Rising stars Evin Ahmad and Youssef Skhayri, as Yasmine and Halim, the "Sultan of Thought, " One Eye Red, directed by Daniel Wallentin. Photo: Jonas Jörneberg / Tre Vänner

Today, many would argue that in fact these were not specifically Swedish phenomena—except, perhaps, the midsummer celebrations—and that it was not so much a case of in-depth study as of Nutley in effect exploiting our own stereotyped images of Swedes as a folksy, homogenous group. In short, he took our own expectations of what social comments should tell us about contemporary life, and filmed them for us.

The title of social commentator has always been much sought after in Sweden. Only a few years ago, Colin Nutley topped the list (he is still working, and drawing audiences, even if he is no longer viewed as Mr. Sweden), but nowadays the label is more often attached to filmmakers who report from Sweden’s segregated city suburbs.

Like most Western countries, Sweden has integration problems, which the film industry has largely chosen to approach through humor. For instance, in One Eye Red (Ett Öga Rött) from 2007, a teenage boy who calls himself the Sultan of Thought suffers at the sight of his father trying to become assimilated by means of the hateful—in the boy’s eyes—government integration plan. The father tries to absorb typically Swedish habits such as eating Kalles Kaviar (a pink caviar sandwich spread) and listening to ABBA, while at the same time discarding his own customs and traditions, causing his son to rebel.

In Ciao Bella, which targets young audiences, a Swedish-Persian youth pretends to be Italian to have a chance at a date with a Swedish girl. In Elixir, a group of young immigrants discover a potion that quickly and effectively turns them into mild-mannered “Sweedies.”

The two films share the same approach in that they directly pinpoint the highly topical and very real identity problems associated with arriving in a new and totally strange country as an immigrant.

The same message can also be conveyed with music, as in Kidz in da Hood (Förortsungar)—an updated version of an old Swedish musical entitled “Guttersnipes” (Rännstensungar). The project originally sounded hopeless, since musicals were widely considered a dead horse in Sweden. But after the opening, the prophets of doom had to eat their words. Kidz in da Hood sold well and won several prizes at the Golden Beetle Gala (Guldbaggegalan), Sweden’s annual film awards ceremony.

And more musicals are on the way. Mani Masserat Agah, who made his directing debut with Ciao Bella, and who is well worth keeping an eye on, is planning what he describes as “a cross between Dirty Dancing and Brokeback Mountain.”

Stureplan in Stockholm—a small central square that has come to symbolize the capital’s bar and nightclub scene for high flyers—has suddenly become a popular setting for Swedish feature films. “Fast Cash” (Snabba cash), a crime novel about three young men involved in the drug trade in the shadows of Stureplan, was a surprise bestseller and is being adapted for the screen in 2008, while one of the most critically acclaimed Swedish films of 2007, Darling, describes the culture clash between an unemployed middle-aged man and a young woman from the Stureplan scene.

No, it’s not a love story. In gender-minded Swedish cinema, the cliché pairing of young woman and older man is no longer on the cards. Rather, it is a beautifully filmed, realistic account of the difficulty—perhaps even the impossibility—of connecting across both class and age lines. The film attracted attention not only because of its cinematic qualities, but also because it had previously been refused a production subsidy by the Swedish Film Institute. (The Swedish Film Institute, whose board is government-appointed, distributes funding in various forms to the Swedish film industry. The bulk of production subsidies go to movies that the Institute’s consultants decide are worth investing in. There are two such consultants for feature films and they serve for three-year periods). Otherwise, the Swedish capital has figured little on the silver screen, at least in recent years.

Up until the mid-1990s, though, Swedish films were usually set in Stockholm, while the rest of the country played a subordinate role. But that decade also saw the beginnings of a campaign to establish regional filmmaking. Most successful in this respect was the regional resource and production center in western Sweden, Film i Väst (Film West). Here, in what an optimistic producer dubbed Trollywood (after Trollhättan, the town in which Film i Väst is based), Denmark’s Lars von Trier has directed big names such as Nicole Kidman, Lauren Bacall and Björk (in Dogville, Manderlay, and Dancer in the Dark). But most importantly, it has produced a growing number of Swedish films that dare to suggest Sweden is more than just Stockholm.

Wolf, a film on a controversial issue, directed by Daniel Alfredson. Photo: Aina Bye / Migma Film AB 

The cameras are still rolling in the west, but over the years production centers in other regions, particularly Filmpool Nord way up in northern Sweden, have become experts at tempting film workers away from Stockholm to less densely populated areas. In 2007–2008, a number of films opened that had been produced in the north, either wholly or in part. They included major projects such as Sunstorm (Solstorm), Let the Right One In (Låt den rätte komma in) and Wolf (Varg)—the latter a drama focusing on the wolf’s right to live, a controversial issue that is fiercely debated in some parts of Sweden.

Also, the capital has come into its own once again with a number of successful productions, such as the above-mentioned Darling and One Eye Red, a comedy entitled Wonderful and Loved by All (Underbar och älskad av alla), and a dog cartoon, Rocky. No, he’s not a Swedish Lassie but a listless, arrogant, hip hop-loving and highly entertaining mongrel that’s been shambling around the pages of comic albums and strips for the past decade or so and is now making his debut as an animated 3D character both in the cinema and in short TV features. Originally a small-scale social commentary project, Rocky has now grown into a minor empire. Many can identify with creator Martin Kellerman’s wry portrayal of big-city life and cool bar scenes, and those who don’t would probably like to.