Cult Review
Senior Film Conservator
Honestly, only if you have a very specific craving for early 30s Swedish tavern atmosphere. If you want a plot, look elsewhere. People who love historical curiosities might dig it, but if you’re looking for something with pacing or a point, you’re going to be bored to tears within ten minutes.
The whole thing feels less like a movie and more like someone set up a camera in a pub and said, 'Okay, act like you’re having the time of your lives.' Some of the extras look genuinely terrified of the saxophone player. I don't blame them.
There’s this constant, aggressive cheerfulness that feels totally forced. It’s 1932 Stockholm, and everyone is trying so hard to sell the 'good life' at the inn. The Bellman songs are fine if you’re into that, but the sound quality is so tinny it sounds like it’s being piped through a straw.
Greta Söderberg pops up here and there, mostly just smiling and holding a glass. She seems like she’d rather be literally anywhere else. It reminds me of the awkward, forced energy in Alice at the Rodeo, where the performers look like they’ve been told they’ll be docked pay if they stop grinning.
Every time the music stops, there’s this weird, dead air. You can hear the projector whirring or just the sound of people shuffling their feet. It’s deeply uncomfortable. It makes me miss the slightly more coherent structure of The Installment Collector, which at least had a desk and a purpose.
I caught myself staring at the wall patterns behind the bar for five minutes straight. They are surprisingly intricate. That’s the most interesting thing that happens in the entire second act.
Verdict: It’s a time capsule, not a movie. Watch it if you want to see what a bad night at a Stockholm pub looked like 90 years ago. Otherwise, maybe just go pour yourself a drink and hum a tune instead. It’ll be a better use of your time. 🍻

Year
1932
IMDb Rating
—

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Deciphering the legacy of transgressive cult cinema.
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