IfAlfred Hitchcock is considered the master of psychological thrillers, and Sergio Leone, the father ofthe Spaghetti Western subgenre, thenErnst Ingmar Bergmanis an authority on the complex layers of the human psyche through the minimalist Swedish aesthetic. Over the course of his career, between 1944 and 2003, the director and dramatist tackled, sometimes tactfully, sometimes brutally, many of life’s hardships, such asmental health, terminal illness, adultery, unrequited love, the grapple with mortality, spirituality, complicated parenting, war, and abuse.
He often stated in commentaries and interviews, “No form of art goes beyond ordinary consciousness as film does, straight to our emotions, deep into the twilight room of the soul”, and “Creativity is an extraordinary help against destructive demons.”
Not all of his work is bleak and pessimistic, though. He also left a testament to childhood glee and innocence, dreamy nostalgia, poetic reverie, social justice, and redemption. Whatever emotional state you are currently in, chances are it was explored in his films, and losing yourself in one or more of them would definitely give you some much-needed insight. Here is a selection of some of the most thought-provoking scenes Bergman helmed.
The Other World—Through a Glass Darkly
The 1961 chamber filmThrough a GlassDarkly(“As in a Mirror” in Swedish) stars Harriet Andersson as Karin, Lars Passgård as her brother Minus, Gunnar Björnstrand as their father David, and Max von Sydow as Karin’s husband Martin. Following David’s return from a long trip to Switzerland and Karin’s release from a mental institution, the family spends some time in their summer home on an island. But Karin still suffers from schizophrenia and anxiety, waiting for God to come out of her wardrobe, listening to voices calling her from the wallpaper, and is unable to find comfort in Martin’s desperate love.
David has always been absent and distant from his two children, and that is essentially why she has been trying to seek comfort in a kinder, godlier, and omnipresent father figure. He is even using her daughter’s illness for his literary work. She confides in Minus, who doesn’t understand her visions, “I long for the moment when the door will open. I think it’s God who will reveal himself to us. I know I’ve been ill and that my illness was like a dream. But these are no dreams. A god steps down from the mountain. He walks through the dark forest. There are wild beasts everywhere in the silent darkness. It must be real. I can’t stop it.” She states to her family that “The door was opened, but the god was a spider. It was a terrible, stony face,” and concludes that “It’s so horrible to see your own confusionandunderstand it.” She asks to be taken back to the sanitarium, because there is no escaping her “other” world.
Related:The Best Ingmar Bergman Movies, Ranked
God and Love—Through a Glass Darkly
David’s indifferent parenting has affected both Karin and Minus, and he is portrayed as a narcissistic figure. The movie’s last scene ends on a falsely positive note, as the father tries to comfort his son about faith, stating that God and Love are mutually inclusive. Rather ironic, considering he announced in the beginning he’d be traveling soon and leaving his children behind again.
David: I don’t know if love is the proof of God’s existence or if it’s God itself.
Minus: To you, love and God are the same thing.
David: That thought makes me feel less empty…Makes my desperation less bad.
Minus: Go on, Papa.
David: All of a sudden, emptiness turns into abundance, and desperation turns into life.
The Hopeless Dream of Being—Persona
The eerie 1966 psychological dramaPersona, featuring two of Bergman’s favorite muses,Bibi Anderssonas nurse Alma andLiv Ullmanas popular actress Elisabet Vogler, deals with duality, personal identity, and abortion. When Vogler suddenly decides to go mute and motionless, her fans are distraught, but her doctor concludes it is not really due to a biological problem or mental illness, but rather a conscious, calculated choice.
“The hopeless dream of being – not seeming, but being. At every waking moment, alert. The gulf between what you are with others and what you are alone. The vertigo and the constant hunger to be exposed, to be seen through, perhaps even wiped out. Every inflection and every gesture a lie, every smile a grimace. Suicide? No, too vulgar. But you can refuse to move, refuse to talk, so that you don’t have to lie. You can shut yourself in. I understand why you don’t speak, why you don’t move, why you’ve created a part for yourself out of apathy. I understand. I admire. You should go on with this part until it is played out, until it loses interest for you. Then you can leave it, just as you’ve left your other parts one by one.”
Pleasure and Trauma—Persona
While nursing Elisabet in a cottage by the sea, Alma can only resort to lengthy monologues with her silent and lethargic patient. She details a past sexual encounter with strangers at the beach, the best experience she’s ever had. The nurse, who was engaged at the time, became pregnant, though she wasn’t sure whose baby it was. Her fiancé then pushed her to get an abortion; a decision she still regrets. She is torn between the initial pleasurable experience and the resulting trauma, tearfully adding, “We were both happy. We didn’t want children. Not just then, anyway. None of it fits together. Then you get a bad conscience over small things. Can you understand? What happens to everything you believe in? Was I two people?”
Unwanted Children—Wild Strawberries
In the 1957 introspective, nostalgic, and symbolist dramaWild Strawberries, the warm and passionate Marianne (Ingrid Thulin) accompanies her grumpy and rigid father-in-law, Isak Borg (Victor Sjöström), on a drive to Lund, where he is to be awarded a golden doctorate. They make several stops and pick up a few hitchhikers, and that eventful journey triggers both painful and pleasant flashbacks and confessions. Marianne tells Isak that his son Evald (Gunnar Björnstrand) doesn’t want her to keep her pregnancy, because he himself was “an unwanted child in a hellish marriage,” arguing, “I will not be forced to take on a responsibility that will make me live for one day longer than I want to.”
Marianne refuses to abort, especially after meeting Isak’s aloof mother, “an old woman, cold as ice, more forbidding than death. And this is her son, and there are light years between them. He himself says he’s a living corpse. And Evald is growing just as lonely, cold, and dead. And I thought of the baby inside me. All along the line, there’s nothing but cold and death and loneliness. It must end somewhere.” No, she wants to break this cycle, and eventually reconciles with Evald.
Epiphany—Wild Strawberries
In the movie’s final scene, Isak wakes up in his bed and realizes that, having finally reconciled with his family, he can always rely on pleasant memories and vivid daydreams for comfort, thinking, “If I have been feeling worried or sad during the day, I have a habit of recalling scenes from childhood to calm me.” His face lights up as he pictures a sunny summer day by the lagoon with his former love interest.
I Want Knowledge—The Seventh Seal
The 1957 medieval movieThe Seventh Sealfollows the disenchanted knight Antonius Block (Max von Sydow) as he returns home from the Crusades and starts playing chess against a personified Death (Bengt Ekerot). He is desperate for proof of God, after that harrowing war experience.
Block: Why should He conceal Himself in a fog of half-spoken promises and unseen miracles? How are we to believe the believers when we don’t believe ourselves? What will become of us who want to believe but cannot? And what of those who neither will nor can believe? Why can I not kill God within me? Why does He go on living within me in a painful, humiliating way, though I curse Him and want to tear Him out of my heart? Why does He remain a treacherous reality of which I cannot rid myself? Do you hear me?
Death: I hear you.
Block: I want knowledge. Not belief. Not supposition. But knowledge. I want God to reach out to me, unveil His face, speak to me.
Death: Perhaps there is no one there.
Block: Then life is a senseless horror. No man can live with Death before his eyes and the knowledge that all is nothing.
Indifference, Boredom, and Impatience—Cries and Whispers
Cries and Whispersis a 1972 color-saturated period drama with a predominant and unsettling penchant for crimson. It centers around the themes of self-mutilation, neglect, infidelity, aging, and loss. Sisters Marie (Ullmann) and Karin (Thulin) return to their family villa to witness the last moments of their terminally ill third sibling, Agnes (Harriet Andersson).
In one scene, Marie attempts to seduce her former lover and Agnes’ doctor David (Erland Josephson), but he makes her stand in front of a mirror and delivers this memorable speech, “You’re beautiful. Perhaps even more than when we were together. But you’ve changed, and I want you to see how. Now your eyes cast quick, calculating, side glances. You used to look ahead straightforwardly, openly, without disguise. Your mouth has a slightly hungry, dissatisfied expression. It used to be so soft. Your fine, wide brow has four lines above each eye now. You know what caused those lines? Indifference. And this fine contour from your ear to your chin is no longer so finely drawn - the result of too much comfort and laziness. And look under your eyes. The sharp, scarcely noticeable wrinkles from your boredom and impatience.”
Mother-Daughter Dynamic—Autumn Sonata
Hollywood darling Ingrid Bergman’s final role was as Charlotte Andergast in the 1978 family dramaAutumn Sonata, opposite Ullman as her daughter Eva, Halvar Björk as her son-in-law Viktor, and Lena Nyman as her other, paralyzed daughter, who is under the couple’s care. After a seven-year absence, Charlotte, a renowned pianist, visits Eva, a writer and a mediocre musician, and is upset to find Lena out of the institution she has left her in. She continually attempts to outshine Eva, critiquing her piano playing, boasting about her own success, but she is really jealous of her beauty, youth, and marriage. Eva finally expresses her pain and lifelong resentment, concluding, “The mother’s injuries are to be handed down to the daughter. The mother’s failures are to be paid for by the daughter. The mother’s unhappiness is to be the daughter’s unhappiness. It’s as if the umbilical cord had never been cut.”
A Grieving Parent—Autumn Sonata
Eva talks to Charlotte about the death of her four-year-old boy, who drowned right before his birthday, explaining, “Deep inside, I felt like he was still alive, that we were living close to each other. All I have to do is concentrate, and he’s there. Sometimes, as I’m falling asleep, I can feel him breathing on my face and touching me with his hand. He’s living another life, but we can reach one another. There’s no dividing line, no insurmountable wall.” She uses those last words to show Charlotte that she is closer to her son in death than to her mother in life.
Related:Why Ingmar Bergman Is Called the Greatest Director Who Ever Lived
