Five by Bergman

You can chart Ingmar Bergman's career decade by decade — and the decades are adding up. He turns 87 in July of 2005.

In the 1940s he was a rising theater star, a director, playwright, and screenwriter, eventually breaking into movie directing, though largely unknown outside Sweden.

By the late '50s he had become, along with Fellini, Kurosawa, and De Sica the definition of an art house director, his films blending somber adult stories with a bouncy frankness about sex and some often striking images, such as a chess playing Death in THE SEVENTH SEAL.

In the '60s his films devolved into the Cinema of Conundrums, thanks to Bergman making obscure, symbolic films that challenged the viewer's ratiocination, like LAST YEAR AT MARIENBAD. The imagery became darker and unrelenting.

In the 1970s be became the eminence grise of world cinema as his films became long and ponderous and trivial all at the same time, sometimes featuring stars such as Elliott Gould and David Carradine, sometimes being TV movies refashioned into movies, and sometimes being adaptations of operas or of musicals based on his films, and pictorially his films grew flaccid.

In the 1980s he made his late, great masterpiece FANNY AND ALEXANDER, and began announcing a series of retirements, always undermined by a new TV film or short.

Then in the 1990s he returned to where he began, once again "just the writer" of autobiographical scripts that other directors handled. The person who wanted to be August Strindberg when he grew up more or less achieved his goal.

Bergman is the ultimate writer-director, whose works seem personal yet universal at the same time. Yet curiously, with all the screenwriting gurus out there with their writing handbooks, none that I have seen cite Bergman as a source of inspiration — probably because his films, made outside the Hollywood system, don't really serve as good examples, and because aspiring filmmakers these days don't feel the inclination to be so personal, for commercial and developmental reasons.

Bergman started out as a formalist, making classically "beautiful" films structured along traditional narrative lines, but ended up a modernist, using Brechtian techniques, improvisation, and liberated camerawork. The only other directors I can think of whose careers bisect in a similar way are George Stevens, whose pre and postwar films are so different, and Orson Welles, who went from a Ophuls-like master of moving cameras to a montage artist (partially because of his shooting conditions). Yet at the same time Bergman's body of work as a weight and consistency, in part because he relied on the same cameraman and wrote his films for a tight troupe of actors whose skills he knew.

Bergman is much out of favor now, probably because he is not active as he used to be, but also because his religious and existential quandaries are unfashionable. Yet he certainly merits revisiting, for older viewers who haven't seen his stuff in a long time, or introduction, to young film buffs for whom the world begins with George Lucas.

A good place to start is SMILES OF A SUMMER NIGHT (The Criterion Collection, 1955, $29.95, Tuesday, May 25). The foundation for the musical A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC and the inspiration for a few of Woody Allen's comedies, SMILES is one of Bergman's most cheerful films despite dealing in infidelity and Russian Roulette.

It's set in a fantasy world of aristocracy, like Renoir's THE RULES OF THE GAME, and rings Mozartian changes out of its small set of people. As he often does, Bergman concentrates on a small set of people rather than sweeping socio-economic One of my all time favorite moments in cinema occurs in this film, when Gunnar Bjornstrand as the fumbling potential suitor of an actress (Eva Dahlbeck) plays Russian Roulette with her lover, (Jarl Kulle). The relief on his face when the gun doesn't go off is priceless.

Also almost priceless is this Criterion edition of the film, culled from its Janus Films catalog (there appears not to be a laser disc of the film). The picture comes in an excellent full-frame transfer (1.33:1, full frame) with clear Dolby Digital 1.0 audio. There is no audio commentary track, and extras consist of the theatrical trailer, an introduction by Bergman, made for Swedish television in 2003, and a video conversation between film historian Peter Cowie and Bergman collaborator and biographer Jorn Donner. There is also a 24-page booklet with reviews and essays by Pauline Kael and John Simon (normally nemeses), transfer information, cast and crew, and chapter titles.

Also recently released on DVD is HOUR OF THE WOLF (MGM, 1966, $19.95, Tuesday, February 10), release as part of a five-film boxed set, but also available individually. This film, about an artist going mad, touches on a minor strain in Bergman's films, also found in THE MAGICIAN and THE DEVIL'S EYE, a flirtation with the horror genre, making explicit what is usually implicit in Bergman's films, the horror or reality.

The film starts off with the artist's wife (Liv Ullmann) talking to the camera, telling the director about the last phase of her marriage before he vanished, a sort of BLAIR WITCH style opening, quickly dropped for a blend of James Whale and Federico Fellini. It's a dark and perplexing film and whatever demons were torturing Bergman he appears not to have resolved the issues as far as this film is concerned — it is vague, "symbolic," and inconclusive.

As part of the MGM set, however, the disc is rich in supplements. It comes in what is described on the box as a new transfer (1.33:1, full frame), with a mono track, and English, French, and Spanish subtitles. Along with the trailer, the disc bears a detailed making of feature, a brief video interview with Ullmann and co-star Erland Josephson, and a photo gallery.

There's also an audio commentary track here, as for all the MGMs, by Canadian film scholar Marc Gervais, who has written a (pricey) book about Bergman's technique. His is a cozy track, and his thesis is that the films from this phase of Bergman's career are about the disintegration of the main male character, usually played by Max Von Sydow.

Most of the films from this period also featured Ullmann, the Norwegian actress who was living with the director and bore him a child. You can also chart Bergman's career by his collaborators, and it is arguable that the "darker" films with their interior, psychological concerns required the presence of Von Sydow and Josephson. To counter that somberness the films needed Ullmann, who provided a bovine loyalty and heartbreaking domesticity to most of them. In SHAME (MGM, 1967, $19.95, Tuesday, February 10) she is the stolid wife who watches helplessly as her husband loses his humanity in the face of war's degradations.

Like many of Bergman's films SHAME is about a lost of Eden. Jan and Eva Rosenberg are a cultured, happy couple, playing music and sipping wine, when a war breaks out between vague factions. The humanities are not necessarily humanizing, as my old film professor used to say, and never is that more evident than in this film, wherein Jan becomes increasingly hard and selfish, the marriage breaking down but the couple unable to free themselves of each other. Like Hitchcock's LIFEBOAT, it ends with them and other refugees floating in a still, foggy sea, Jan watching without emotion as one of the group slips off the boat to drown. In his autobiography, IMAGES, Bergman says "When I see SHAME today, I find that it can be divided into two parts. The first half, which is about the events of the war, is bad. The second half, which is about the effects of war, is good." He then goes on to give detailed reasons for this appraisal. One hates to differ with the master, but I believe that the lengthy first half is crucial to the disintegration theme that Gervais describes.

Like the other discs, MGM has packed this disc. Another full frame movie, it has very fine photography by Sven Nykvist, Bergman's regular DP, who, as in some of the other films from this period, gives a grainy, bleak appearance to the film's setting, an isolated island. There is also another making of feature, the trailer, and a photo gallery. Gervais is back to chart the disintegration theme, at one point saying that he feels "like an idiot" to make explicit what he thinks should be obvious, though we are grateful for his insights. There is also another video interview with Ullmann, who appears to feel the most passionate about this entry in the series she did with Bergman. However, her stated notion that the "little people" who are victimized by war know nothing of the politics behind conflicts strikes me as bogus. Citizens may have misinformation and ill-formed opinions, but they are not ignorant of what is going on, in fact part of the agony of war is knowing and waiting.

Probably my favorite Bergman movie is THE PASSION OF ANNA (MGM, 1968, $19.95, Tuesday, February 10), called simply A PASSION in Sweden. It was Bergman's first color film, and shows the effect of the uncertainty that both Bergman and Nykvist had with the medium. The images are not longer always striking, but they are more realistic, which made Bergman go on to be realistic, here and in SCENES FROM A MARRIAGE and other subsequent works.

Once again there is a couple on an island. Once again, there is a couple, plus another couple who invade their life. And once again a man slowly goes mad. But this time, it is relationships that put him to the test, the mere simple fact of living with another person. To mirror his mounting frustration, there is a rogue person somewhere on the island engaging in an escalating series of cruelties, hanging a dog, and other, worse things. In PERSONA Bergman had his main character rendered speechless by images of the war in Vietnam. In SHAME he tackles war as a national tragedy. But here he shows violence as an insidiously personal thing, a more ghastly shame because quiet, hidden, isolatedly demented.

The film is a blend of traditional techniques and modernist alienation. At four points, the lead actors are interviewed about the parts they are playing. In addition, Bergman used improvisation, an unlikely tool for this director, but a symptom of his groping for answers. In his excellent review of PASSION OF ANNA, John Simon explicates the meaning of the film, which in its way is much more mysterious and personal than PERSONA or HOUR OF THE WOLF. The film ends with the image of the main character, Andreas Winkelman, pacing back and forth, trying to make up his mind to return home or flee, and finally collapsing on the muddy road, unable to decide. As the camera slowly zooms in to an indistinct image, a narrator intones, "This time his name was Andreas Winkelman." Notes Simon, "Another time his name will be yours, mine, Everyman's." Bergman once again achieves the universal paradoxically by being hyper specific.

The disc comes with the usual panoply of elements. The image, somewhat scratchy or worn at times, is widescreen (1.66:1), but not enhanced. The audio is adequate, but also comes in Spanish, with English, French, and Spanish subtitles. There is a making of, that is over 20 minutes long, and a video interview with Ullmann, who is frank about the state of her relationship with Bergman at the time, and her still hot anger at him for cutting out some of her improvised monologues. Also interviewed are co-stars Bibi Andersson and Erland Josephson, and Gervais does the commentary track. In addition to the trailer and a photo gallery, Elliott Gould reads the story that served as the script for the cast and the crew, basically a novel, and illustrated with stills from the film.

Now this week comes Bergman's late masterpiece, FANNY AND ALEXANDER (Criterion Collection, Nos. 262. 263, and 264, 1982, $59.95, five discs, Tuesday, November 16; there is also a two-disc version). I've never really been as into this film as I am supposed to be or others seem to be, but it is another lost Eden story and therefore consistent with Bergman's films. It follows a brother and sister from the robust and vibrant world of their parents and their theatrical friends to the acetic world of the town minister, who marries their mother after their father dies rehearsing HAMLET. It's a lengthy, detailed, even taxing film, but despite its hardships, a hopeful and positive one — after all, Bergman himself emerged from a similar background to have his long career.

In this magnificent set, the film comes in two versions, the theatrical version, and the five-hour TV version that Bergman later put together. Essentially, the longer version has more of Fanny and Alexander's grandmother and other aspects of daily life. In addition, there is Bergman's own feature length documentary about the making of the film, a 60-minute interview with Bergman in which he talks about his career and his retirement, and video interviews with producer Jorn Donner, production manager Katinka Farago, art director Anna Asp, assistant director Peter Schildt, and actors Bertil Guve, Ewa Froling, Pernilla August, and Erland Josephson.

The widescreen image (1.66:1 enhanced) looks a little bit raw to me, but still better than previous versions I have seen. The audio is a serviceable Dolby Digital 2.0 Mono, with optional English subtitles. I am getting the impression from Criterion's most recent releases that the company views bigger and better packages as the way to go despite the retail price. Well, that is fine by me, as the supplementary material tends to be good, if not exhaustive, as on the previous BATTLE OF ALGIERS set. Here, the theatrical version of the film has an audio commentary track by Bergman expert Peter Cowie, and if you recall his track for SALVATORE GIULIANO, than you know the high performance quality you can expect from Cowie who, unlike so many other commentators, actually prepares and *gasp* actually watches the film before embarking on the recording. There is also a stills gallery, costume sketches, and contemporary footage of the models used to guide the film's sets.

The final disc consists of introductions Bergman made for 11 of his films when they were broadcast on Swedish television in 2003 (SMILES already had one of these intros). In them Bergman drives up with his interlocutor to the private movie theater housed on the island where he lives, and knocks on the door, then engages in a few minutes of banter before the film "starts." Each of these intros is paired with a trailer for the film, when available.

Finally, there is a 36-page booklet featuring essays by novelist Rick Moody, documentarian and film historian Stig Bjorkman, and film scholar Paul Arthur, along with transfer info, cast and crew credits, and chapter titles.

Letters

From a reader:

"Like you, I too think that ASSAULT ON PRECINCT 13 is as good as a film can get. But one thing still has me puzzled. What became of Laurie Zimmer? I sorta thought that she might have gone on to become a modern Lauren Bacall. I can find nothing on her."

Zimmer is credited with one more movie, A DIRTY STORY, which was directed by the late Jean Eustache the year after ASSAULT, then she vanished, not unlike Maren Jensen, the exotic star of BATTLESTAR GALACTICA. In 2003, a filmmaker named Charlotte Szlovak made a short film about this very subject. The IMDB describes it as, "Whatever happened to this promising young actress from Hollywood? A search for 'the woman in the car' through the never-ending suburbia of Los Angeles, where the myth of cinema reigns. A sort of thriller without a corpse." I assume that this short film will answer all Zimmer-related questions, and I hope to see it — and her — someday.

NEXT TIME: THAT '70S SHOW, DAREDEVIL, three films by Guy Maddin, PROOF, EVEN COWGIRLS GET THE BLUES, numerous Asian action films, several STAR TREKS, and more!

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