Persona,
1966
Persona
is arguably Ingmar Bergman's most challenging and experimental film.
Elisabeth Vogler (Liv Ullman) is an accomplished stage actress who,
in the middle of performing Elektra, ceases to speak. Sister
Alma (Bibi Andersson), the young nurse assigned to care for her,
learns
that there is nothing physically or even psychologically wrong with
Elisabeth - she has simply, consciously decided not to speak. Alma
(the name, not accidentally, is the Spanish word for soul) describes
her initial impressions of Elisabeth as gentle and childlike, but
with strict eyes. She takes Elisabeth to the attending physician's
remote summer house to facilitate her recuperation. At first, the
two seem ideally suited: a talkative, candid, and inexperienced nurse,
and a sophisticated, enigmatic, and silent patient. They take long
walks, bask in the sun, and read together. It is obvious that their
isolation has cultivated a sense of intimacy between them, albeit
one-sided. But it is a curious attachment. At first, Alma attempts
to fill the void of Elisabeth's silence. She talks incessantly about
her life, unburdening her soul to the seemingly attentive patient.
But soon, it is obvious that Elisabeth's interest is more than mere
politeness or voyeuristic curiosity. She is, in fact, "willing" her
identity - the facade she created as Elisabeth Vogler - to the mentally
weaker Alma. Elisabeth's struggle for absolute transference - the
proverbial battle for the soul - is a means of further divorcing
herself
from the pain of her own existence. Persona is a provocative,
highly cerebral, and artistically complex depiction of human frailty,
cruelty, and identity.
Bergman
uses minimal composition and extremely tight close-ups to illustrate
the theme of psychological deconstruction. Note the prevalent use
of single camera shots throughout the duration of a scene. The lack
of camera movement forces us to study the characters' faces. Persona,
after all, as the title suggests, is not about who the person actually
is, but the different identities, or facades, that the person projects.
Figuratively, Elisabeth Vogler, having played the role of celebrity,
wife, and mother, has decided to abandon her persona and walk off
the stage. A variation on the idea of duality provides an essential
ingredient to the plot development. The themes of experience, children,
and romantic relationships take on very different meanings for the
two women. Alma seems to covet what Elisabeth has, but she has deliberately
chosen other paths. Note the monologue that is shown twice: one showing
a close-up of Alma, and the other of Elisabeth. It is a scene about
regret, frustration, and denial. The effect illustrates how different,
and yet similar, these two women are... and how cruel and destructive
the human will can be.
© Acquarello 1998. All rights reserved.
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In
the darkness of a breaking dawn, a lascivious, unmarried, expectant
woman named Ingeri (Gunnel Lindblom) dispassionately performs her
morning ritual: preparing a fire on the stove, opening the roof door
in order to allow the daylight to stream in, invoking the Norse god
Odin in an envious and vengeful plea. In another room, the feudal
landowner Töre (Max von Sydow) and his wife Märeta (Birgitta
Valberg) solemnly recite their morning prayers and perform a symbolic
act of penitence in remembrance of Jesus Christ's suffering, before
joining the tenant farmers and servants at the communal table. Their
coddled, fanciful, and vain daughter, Karin (Birgitta Pettersson),
is noticeably absent from the breakfast table after spending a late
evening at the village dance, and Märeta is quick to excuse her
oversleeping as a symptom of an ensuing illness. Töre reminds
Märeta of Karin's obligation to bring the Virgin Mary candles
to church, and criticizes Märeta's excessive leniency towards
their only surviving child. Karin reluctantly awakens and eventually
agrees to bring the candles to church, but only after cajoling Märeta
into allowing her to wear a lavish and elaborate dress that has been
set aside for the church offering. Accompanied by Ingeri, Karin journeys
through the dark and ominous forest and soon finds her faith and humanity
tested when she encounters a desperate, lawless, and morally bankrupt
band of goat herdsmen.
Four
people emerge from the austere horizon, heading for the shore of a
seemingly desolate island: a successful writer, David (Gunnar Bjornstrand),
his adolescent son, Minus (Lars Passgard), his fragile daughter, Karin
(Harriet Andersson), and Karin's husband, Martin (Max von Sydow).
Surrounded by her family, Karin is brought to the remote island in
order to facilitate her recuperation from a nervous breakdown. But
it is soon evident that her family is so consumed by their own frailties
and self-absorption that they are impotent to prevent a psychotic
relapse. David studies her with a clinical detachment of a psychological
experiment. Martin's medical training proves ineffectual as he attempts
to alleviate her anguish by consenting to her delusions. Minus is
preoccupied with his own sexual awakening, and sees Karin as a convenient
insight into the female psyche. Like most Bergman films, 
The
order of mass is methodically performed before a dwindling congregation:
a school teacher, Marta (Ingrid Thulin), a troubled parishioner, Jonas
Persson (Max von Sydow) and Jonas' wife, Karin (Gunnel Lindblom).
But the ritual no longer holds any significance for its messenger,
pastor Tomas (Gunnar Bjornstrand), who has a crisis of faith. Note
several framed shots of a fevered, anguished Tomas juxtaposed against
a sculpture of the Crucifixion. Distant and cruel to the woman
who loves him (symbolically, Marta's skin condition is a literal rejection
of the flesh), he is passionless and mechanical. When an angst ridden,
suicidal Jonas seeks guidance on a perceived imminent nuclear holocaust,
doubting Tomas can only offer his own uncertainty, and cannot save
him.
In
a garishly decorated basement room of a tawdry, erotic cabaret, amidst
the ambient pulsating, rhythmic drone of risqué music, an
impassive prostitute nicknamed Ka (Rita Russek) embraces a solemn and
diffident
client, Peter Egermann (Robert Atzorn), caressing his face through
the motions of sleep. The seemingly tender moment soon inexplicably
turns to aggression when Peter violently reaches for Ka's throat and
begins to choke her - a ferocious impulse that culminates with her
brutal and unconscionable murder and violation. The film then proceeds
in black and white as Peter's psychiatrist, Professor Mogens Jensen
(Martin Benrath), is summoned to appear before the police investigation
board and provide a deposition on his encounter with Peter on the dawn
after the murder, prompted by the patient's cryptic early morning telephone
call to his private residence. Jensen reveals that Peter had sought
treatment after being haunted by dreams of murdering his loving, but
unfaithful wife Katarina (Christine Buchegger). However, the façade
of Jensen's impartiality and professionalism is soon stripped away
when, after expediting the already suspicious Peter's departure with
a trivialized excuse for a subsequent patient appointment, he invites
Katarina to his home office for a late afternoon rendezvous. Gradually,
the seemingly irreconcilable relationships in Peter's tormented
life are revealed through temporal fragments of inquiries and conversations
with his adulterous wife Katerina; her business partner Tim (Walter
Schmidinger), an insecure, aging homosexual who harbors an unrequited
attraction towards the melancholic Peter; and Peter's mother Cordelia
Egermann (Lola Müthel), a renowned actress who revels
in her delusion of self-martyrdom after sacrificing her career for
her children.