And here’s the proof (90 proof, that is… Plymouth)

Of course we knew this would happen… not the martini – its volumetric perfection (in the virtual dark) was unexpected. The napkin below remained unbesmirched by liquid, at least until the first sip. Still… there you have it, olives and all.

More than once, a lesson has been taught, but persistently (naively?) this lesson remains unlearned. What am I talking about? Last week, we had an minor influx of Swedes and, having not yet selected a feature for this Thursday night, I somewhat stereotypingly promised them a Bergman movie next time. We were well overdue for a Bergman anyway. The thing that we just knew would happen? Not one Swede in the house.

The notion of showing Bergman to the Swedish reminded of the time that my mother made spaghetti and meatballs for a crew of Italian-Canadian bricklayers who were bivouacked in our basement during the construction of our new home in Canada in the sixties. Although it tasted good, it didn’t seem authentically Italian, even to a nine year old. The bricklayers were polite and ate it all up. Laying bricks is hard work.

Happily, we had a house full of Russians and The Silence remains a masterpiece, Swedish audience or not.

More about this film on IMDb