Showing posts with label Bergman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bergman. Show all posts

Saturday, 29 February 2020

Winter Light



'Winter Light' is the second film of an informal trilogy by Ingmar Bergman, which is preceded by 'Through the Glass Darkly' and is followed by 'The Silence'. The trilogy explores the spiritual issues of human existence. A trend can be observed through the three films – from the spiritual perspective common in many of Bergman's earlier films to the more secular perspective in his later films. Though I prefer a more secular reading of 'Through the Glass Darkly' (mental illness as opposed to spiritual experience), for many Bergman's intention in the film was to demonstrate the possibility of spirituality. 'The Silence', in contrast, was signifying God's silence, and the film placed its focus on humanistic issues. That made 'Winter Light' an interesting transition because, this middle film appeared to have the most ambivalent tone in all three films. Conflicting interpretations abound from different viewers, and Bergman welcomed both spiritual and secular interpretations. He seemed to suggest that, no matter how modernized human societies have become, the issue of faith is just as thought-provoking as ever.

In 'Winter Light', Tomas was a pastor in a small rural church. His responsibility was to provide a channel for people to be closer to God. Yet, as many critics have agreed, what Bergman has tried to do in the film is to 'smash the proof of God'. Through Tomas' observations, he had plenty of evidence to conclude that (a) either God did not exist, or (b) God was not benevolent. Thus no place of Theodicy, and no pre-established harmony advocated by Leibniz.



Organized religion, for which Tomas was part of, has become a meaningless ritual, and it has failed to enlighten the people. Tomas suffered a spiritual crisis himself, and was consumed by apocalyptic paranoia. Marta, who was Tomas' ex-mistress and felt that Tomas has alienated her in their relationships, has proactively tried to mend fences with him. Yet, she was the most avid disbeliever of God. The whole issue has become a psychological one – when people encounter bad things in their lives, they are willing to deny God's existence in order to reconcile the harsh reality with their experience.

The scenario of 'Winter Light' reminds me of Paul Schrader's book on Transcendental Style. Tomas has passed through the 'everyday' – carrying out his duties in the church and also making sense of God's teachings for the people around him. He then faced 'disparity' - from his own experience and his interaction with others, he was on the verge of losing his faith no matter how he has tried to convince himself about religiosity. Thus, was 'transcendence' possible for Tomas?


That came to the most contentious part of the film, where viewers have drawn up their own conclusions. Bergman gave an open-ended answer. At the end, Tomas had to carry out the ceremony service even when there was only one person in the Church. More ironies were apparent – that single person was Marta, and the self-proclaimed atheist started to pray. The outcome regarding Tomas was just as ambivalent. While he has sorted out his thinking and come to admit of God's silence, something he would rather choose not to believe; he still provided the consolation of God's benevolence through the ceremony. Was it an existential understanding of his own status, or was the doubt regarding God's absence a necessary part to reach a firmer faith to God, like Christ on the Cross? As for Marta, while some viewers might interpret Tomas has convinced Marta of God's presence through the film, it could also simply be that Marta treasured the compassion with Tomas and came for an emotional support. Bergman might be subtle here, yet the focus has displaced from the existence of God to the possibility of human relationships, the central theme that has defined so many of the masterpieces in his later years.

by Ed Law
Film Analysis


Friday, 6 April 2018

The Silence



This time, I will talk about Ingmar Bergman’s film ‘The Silence’. This 1963 film is often grouped as a trilogy with 2 other films from Bergman, ‘Through a Glass Darkly’ and ‘Winter Light’. I have written an article about ‘Through a Glass Darkly’ before.

Bergman has stated that the three films of his shared a common theme on spirituality, and he felt that the ‘silence’ in the title represented ‘God’s silence’, which, of course, is a belief many people share in a secular world. While Bergman has often been critical of the orthodox and ritualistic aspect of religion, he did maintain that a spiritual quest for inner truth and faith was important for humanity.

The surface plot concerned a pair of sisters, Ester and Anna, and accompanied by Johan, Anna’s son. It was evident that the pair did not get along, and of stark contrast in terms of character – Anna was the more sensual and active on, while Ester was the more intellectual and distant one. Things got worse because Ester was also suffering from illness, and the trio found themselves in an alien place – a fictional central European country (Bergman went as far to invent the country’s language to make it sound alienating), when it served as a mid point for their train journey to home. It was also clear that the country was going to have war pretty soon. Internal turmoil coupled with external threat, that represented the ‘perfect storm’ situation for a film. What would be the outcome for the trio in such an untimely scenario? Of course, as in any Bergman’s film, like ‘Persona’, what I have just described was only the apparent storyline. If one looks at the story differently, he/she may find a completely different meaning. 

Bergman has been heavily influenced by the chamber plays of August Strindberg and he has contributed by extending this idea into his films, most notably in the spiritual trilogy and ‘Persona’. Bergman followed music laws, rather than dramatic ones, in these films, and as a result he established a cinematic rhythm, very unique and different from the norm – the prevalence of narrative films around the world.

Chamber plays give an intimate sense of feelings for the audience. There are a number of characteristics for this type of style, which is also common in theater. Chamber plays tend to show a sparseness of characters and settings. The number of characters is minimal, and so is the setting. That is done so that the actors can focus on their intimate aspects rather than, say, the detailed set. The actors give naturalistic acting, most notably, they can turn their back on audience, to give a ‘realistic’ rather than a mannerist acting style, and that prevents the audience impression that the play is being ‘staged’.

Many critics and filmmakers do believe that the meaning of ‘The Silence’ is not as obvious as the plot may appear, and certainly such an interpretation has also been made to ‘Persona’ and some of Bergman’s other films. A common interpretation about the film is that Ester and Anna actually represented 2 conflicting dimensions of humanity, as illustrated by their respective character. Thus, the film portrayed an eternal struggle between spiritual realm (Ester) and physical realm (Anna), for which this struggle is something we are all aware of throughout our lives.

I would like to divert your focus onto the child. Johan was portrayed positively in the film. He represented a hope for humanity – with his inquisitiveness, sense of wonder around his world – even if it was devoid of objective meanings and haunted by the fact that ‘God is silent’. He was the embodiment of potential, both in an aesthetic and developmental manner.   

The great thing about Bergman’s approach was that, while he showed the positive attributes of Johan when he interacted with his world, Bergman did not insulate him from the hidden darkness inherent in humanity. When Johan interacted with the kind-hearted waiter in a non-verbal manner – because they did not show each other’s language - the waiter did not forget to demonstrate him the ‘sausage’ show. When he interacted with the apparently funny all-male dwarf troop, one of them went as far to put Johan in a dress and kissed him. Johan might not be intellectually ready to understand the implications behind these scenarios, yet no one could make him immune to the nasty things of the adult world, just because he was a child. Johan had to experience the tanks, the aircrafts, the embodiments of war in Bergman’s bleak landscape, no matter how mysterious that might first seem to his nascent mind.

Nevertheless, a very powerful act by Johan was that when Ester believed that she was beyond all points of revival, she covered herself with a sheet on the bed to serve as a gesture of her ‘death’. Johan, walking by, proceeded to lift up her sheet and exposed her again. Though it was just a simple gesture, it took a very spiritual dimension, as if Bergman was offering a sort of hope in a rather hopeless situation portrayed in the film. The child might show innocence, yet he did possess an inherent sense of compassion when facing the demons of degradation.

I can also think of a further meaning of the film’s title. Because Bergman has portrayed a world that had a lot of ambiguities and uncertainties, and the silence of God meant that there were no ways to strive an impartial viewpoint in all of these. A silence of the inaccessible truth. After all, contradictions have to co-exist in our world – that is the aspect that makes us human.

Film Analysis




Saturday, 3 September 2016

Through A Glass Darkly


Ingmar Bergman’s ‘Through a Glass Darkly’ (1961) is considered as a member of a trilogy of films, which also includes ‘Winter Light’ (1963) and ‘The Silence’ (1963). While I plan to discuss all 3 films as a whole in a later article, as they all possess a common theme on religion and the related spiritual questions, I am in particular fascinated with ‘Through a Glass Darkly’ as it also involves psychological themes. That will be the focus of this article.

Influenced by the chamber plays of Strindberg, ‘Through A Glass Darkly’ possesses a 3-act structure and the setting is extremely claustrophobic The scenes are minimalist in the sense that there are only four major characters in the film, and, while it may sound a bit of a cliché, the characters act as mirrors for each other. The intensity of the story rests on the claustrophobic environment and also the intimate interactions for the limited number of characters. On the other hand, the story takes place on a defined place and a defined period of time – a 24-hour period, which reminds me of Aristotle’s Poetics – and his criteria on the unity of drama. This is also an attribute much treasured by Andrei Tarkovsky’s later work.

Four family members took a vacation in a secluded island, but in a Bergman film, it was unlikely to be a happy experience. First, the schizophrenic Karin was just out from an asylum. His father, David, was not too content, neither. He was a novelist suffering from a writer’s block. And then there was Karin’s husband, Martin; and Karin’s younger brother, Minus, who did not have a great relationship with his father David. Karin’s delusions (or genuine spiritual experience) led her to believe that God was calling her; and David was desperate to have progress in his work by writing about Karin’s plight as the inspiration. Martin was not too happy about this. On the other hand, Karin insisted that her experience with God was real and she pressed responsibilities of everything, including her misconduct with his brother Minus, as callings from God. Frustrated by the fragmented experiences that were tormenting her psyche, Karin asked for permission to return to the asylum, before stating one final time that she has seen God coming and ‘God is an evil-faced spider, and his eyes are cold and calm’ - as it was only a spider which emerged from the place where she believed God would have emerged. Karin was returned to the hospital by Martin, and Minus finally had a real conservation with his father, and they both knew they had the chance to reconcile.

The minimal number and intimacy of the characters suggested that each of them could serve as mirrors for the others. While these reflections were not objective representations of the true affairs, they could at least serve as a motivation for introspection, and also served as a viewpoint for the various characters to ponder on their own personalities. Bergman’s faces are the mirrors for the characters and the audience alike – it is the gesture to invite all of us to confront our true nature.

Bergman, like Robert Bresson and Carl Theodor Dreyer, could be all considered as ‘spiritual filmmakers’. Yet in Bergman’s work, he has often been skeptical about the existence of God. Karin’s spiritual experience in the attic was questionable, as Bergman has not indicated to the viewers whether her hearing from God was a genuine experience or just clinical dementia. This has led me to draw parallel to the situation of Joan of Arc, for which Bresson and Dreyer have made stunning films about; and I have also talked about ‘The Passion of Joan of Arc’ in the past articles. Many subsequent academics have questioned the authenticity of Joan of Arc’s spiritual experience, suggesting what she has believed to the ‘voice of God’ could just be her schizophrenic condition. So, the call to protect her country may after all be a clinical delusion! Certainly, these theories are all speculations because that are no ways to verify these hypotheses empirically. Nevertheless, this serves to illustrate the complexity of psychological issues, and the interplay between the spiritual and psychological dimensions of the human condition.

by Ed Law
3/9/2016

Film Analysis