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.
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. Amid its formal weirdness is a forceful double vision, a dual insistence on the close-up and the monologue as potent, parallel forms: expressive yet withholding, and collapsible under the burden of interpretation.
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.




