No prizes for guessing what film Sweden was watching.
After spending so many days working in 1957, Sweden decided to find some time to relax, if only for just one night. He went and purchased a movie ticket to see one of the latest films by some director with the surname Bergman. He made plans to attend a small, quiet theatre that weekend, as he did not wish to have his viewing disrupted by the noisy hooligans that tended to populate the larger venues.
Once the designated night came, he spent no more than half an hour getting himself properly groomed and dressed, before purposefully walking out of the front door. Efficiency and punctuality were ideal in this day and age after all.
He remembered to remove his hat once he was inside the movie theatre, as he had grown accustomed to doing over the past few decades. He tipped it slightly to a passing young woman out of politeness and she smiled back at him, before slipping out through the flimsy exits.
He sat down in one of the back rows as the title credits rolled. Chilling music began to play and an opening monologue marked the start of the film.
The plot gradually unfolded itself before him and it wasn't quite like anything he'd watched before. He found that he was also beginning to feel conflicted as a result of the actors' intense performances. He could all too easily relate to what their characters were going through, for he had once experienced the same disillusionment and uncertainty.
With the passing of each scene, he only grew more anxious for the film to end on a hopeful note so that he could leave satisfied with the final fates of each character.
It seemed the director had no such plans however. The climax was gripping enough but the eventual ending filled him with emptiness and unease, as if it were he whom was doomed to partake in the Dance of Death rather than some of the ill-fated protagonists.