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 were his previous friends
seem to having a enjoyable time, 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-sited “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.
But, obviously, we know it is the
central event in this film whose title makes note of that fact. In kissing Peter,
Stian has officially come out—at least to himself, later admitting his love for
Peder. Yet here, as in so many Nordic films, guilt immediately takes hold of
his mind—not from a religious belief for behaving in an “unnatural” manner, but
from a sense of social responsibility, having intruded upon Cecile’s previous camaraderie
with Peder. Indeed, Stian later appears at Peder’s apartment to seek out his
forgiveness, stating that he must also apologize to Cecile as well.
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 watches 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 effect his schooling.
Stian’s admission of love comes, too
late of course, in the form of a letter:
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.
Los Angeles, February 6, 2021
Reprinted
from My Queer Cinema blog and World Cinema Review (February
2021).
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