The first half of Ingmar Bergman's script seems to call for an almost comically tight-lipped, stone-faced blankness; the second half calls for at least four different coloratura breakdowns. Ullmann “fought like a lion” in the role, and, just hearing about it, you might imagine her Oscar nomination was a reward for a kind of athletic stamina, a heroic stab at an impossible target.
Both visually and textually, Cries and Whispers is concerned with exteriors and interiors, with surfaces and what seethes beneath them.
Harriet Andersson’s contributions to Bergman’s oeuvre cannot be understated—her fearlessness about her body within a performance allowed her to create something both fierce and distinctive.
What Persona produces, onscreen and in its critics, is more than the sum of its narrative parts.
The stories we encounter as children never quite leave us; they shape and color everything that comes afterward.
In Bergman's work, boats tend to function as the escape hatch that is never opened, the getaway car that is never put into drive, the dream that, were it to actually set sail, would capsize under the weight of the gilded burden of escapism.
Ingmar Bergman's second film is a tonally-daring Expressionist chiaroscuro of broken lives attempting to escape a rain-soaked nightworld of broken dreams.
As a play, a film, and a television series, Scenes from a Marriage examines a relationship in brutally exacting, loving detail.
On Ingmar Bergman's The Passion of Anna
Ingmar Bergman's Hour of the Wolf is the story of a marriage crumbling in a void.
"I’ve done a lot of other things, but when I look back on my work… [my work with Bergman was] probably what gave me most life. Because I was so alive, and I was trusted so much."
Criterion’s about to release the most complete collection of Bergman films yet. It’s a great opportunity to throw out the clichés and invite new perspectives. Here at Bright Wall, we’re taking the whole month to do just that.