Wherein I revisit Persona, a regrettable decision.

According to the man, since he won the Grand Prix at Cannes with Smiles of a Summer Night in 1956, his fame meant no-one would give him honest criticism, he said.
"There hasn't been anyone with whom I can discuss my scripts," he said.
"Even when the film is done, there is no-one I can show it to who gives his sincere opinion. There is silence."

Mr Bergman, step this way.

HONESTLY?

I’m really fucking irritated, Mr Bergman that I had to listen to a stream of complete drivel from girl one in this movie, whilst girl two says nothing at all. I tried to look on the bright side of this. Maybe if she did speak she’d be even worse.

I follow the idea that you can’t stand people, but nonetheless, women come off badly in a way that now, long time later, is simply oldfashionedly sexist. When they aren’t talking drivel they are being hysterical. Or withholding, that’s another one, thinking of that comedy which has the guy involved with two women, the wife who does’t give out at all and the ex-lover who makes her living out of the opposite, the ex-lover whose mother made her fortune by having secrets to tell too. I guess since you got to fuck any female you wanted to, whilst behaving, by all accounts like a complete pig, you had little cause to respect them, is that it? I sort of get that. They can’t have had much respect for themselves, I guess. There is even the most hilarious (unintentionally, I think) male fantasy of getting to fuck somebody other than his wife, certain it is his wife – even though his wife is watching. I mean, right there watching, not hiding behind the curtain watching. If it WERE true, that girl one was being taken over by the persona of girl two, why didn’t her acting step up? I mean, the other girl was an actor!!! Get with the plot, man. Plot. Well, you know. Not plot obviously. That would be not in keeping with being on the cutting edge of experimentalism.

I understand, further, that you’d just had a disaster, a comedy in which I vaguely recall you got all your shags to star, perhaps that is just a recipe that isn’t likely to work, and yes, the French were experimenting…but. Did you have to?

I’m ploughing my way through your movies again, and with the exception of The Seventh Seal, I am sorely disappointed to date. Maybe I’m on an unlucky run and it’ll get better.

It’s nothing personal, the French are disappointing me too. I’m hoping that the Italians don’t let me down when I get to them.

Please don’t tell me what a masterpiece everybody thinks this movie is. As the man said, nobody is willing to tell him the truth. That’s my take, anyway.

It all serves me right for revisiting my childhood, when I was raised on this stuff and couldn’t get enough of it. Isn’t it splendid, the uncritical nature of childhood?

Wherein I revisit Persona, a regrettable decision.

According to the man, since he won the Grand Prix at Cannes with Smiles of a Summer Night in 1956, his fame meant no-one would give him honest criticism, he said.
"There hasn't been anyone with whom I can discuss my scripts," he said.
"Even when the film is done, there is no-one I can show it to who gives his sincere opinion. There is silence."

Mr Bergman, step this way.

HONESTLY?

I’m really fucking irritated, Mr Bergman that I had to listen to a stream of complete drivel from girl one in this movie, whilst girl two says nothing at all. I tried to look on the bright side of this. Maybe if she did speak she’d be even worse.

I follow the idea that you can’t stand people, but nonetheless, women come off badly in a way that now, long time later, is simply oldfashionedly sexist. When they aren’t talking drivel they are being hysterical. Or withholding, that’s another one, thinking of that comedy which has the guy involved with two women, the wife who does’t give out at all and the ex-lover who makes her living out of the opposite, the ex-lover whose mother made her fortune by having secrets to tell too. I guess since you got to fuck any female you wanted to, whilst behaving, by all accounts like a complete pig, you had little cause to respect them, is that it? I sort of get that. They can’t have had much respect for themselves, I guess. There is even the most hilarious (unintentionally, I think) male fantasy of getting to fuck somebody other than his wife, certain it is his wife – even though his wife is watching. I mean, right there watching, not hiding behind the curtain watching. If it WERE true, that girl one was being taken over by the persona of girl two, why didn’t her acting step up? I mean, the other girl was an actor!!! Get with the plot, man. Plot. Well, you know. Not plot obviously. That would be not in keeping with being on the cutting edge of experimentalism.

I understand, further, that you’d just had a disaster, a comedy in which I vaguely recall you got all your shags to star, perhaps that is just a recipe that isn’t likely to work, and yes, the French were experimenting…but. Did you have to?

I’m ploughing my way through your movies again, and with the exception of The Seventh Seal, I am sorely disappointed to date. Maybe I’m on an unlucky run and it’ll get better.

It’s nothing personal, the French are disappointing me too. I’m hoping that the Italians don’t let me down when I get to them.

Please don’t tell me what a masterpiece everybody thinks this movie is. As the man said, nobody is willing to tell him the truth. That’s my take, anyway.

It all serves me right for revisiting my childhood, when I was raised on this stuff and couldn’t get enough of it. Isn’t it splendid, the uncritical nature of childhood?

It was not the scripts that moved me to rate this with five stars, it was the "introduction" Snakeskin. Brilliant. I will never forget his words about art. ( )

(Original Review, 2002)

Bergman: "Would care for some ... tea?"

(Violent, frightening music. Camera closes in on Andersson's face. Her eyes grow wide and her lips tremble.)

Andersson: "T-t-t-tea? Oh, no, I mustn't."

Bergman: "It's oolong. Don't be frightened."

Andersson: "It does things. I've heard stories."

Bergman: "It's quite refreshing, and not habit-forming at all. Regardless of what ... you may have been told."

(Bergman leans in, his eyes narrowing, glistening with demonic intent.)

Bergman: "Here. Try a little. I insist."

(Andersson lifts the cup. It rattles in the saucer. Hesitantly, she raises the cup to her mouth and takes a tiny sip. Her eyes close. Her lips part. She takes in a deep shuddering breath and then downs the rest of the cup in a single swallow.)

Bergman: "Well?"

Andersson: "Oh, God, oh God."

(Extreme close-up of Andersson's face. Her expression is dull and drained of all human feeling and emotion. A tear forms in one eye. There is a long, unbearable silence.)

Andersson: "All right. I can't resist, I'll do the film for minimum scale."

Bottom-line: The key point being that men do not emerge superior from Bergman's treatment. If anything, there is a balance of doubt, even despair at the prospect of a perfect relationship, just as Bergman, the son of a priest could not find a perfect relationship with God. Indeed, the mostly bleak outcomes of Bergman's films have alienated many film enthusiasts, but what remains is among the best of cinema because he had a keen eye so that lean scripts can be embellished with an image. His use of sound and lighting are lessons in film-making, but the acting, that is where the films breed admiration and love. As for the director closest to Bergman, it is not Woody Allen, but the Clint Eastwood westerns, with their problematic relations with women, and even after the apparently heroic rescue mission of the lone man on a horse, a sense of doubt or futility at the end. ( )