Understated yet compelling, "Cool and Crazy" effortlessly explores the paradoxes of past vs. present, community vs. isolation, and religion vs. secularism.This well-received full-length documentary from acclaimed Norwegian director Knut Erik Jenson provides an in-depth look at the Berlevåg Men's Choir – its music, its travels, and most importantly, its members. It is a compilation of the choir's performances, of candid interviews with the men, and of the stark winter environment of Finnmark. Slow-moving and without much action, the film mirrors daily life in the small northern Norwegian village: Berlevåg is a quiet, traditional fishing community with strong ties to the church. Yet the effects of globalization and modernization are seeping into this village, displacing much of the population and secularizing and isolating the remaining inhabitants. Even an audience that knows little about rural Scandinavian culture is familiar with this disturbing process. The conflict between past and present is an international theme that touches the heart of many. American viewers leave "Cool and Crazy" with a sense of sympathy and connection that most foreign documentaries fail to impart.
The principal paradox in this film is that between past and present. As one of the choir members explains, Berlevåg was once a flourishing fishing community. Not only did fishing provide employment, it was the backbone of the village's culture. One of the choir's songs is about working in the fishing factory. The lyrics describe the various jobs involved in filleting the fish and light-heartedly poke fun at the gendered dimension of the work. Many other songs discuss fishing more subtly, referring to the sea as the source of life or as Mother Nature herself. But times are changing. Many of Berlevåg's residents have migrated to cities in order to pursue a more "modern" lifestyle. "Money controls the people," one of the singers explains. The decrease in fisheries from five to one, lack of cars or pedestrians on the street, and excess of elderly choir members all confirm the abandonment. Berlevåg is a shell of its former self. Yet all is not lost. One of the choir's youngest members, probably in his late twenties or early thirties, declares that he and his wife plan to stay in the village because it is a good place to raise their three children. An older member tells us that his grandchildren live in the village as well. And then there's the middle-aged fisherman who could have been a mathematician but decided to spend his life as a fisherman, asking with a smile, "Why strive for more when you have a fulfilling life?" All of these signs point to a past that, while fading, is far from lost.
As the majority of people leave Berlevåg in the name of modernization, the community disintegrates and those few that remain find themselves newly isolated. A number of men in the choir speak of a time when the port was thick with ships and the fisheries bustled with busy men and women. Their voices are filled with nostalgia, faces heavy with wrinkles. Even their houses have a sad silence. One of the most poignant moments of the film is when an elderly choir member says "I especially appreciate the rehearsals now that I'm alone." He is taking about the death of his long-time girlfriend, but the audience understands he is also referring to the deeper loneliness of a greater abandonment. This sense of isolation is enforced by the frequent shots of nature: windy fields, calm ocean, snowy skies – all desolate and remote, yet profoundly beautiful. The subtle, distinct beauty of this environment speaks to the fact that Berlevåg's community, like the past, is not gone. The focus of the film, after all, is a tight-knit group of men that comes together not only to sing, but also to chat, cook, and offer support. An apt example of this positive male culture is the scene in which two of the men are preparing a meal together, gently mocking one another about his weight. There is no violence, no underlying cruelty or anger – just good friends having fun. What's more, the viewer observes a number of middle-aged men and a few young men as the camera slowly pans across the choir. The fact that the choir is multi-generational inspires hope for the future. Perhaps the younger men can act as a bridge between past, present, and future. Perhaps the community will carry on in the years to come, even in the form of a small men's choir.
Less the result of modernization and more the result of globalization, Berlevåg is becoming increasingly secularized. One can plainly see Christianity's mark on the village: the simple white church on the hill, the deeply religious lyrics and hymnal quality of many of the choir's songs. Yet the church and the music are more symbols than indications of a strong, active faith. Religion is clearly a thing of the past. Never do we see a church service in session. Never do the choir members mention God or Christ. Even the church organist openly considers himself an atheist or agnostic. And then there's the staunch communist, the ultimate representation of secularity. Unlike that between past and present or community and isolation, this paradox seems to lack complexity. Berlevåg appears to be moving distinctly from religion to secularism, with no sign of indecisiveness. Yet the choir's songs – undeniably placed at the center of the film – speak of spirituality, the bible, and Christian values. Is the singing of this music simply a tribute to the past, to things long gone never to return again? Or does it suggest a vague preservation, even continuation of these beliefs? The viewer leaves the film, somewhat uneasily, without an answer to this question. But perhaps that is Jenson's point: "Cool and Crazy" represents a village – and a world – caught smack dab in the middle of the past and the future. And no one knows where we'll end up.
The principal paradox in this film is that between past and present. As one of the choir members explains, Berlevåg was once a flourishing fishing community. Not only did fishing provide employment, it was the backbone of the village's culture. One of the choir's songs is about working in the fishing factory. The lyrics describe the various jobs involved in filleting the fish and light-heartedly poke fun at the gendered dimension of the work. Many other songs discuss fishing more subtly, referring to the sea as the source of life or as Mother Nature herself. But times are changing. Many of Berlevåg's residents have migrated to cities in order to pursue a more "modern" lifestyle. "Money controls the people," one of the singers explains. The decrease in fisheries from five to one, lack of cars or pedestrians on the street, and excess of elderly choir members all confirm the abandonment. Berlevåg is a shell of its former self. Yet all is not lost. One of the choir's youngest members, probably in his late twenties or early thirties, declares that he and his wife plan to stay in the village because it is a good place to raise their three children. An older member tells us that his grandchildren live in the village as well. And then there's the middle-aged fisherman who could have been a mathematician but decided to spend his life as a fisherman, asking with a smile, "Why strive for more when you have a fulfilling life?" All of these signs point to a past that, while fading, is far from lost.
As the majority of people leave Berlevåg in the name of modernization, the community disintegrates and those few that remain find themselves newly isolated. A number of men in the choir speak of a time when the port was thick with ships and the fisheries bustled with busy men and women. Their voices are filled with nostalgia, faces heavy with wrinkles. Even their houses have a sad silence. One of the most poignant moments of the film is when an elderly choir member says "I especially appreciate the rehearsals now that I'm alone." He is taking about the death of his long-time girlfriend, but the audience understands he is also referring to the deeper loneliness of a greater abandonment. This sense of isolation is enforced by the frequent shots of nature: windy fields, calm ocean, snowy skies – all desolate and remote, yet profoundly beautiful. The subtle, distinct beauty of this environment speaks to the fact that Berlevåg's community, like the past, is not gone. The focus of the film, after all, is a tight-knit group of men that comes together not only to sing, but also to chat, cook, and offer support. An apt example of this positive male culture is the scene in which two of the men are preparing a meal together, gently mocking one another about his weight. There is no violence, no underlying cruelty or anger – just good friends having fun. What's more, the viewer observes a number of middle-aged men and a few young men as the camera slowly pans across the choir. The fact that the choir is multi-generational inspires hope for the future. Perhaps the younger men can act as a bridge between past, present, and future. Perhaps the community will carry on in the years to come, even in the form of a small men's choir.
Less the result of modernization and more the result of globalization, Berlevåg is becoming increasingly secularized. One can plainly see Christianity's mark on the village: the simple white church on the hill, the deeply religious lyrics and hymnal quality of many of the choir's songs. Yet the church and the music are more symbols than indications of a strong, active faith. Religion is clearly a thing of the past. Never do we see a church service in session. Never do the choir members mention God or Christ. Even the church organist openly considers himself an atheist or agnostic. And then there's the staunch communist, the ultimate representation of secularity. Unlike that between past and present or community and isolation, this paradox seems to lack complexity. Berlevåg appears to be moving distinctly from religion to secularism, with no sign of indecisiveness. Yet the choir's songs – undeniably placed at the center of the film – speak of spirituality, the bible, and Christian values. Is the singing of this music simply a tribute to the past, to things long gone never to return again? Or does it suggest a vague preservation, even continuation of these beliefs? The viewer leaves the film, somewhat uneasily, without an answer to this question. But perhaps that is Jenson's point: "Cool and Crazy" represents a village – and a world – caught smack dab in the middle of the past and the future. And no one knows where we'll end up.