for not writing sooner. I have tried many
times. I hope you are with Cecile. That all is like before you met me. I
didn’t mean to take her from you. I just wanted her as a friend so that
I
could be with you. You have probably forgotten about making angels
in
the snow. Your angel came out so nice. I just had to kiss you. You may
not believe in miracles, but that kiss made the snow melt. I wish you
could have seen the rainbow I saw. Please don’t get angry with me or
think bad thoughts. That’s when I realized I was in love with you.
Your friend Stian.
Finally perhaps Peder can also see the rainbow. At least in the film’s
final scene the sun has come out.
Los Angeles, February 6, 2021
Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog and
World Cinema Review (February 2021).
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