Gotta love the Scandis. They are collectively mad as a bucket of barking frogs. Having taken over most of the known universe with their particularly chilling brand of Nordic noir, they’re stepping up a notch. The Sloth can only assume A Pigeon Sat On A Branch was conceived during the longest night of the coldest, darkest Nordic Winter, such is the inky, deadpan depth of its comic and philosophical blackness.
Frankly we’re at a loss to explain any kind of plot. Rather, it’s a surreal mix of sketches, vignettes and snippets of life happening around town in 1940’s Gothenburg. We visit Limping Lotta’s Bar, where her loyal customers join in a rousing, impromptu song to the tune of Glory Glory Hallelujah, agreeing to pay for their drinks by a kiss. We follow two morose salesman peddling their comedy vampire fangs and Uncle One-Tooth masks to penniless shopkeepers. And hang out in a cafe where a King’s horseman, complete with prancing steed, enters to shoo all the women out before His Majesty himself descends for a drink.
So what exactly is it about? Well, basically the contemplation of death. Shot in a palette of khaki and beige, its wan and melancholic characters stand immobile, stare into space and wander slowly and ponderously in and out of characterless interiors, mostly in complete silence but occasionally underscored by an incongruously cheery waltz or the occasional song, all searching for meaning in their drab, colourless existences. Gothenburg essentially needs one socking great shot of Prozac.
If this all sounds unspeakably grim, it isn’t (apart from a scene with a monkey which we’ll spare you. Oh, and a scene where us Brits don’t come off too well. But apart from that…). We laughed out loud at several points and quickly succumbed to the hypnotic lull of its stately, measured pace. Granted, it’s not for everyone but if you like your humour of the very blackest persuasion and balanced with a measure of sad melancholy, it might just tickle your fancy.
UK release 8 May