This film was brutally real about human suffering, yet uncynical, no mean feat. Disappointment with God was never really resolved, but it had to be so. I had to close my twenty-first century eyes to Death's makeup occasionally, but otherwise the heavy parts of the film were perfectly juxtaposed with the comedic - it was jarring, but very fittingly so. I watched a medieval Swedish crusader confess to Death the very same doubts I have articulated periodically for years. There was classic farce, and post-modern angst. There was everything, except colour.
Quite a lot of stuff in there about eschatology, fundamentalism, hope, and doubt. The alive ones, those worthy of emulation had doubt, but weren't cynical. They were alive to the possibility of suffering, even resigned to it, but not cynical. I liked that.
I hope the rest of Ingmay is as good.