The Iconic Chess Game with Death: Behind the Scenes of The Seventh Seal

Few scenes in the history of cinema are as haunting, poetic, and visually enduring as the moment when a medieval knight plays chess with Death on a windswept Swedish shore. Ingmar Bergman's 1957 film The Seventh Seal (Det sjunde inseglet) captured not just a story, but an era, an existential mood, and a moment of artistic audacity. Today, we look back with humility and respect on how these legendary scenes were made — and how a few tourists may have helped shape cinematic history.

A Shoreline That Echoes Mortality

When Bergman began preparing The Seventh Seal, he knew he needed a landscape that could speak for the inner world of a man wrestling with God, silence, and the finality of death. That place was found on the rugged coast of Hovs Hallar in southern Sweden.

Facing the vast expanse of the Kattegat Sea, the cliffs and boulders of Hovs Hallar became the perfect setting for the now-iconic chess match between knight Antonius Block (Max von Sydow) and Death (Bengt Ekerot). According to historical production notes, Bergman had initially considered shooting on Öland, but chose Hovs Hallar for its dramatic western sunset and bleak, elemental terrain.

Cinematographer Gunnar Fischer remembered carrying heavy equipment down steep, slippery rocks to the beach — a technically difficult but artistically vital decision. “It was as if nature itself agreed to participate,” Fischer later said.

Two Suns, One Death

Interestingly, the chess scene was the first to be shot, on July 2, 1956. Though it was supposed to take place at dawn, Bergman opted for evening light. Fischer used backlighting to silhouette the figures, creating a spiritual visual aura. When asked why the sky seemed to feature two suns, Fischer famously replied:
“If the audience can accept that Death plays chess, they can accept two suns.”

That kind of bold, poetic logic lies at the heart of Bergman’s genius.

The Final Scene: A Dance That Was Never Planned

The now-famous “Dance of Death” — where the knight, Death, and a line of souls walk silhouetted along the ridge — wasn’t part of the original shooting plan. Toward the end of filming, one evening in August 1956, the crew was packing up when Bergman spotted a peculiar cloud formation above the sea.

Spontaneously, he ordered the camera to be unpacked again.

But many actors had already left for the day. So, with little time, Bergman asked remaining crew members and a few unsuspecting tourists to take the place of missing cast. They were told to hold hands and follow Death in a line across the hilltop. With only minutes of usable light left, the sequence was filmed — forever becoming one of the most unforgettable final shots in world cinema.

A Dance That Belongs to All of Us

There’s something deeply moving about how this final image — representing humanity’s dance toward death — was partially crafted by chance, nature, and ordinary people.

It reminds us that great art doesn’t always come from precise planning. Sometimes, it arrives uninvited, like a cloud on the horizon.

References

• Bergman, Ingmar. Images: My Life in Film. Arcade Publishing, 1990.

• Interviews with Gunnar Fischer, cinematographer

• Ingmar Bergman Foundation archives (ingmarbergman.se)

• Swedish Film Institute documentation

Written by Rickard Molin, location manager.
IMDb: https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0596614/?ref_=fn_all_nme_1