Welcome to our Colossus Movie Guide for The Seventh Seal. This guide contains our detailed library of content covering key aspects of the movie’s plot, ending, meaning, and more. We encourage your comments to help us create the best possible guide. Thank you!
What is The Seventh Seal about?
The deeper meaning of The Seventh Seal lies in the universal struggle to live life even in the face of death. The film starts with Antonius Block confronting Death in a game of chess. Their match continues as he and a select troupe of wanderers travel towards Antonius’s castle, where Death awaits them. The journey to that castle and the characters themselves come to represent that treacherous trek that feels so strikingly and uncomfortably familiar. Each of these characters represents a different type of personality, a different aspect of the human psyche.
These characters are symbolic of all walks of life, but they also come to represent a singular human experience on Earth—all the questions we have about death and the afterlife; the struggle we have coping with the deafening silence of God; and the tension between living the life we want and the life we’re told to live. Above all else, The Seventh Seal is an exploration of how religion affects people who are already struggling to live their lives to the fullest. On top of finding mortal happiness, we are consumed by the “greater force” that reigns above us all (if one even exists). The weight of this existential dilemma can become overbearing—especially when it feels like Death is following us every step of the way.
Movie Guide table of contents
Cast
- Max von Sydow – Knight Antonius Block
- Gunnar Björnstrand – Squire Jöns
- Bengt Ekerot – Death
- Nils Poppe – Jof
- Bibi Andersson – Mia
- Åke Fridell – Blacksmith Plog
- Inga Gill – Lisa
- Erik Strandmark – Jonas Skat
- Bertil Anderberg – Raval
- Gunnel Lindblom – Mute girl
- Inga Landgré – Karin
- Maud Hansson – Witch
- Gunnar Olsson – Albertus Pictor
- Ingmar Bergman – Writer and director
The characters of The Seventh Seal explained
Let’s dig deeper into how filmmaker Ingmar Bergman examines that struggle. Let’s start this analysis by breaking down the main characters and how they, as a whole, come to represent the various parts of the human condition. Ultimately, this character breakdown will provide a blueprint for the film’s deeper meaning and what he was trying to say about living, about religion, about death.
Antonius Block and Jöns represent struggle with faith
Antonius Block is a knight returning from the Crusades, a series of religious wars that took place in the 12th and 13th centuries. The Crusades become a source of tension for Antonius’s character, as the war and mayhem that came at the hands of a religious war forces him to question religion itself. He questions the existence of God, of an afterlife. He wonders why there are no concrete answers to his questions about Heaven and what lies beyond death. Why must God remain so elusive, so quiet? “Faith is a torment,” Antonius says. “It is like loving someone who is out there in the darkness but never appears, no matter how loudly you call.” What was Antonius fighting for during the Crusades? He is petrified that only emptiness lies on the other side of death.
Death then becomes an antagonist for these fears. Take this conversation between Antonius and Death in the confessional:
Antonius: I want knowledge! Not faith, not assumptions, but knowledge. I want God to stretch out His hand, uncover His face and speak to me.
Death: But He remains silent.
Antonius: I call out to Him in the darkness. But it’s as if no one was there.
Death: Perhaps there isn’t anyone.
Antonius: Then life is a preposterous horror. No man can live faced with Death, knowing everything’s nothingness.
Jöns, Antonius’s squire, becomes an echo chamber for such doubt, such fear. Antonius is desperate to attach some deeper meaning to the Crusades and their battle for the greater good, but Jöns laughs at the pointlessness of the Crusades and what they were fighting for. “Our crusade was such madness that only a real idealist could have thought it up,” he says, mocking the Crusades by attaching its origin to man and not God.
Or think of the moment when the witch is being burned at the stake. To Antonius he asks, “Who will take care care of that child? Is it the angels or God or Satan or the emptiness? The emptiness, Sire?” In this moment, it’s clear that Jöns is still scared of death. During his conversation with the church painter, Jöns expresses that he’s scared of the plague. But in the face of death, Jöns chooses a more self-empowering path than Antonius. He doesn’t yearn for answers, but instead mocks God for never providing them. He believes in wandering his path on Earth alone, to define his destiny himself.
Ultimately, in Bergman’s grand assessment of how humans handle the prospect of death, Antonius and Jöns represent religion—the promise of religion, the guidance of religion, the struggle of religion, the duress of religion, the lie of religion. Seemingly, religion offers an out, a refreshing perspective on how to live life. But when religion is questioned, when faith becomes precarious, then what is left? How does one live life when the afterlife’s promise is gone? How do you confront death after such whiplash? It can leave you feeling empty.
Jof and Mia represent blissful transience
While we’re on the topic of religion, you’ll notice that Jof and Mia’s name bear a striking resemblance to a certain pairing of people: Joseph and Mary. In fact, the dubbed English soundtrack on the Criterion Collection’s edition of the film uses “Joseph” and “Mary” as their names. And they have a young child whom I can only assume would then represent baby Jesus. So what does this mean?
I don’t think it’s fair to say that Jof and Mia represent Joseph and Mary in an allegorical sense, nor does Mikael represent Jesus—nothing in the movie alludes to that. The only relationship any of them shares with the Holy Family is Jof when he sees a vision of the Virgin Mary walking in the field with her baby. This is more likely the in-road we need: it’s not that Jof and Mia are Joseph and Mary reincarnate, but it’s that Jof and Mia share a connection with a mother and father that loved their son so dearly. Mary and Joseph were “chosen” by God for a great mission, to produce a son that would save civilization and cleanse mankind of sin. There’s an innocence, a grace bestowed upon them by a greater force.
Bergman himself was not a religious man and did not believe there was an afterlife in the Biblical sense (although his views became more complicated and open later in his life), so it’s not likely that he wanted us to draw supernatural parallels between Jof and Mia’s family and the Holy Family. It’s more that Jof and Mia and Mikael are a family. Yes, they are religious. But they’re not part of the religious wars. They don’t vocally voice questions and fears about the afterlife, and instead are quite content living their lives to the fullest here and now in the mortal realm. They are pure in this sense.
In fact, as Peter Cowie points out in the Criterion Collection’s commentary for the film, Bergman’s critics would label Mia and Jof—the only two people who escape Death—as “simple.” During the confessional scene between Death and Antonius, Death says, “Most people think neither of death nor nothingness.” To which Antonius responds, “But one day you stand at the edge of life and face darkness.” But what if you choose to never stand on the edge of life? Antonius fought in the Crusades…but Jof and Mia chose to live their lives. They are able to live because…well, simply, they know how to live. They find beauty in transient moments—so much so that they provide sweet, temporary relief for Antonius as he continues his chess game with Death. They represent the ease and comfort of happiness. When you live this way, death doesn’t linger over your day-to-day.
To counter the critics: I don’t think Bergman is necessarily saying this is the way you should live your life. Fear, anxiety, unknowingness, melancholy are all part of life—necessary parts of life. In order to strengthen our beliefs, they must constantly be questioned. We can live in blissful ignorance of such disarray, but we might not be living a full life by doing so. Jof and Mia might be happy, but I think you could argue their happiness is almost comical. It’s great, it’s true, it’s real and felt—but does it come at a cost? More than anything, I believe Bergman is presenting yet another piece of humanity, another extreme of the human condition: you can either be consumed by Death like Antonius, or completely avoid it like Jof and Mia.
Plog, Lisa, Jonas Skat represent hedonism
I’ve chosen to group these four together because, as a whole, I believe they represent the vices of life. There’s a silly love triangle between Plog, Lisa, and Jonas that ultimately amounts to nothing, and does little more than offer comedic relief. They are rather trivial—especially in the face of Antonius’s moral quandaries and Jof and Mia’s unadulterated happiness—in their wish to experience the simple pleasures of life: drink, sex, entertainment, etc.
While they are “fun” characters in a sense, they are also sad, tragic characters. Despite their efforts to live hedonistic lives, they are constantly surrounded by and must eventually confront Death. As opposed to people Mia and Jof who are able to use their genuine bliss as a shield from Death, Plog, Lisa, and Jonas become easy targets for Death, each of them taken to the Great Beyond one by one. While people like Antonius and Jöns go down swinging, these three silly characters appear meek and helpless in the face of death. They represent the insignificant many that populate Earth, the hollowness of existence.
Raval and the mute girl represent pure evil, enlightenment
I’ve paired these two together because they share an introduction and come to represent two extremes of living life: the selfish takers and the selfless givers; the abusers and the abused; those who exploit the gift of life and those who respect it.
Raval is a deplorable human being—a theologian who uses religion as a mechanism and abuses his power, a monster who rapes and psychologically torments other, a malignant spirit who ten years earlier persuaded Antonius and Jöns to join the Crusades which in turn led to the existential crisis that inflicts the pair of them. He doesn’t have a lot of screen time, but his presence is felt. For such a small and weak man, he fosters such menace and turmoil for people like Jof and the mute girl.
It’s no mistake that Bergman writes Raval as a theologian, somebody who’s an “expert” on religion and can use his influence to guide people towards a certain religious path. He sent Antonius on his Crusades mission a decade earlier in the name of something great…something Antonius no longer recognizes. Because it was a lie, a fabricated story about how to achieve true enlightenment. And outside his role as a theologian, he unsurprisingly occupies a similar space: he’s a thief. He takes (he steals the bracelet), he manipulates (he convinces Plog that Jof took his wife), he abuses (he attempts to rape the mute girl). Raval uses his sacred status to stand above others.
The mute girl lies on the other end of the spectrum. While Raval uses his words to selfishly advance himself, the mute girl never speaks, only yearns to help others. Even when Raval is dying an agonizing death, she tries to run and care for him. She doesn’t walk to the front of the frame like Antonius or Jöns to ask questions or monologue about God and death. She doesn’t run from Death like Jof and Mia, and she doesn’t indulge in the vices of life like Plog, Lisa, and Jonas. She exists in the perimeter of the frame—cautiously observing, quietly awaiting her fate.
When critics point to Jof and Mia as flawed characters, as nothing but blissfully ignorant simpletons who avoid death at all costs, I would point them to the mute girl as a counterpoint. As I stated earlier: I don’t believe Bergman necessarily wrote Jof and Mia as heroes, as blueprints for how to live life. They are indeed flawed in their lack of awareness, their inability to confront the great dark truths of life. The true hero of the movie, I’d argue, is the mute girl—the one character who doesn’t inhibit or distract or fight. While Raval is punished for the way he lives, the mute girl is rewarded with a great gift that every other fears as a roadblock and fails to recognize as an opening: death.
The ending of The Seventh Seal explained
The mute girl then leads us to the meaning of the ending of The Seventh Seal. At the end of the movie, she is the first to step forward when Death enters the room. As Peter Cowie eloquently states in his Criterion commentary for the film, “The moment she has longed for is at hand. Death will open a door, not close it.” She recognizes the great pains that exist on Earth, and knows that whatever lies on the other side—even if it is pure emptiness, as Antonius fears—is better than this. She doesn’t live in fear of Death, so she is the only one who truly lives. We don’t know much about her, but we know this to be true. She is able to transcend like none of the other characters can. She represents pure enlightenment.
In that room where the mute girl bows to Death, we see the other characters treat Death with grace (in the case of Plog and Lisa), with fear (Antonius and Lisa), with animosity (Jöns). All of their reactions line up with how we’ve discussed their character trajectories and what they ultimately represent about the humanity. As Cowie states in his Criterion commentary, “Each character demonstrates a type of human personality. Each strikes chord of recognition.” These characters aren’t just one-note vessels that symbolize one type of person—we can recognize ourselves in each of these people. As a whole, in that single moment as they stand before Death, they embody all of our fears and desires, all of our unanswered questions about life.
In this way, as Cowie states, “Bergman puts all his fears and hopes on screen.” Bergman was shaped by the trying religious experiences of his childhood, and often mocked religious figures in his films. He wasn’t necessarily hostile towards God (in fact, later in life he became open to the idea of Heaven if it allowed him to see his wife once again), but hostile towards those who tried to use God to define other people’s paths. In this way, he was a mix of Antonius and Jöns. And as a family man, was also represented by Jof and Mia. And as a man who enjoyed entertainment, he was represented by the likes of Plog and Lisa and Jonas.
Thus, the end of the movie comes to represent Bergman on the brink of Death. How would he react? Well, it’s more complicated than a single reaction—all parts of himself would be exposed in that moment. And, ultimately, I believe that’s the point of the ending: to show that all of the questions and frustrations you have about the afterlife mean nothing in the moment where everything ends. Death is coming for you, and you can avoid it. All you can do is live your life on your own terms, is treat others with compassion, is foster goodness on Earth and produce the best experience for everyone including yourself. Because living is tough, and there’s no need to make it tougher.
Which brings us to the final scene of the movie: when Jof sees Death leading all these characters who died over a hillside in a “Dance of Death” (aka Danse Macabre). As we’ve discussed, I don’t believe Jof and Mia are the “heroes” of our movie. They certainly represent an idyllic way of living life, as they have built something small but beautiful as a family unit. But being able to confront death requires great strength, and that strength is represented by the mute girl who doesn’t run in fear from Death but recognizes that he opens a door. Jof and Mia choose to keep that door closed. So perhaps they’re happy…but at what cost? Death will find them eventually. Will they be ready? Or will they be lost like Antonius, like Jöns, like the rest of the characters who feel helpless in the face of life’s final moments.
Why is the movie called The Seventh Seal?
The title The Seventh Seal is a reference to a passage in the Book of Revelation in the Christian Bible. This passage, found in Revelation 8:1, reads: “When the Lamb opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven for about half an hour. And the seven angels who had the seven trumpets prepared themselves to sound.” Essentially, the opening of the seventh seal is the start of the apocalypse. The film’s setting during the Black Plague, a time notorious for death and anguish on an unprecedented scale, complements its theme flawlessly.
But you can view the “apocalypse” on a micro scale as opposed to a macro one. The “silence” following the opening of the seventh seal can be interpreted as the silence or absence of God, a major theme in the movie. Characters like Antonius grapple with existential questions in a world where God seems silent or absent, and are thus ill-equipped to face Death in the end. The opening of the seventh seal in the Bible signifies the final judgment, the end of a cycle. Which leads to the ultimate question of the movie: how does one confront the end of their cycle? Although the end can seem daunting, reflecting on how my actions impact others provides comfort. The eternal silence of God makes you feel so alone in this journey. In a sense, the apocalypse is always looming, is always happening. Recognizing this truth can provide great enlightenment; can prepare you for the end, for whatever’s next.
Now it’s your turn
Have more unanswered questions about The Seventh Seal? Are there themes or motifs we missed? Is there more to explain about the ending? Please post your questions and thoughts in the comments section! We’ll do our best to address every one of them. If we like what you have to say, you could become part of our movie guide!
