1960: Virgin Spring

The Virgin Spring (1960, Bergman) 9/10

"If you always get your way, you'll give the devil such joy; saints will punish you," so tells pious Christian mother Mareta (Birgitta Valberg) to her spoiled, precocious daughter Karin (Birgitta Pettersson). It is almost noon and Karin has been asked by her father Töre (Max von Sydow) to continue the ceremonious custom that a virgin will offer candles to the local priest several miles away. Yet, she is sleeping in bed feigning sickness. The only "fever" she has recently succumb to was in her feverish and passionate dancing the night before at a local dance. Sleep and material goods are more a priority for Karin than spiritual development. When finally rustled from her slumber she negotiates the terms of preserving the tradition of delivering candles to her mother. Her terms are material and hardly spiritual. She will only go if she is allowed to wear her most lavish silk clothing: her mother and father capitulate to her wishes.

Karin's association to the spiritual is akin to other characters in Ingmar Bergman's 1960 film The Virgin Spring in that their pious selfless exteriors belie their jealous and sinful interiors. In the film's opening we are introduced to three characters: the pagan servant Ingeri (Gunnel Lindblom); the pious mother and father; and a middle-aged maid Frida (Gudrun Brost) and a beggar (Allan Edwall). The first time we meet Ingeri, she is starting a fire and raising the thatched roof of the Töre household. Ingeri is pregnant with an out of wedlock child to a local farm-hand. She has been scorned by the Tore clan who continually praise their Christian values for allowing her back into the fold; although in reality she has been excommunicated from the religious atmosphere declaring "I have no name," and thus no Christian identity. Throughout the film she is dirty,unkempt and is lit minimally. Her first act is to pray to the Scandinavian God Odin for help, whilst in the background a morning cock crows on three separate occasions. Upstairs, Mareta and her husband pray diligently in their room for God's help before Mareta begins her cruel penance by burning her wrist on a candle.

In contrast Frida blesses God for aiding her and preventing her from stepping on a fleet of ducklings, whilst she and the beggar discuss the majestic Churches he has seen on his travels. Thus we see three interpretations of religiousity: pagan, ceremoniously Christian and active Christian. These are important to the picture as it is the latter active Christianity represented by the beggar and Frida which throughout the film is evidently more in line with Christ's teachings than the pomp and circumstance Mareta avows by.


Although the parents argue over her discipline, Karin's feigning of illness and lackadiscal approach to Christianity is not seen as overly problematic by the family. Rather they embrace and encourage it as Karin becomes the true head of the family laughing at her father's "anger" and augmenting her charm with empty promises. She wishes to take Ingeri along with her to send candles and messages, which allows Bergman to compare and contrast the two parties: one whose lack of faith is scorned; whilst the other is praised.

Throughout the ride Karin is brightly lit; whilst Ingeri appears sloven and dull. Karin seems to have an interest in lower class individuals as noted by her dancing at a local festival the night before with a man who is possibly the father of Ingeri's child. Yet, the virginal Karin professes she will be untouched until her wedding night despite her eagerness in Ingeri's eyes to use her sexuality to win her favours at the dances. Ingeri bluntly asks her what she will do "if a man puts you down behind a bush?" To which the naive and innocent Karin replies "I'll fight my way free."


As Karin rides to the Church the film takes on the virtues of an almost bizarre marital ceremony. Given away by her father earlier she rides down the aisle (the road) to the altar were with flowers in hand she meets the farm-hand, who continues to allow her on her way without any objections. Soon she arrives at the altar, which is not a the church but rather an open plain in the surrounding woods. The woods with their pagan accents have frightened Ingeri who stops at a pagan Bridgekeeper's cottage and leaves Karin alone to continue across to an uncharted area. Yet, when Karin meets three lusty herdsman she does not feel any fear from them. Instead she is charmed by their gaunt appearances and kindly offers to share her lunch with them.

Although this section reveals Karin's moments of Christian selflessness, she continually reminds them of her wealth, stature and class. Yet, the herdsmen are less interested in the food and more in her sexual offerings: raping her and cementing the foul marital ceremony, which began at her home. "The herdsmen three took her to wife/And then took from her her life" says the 13th century ballad upon which Bergman's film is an extended adaptation. The sacredness of the marriage is defouled by her rape in the web-like bushes (preceding Through a Glass Darkly in its spider imagery)and by their subsequent destruction of her candles and clothes. Yet, the entire time we notice Ingeri has watched from afar. Only she can stop the proceedings, but she fails to do so. Rather, she is torn between her lust to see Karin suffer and the humane idea to save her.

Time passes and the family begin to worry for Karin's life, yet they are visited by three strangers: two herdsmen and a young boy. The boy is frightened and ill: vomiting each meal offered to him. Frida and the priestly beggar comfort him, while the boy's own family secretly abuse him. Mareta's cermonial view of Christianity washes away and she desires to care for the boy. Yet, she soon discovers the realities of her daughter's disappearance. She summons her husband. His fondness of ritual and pagentry and his less serious approach toward Christianity may demonstrate the possiblity of his own pagan past to which fondness of purgation-infused customs have never lingered despite his conversion to Christianity.

Nykvist's beautiful cinematography comes alive when von Sydow wrestles a tree in a bare field: symbolic of his struggle between God and nature. He cleanses himself and prepares for battle. In the brief snippets of commentary I have listened to Birgitta Steene seems convinced of Bergman's own damning of the film and particular the notion of von Sydow's performance as a "parody" extracted from Bergman's tepid interpretation of Kurosawa's samurai heroes. Yet, I disagree with such a view as I believe his appearance and actions are intended. They remind us of the hyper-masculinity in the Greek and Roman Gods and their sense of retribution Töre bears on the exterior. They also allude to his fixation on paganistic ideals fused into an Old Testament interpretation of Christianity, which von Sydow will enact in front of Ingeri and his wife. Yet, he becomes a "parody" -to use Steene's terminology and definition of character- of the idealized warrior in his willing submission to his daughter's every passing fancy and earthly delight.


However, his actions do not provide closure or equilibrium for the savagery performed upon Karin. On the contrary they breed more guilt toward himself and further anger towards God as he cannot believe God will allow such actions to take place. The film's analysis of Old Testament Christianity is Bergman's route to deconstructing the false religious meanings in values such as "an eye for an eye." Retribution does not bring about contentment, but rather it arouses further questions. The moment in which the Virgin Spring erupts from the ground, the divine grants them an opportunity to atone for their sins. The boy becomes a modern Christ-like figure, as does Karin. Their defiled innocence becomes a rallying point: a call to action to begin anew through the symbolic cleansing of their sins, which results in the pseudo-baptism of all the central characters in Töre's home including Ingeri.

* Virgin Spring is available through Criterion

Copyright 2006 8 ½ Cinematheque.

1966: Persona

Persona (1966, Bergman) 8/10

Recently, while rummaging through the university library, I perused through Peter Cowie's biography of Ingmar Bergman and noticed a startling fact. In 1963, almost a million Swedes went to see The Silence, the last of Bergman's quasi-religious trilogy that included Winter Light and Through a Glass Darkly: an impressive statistic for a nation whose population is between 7-8 million.

Three years later, after being made director of the Dramaten (The Swedish Royal Theatre Company in Stockholm) and increasing their profits (with oddly plays designed for children), releasing a misinterpreted film (All These Women) and almost dying due to antibiotic poisoning, Bergman's latest film Persona (which had been lauded worldwide) attracted only ten percent of the domestic audience that the critically-mixed The Silence attracted.

The question that Cowie failed to answer in his biography was why so few people were interested in Bergman's latest project that was a self-conscious treatise on identity and the nature of cinema itself? Perhaps the answer is reflected in Bergman's original title for the project that would be Persona: Cinematography. Coupled with the scandalous on-set affair by lead actress Liv Ullman and Bergman, the abstract aesthetic nature of Bergman's latest project was hardly in-line with his previous "mainstream" projects.

Contemporary audiences could easily relate Radiohead going from OK Computer to Kid A; as Persona threw out the conventional theatrical leanings and traditional filmic documentation and instead replaced it with a new bold cinematic language. Certainly, the rise of the Nouvelle Vague movements throughout continental Europe could explain for the drop in Bergman's audience, but Persona is something even more experimental, daring and oblique than anything produced by Godard, Antonioni or Pasolini during this period.

This is cinema at its most basic and its most complex. Utilizing the historic implications of imagery from the silent era, Bergman creates a film that is strikingly rich in detail and feels cool and ultra-modern the entire time. After being nearly paralyzed from a severe lung infection, Ingmar Bergman returned to the screen with his most daring film ever. Persona was initially developed through a combination of his boredom at being bedridden in a Swedish hospital bed and his glancing upon a magazine photograph of his ex-wife Bibi Andersson with her Norwegian friend Liv Ullman. Wholly believing the pair were physically alike, Bergman developed a story based upon the idea of two different women being one and the same. The result was a film that is still fresh, invigorating and perfekt to this day.

The film stars Liv Ullman as Elisabet Vogler, a famous theatre actress who during an adaptation of Electra suddenly stops talking and places herself in a silent semi-autistic state. Alma (Bibi Andersson), a bubbly innocent nurse is placed in charge of Elisabet's health and is asked by her superiors to take her to a cottage in the countryside in order to try to improve Elisabet's health.

Yet, instead Alma begins to openly reveal herself to her mute friend, before realizing their friendship and close relationship is not Alma perceives it to be. This produces a film that not only explores the ideas of duplicity, but also the ability of two halves of a being becoming whole. Bergman and Sven Nykvist film the picture in a crisp monochrome style that attempts to showcase this theme of "the human mirror."

Throughout the film, Bergman also teases us with his cinematic experiments as he tries to break down the invisible wall between cinema and the audience via a variety of methods: Ullman photographing the audience, a young boy touching the screen etc. Through his breaking down of this wall, Bergman is allowed to wildly experiment with the material substance of film. Yet, this is never done a gimmicky fashion. All is done artfully and tastefully in the manner of an expressionist horror film with Ullman as the vampire or God figure depending on which scholar is analyzing the film.

Dominated by excellent performances from both Andersson and Ullman, Persona captures the essential themes of Bergman's earlier works (fears about art, existence, God, modernity etc) and repackages them in a bold and strikingly beautiful, yet unconventional format. The result is a multi-layered film that not only questions our existence and the nature of identity, but our role in the modern world. Through film Bergman expressed his fears and Persona is his attempt to strip down cinema to the elemental- removing its personas and its masks to reveal that all our notions of self and being are ultimately analogous roles played by ourselves.

* Persona is available through MGM Home Video as part of the Ingmar Bergman Collection

Copyright 2006 8 ½ Cinematheque.