Persona

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In the early '60s, Bergman's visual and narrative style became ever more austere in focusing on tormented souls seeking guidance and comfort from an empty heaven, thus paving the way for a stark foray into extreme close-up in the enigmatic "Persona." A modernist masterpiece, the film initiated an introspective trilogy about the ivory towers built by artists as a defense against the horror of existence… It was Bergman's first completely innovative work, acknowledging itself as artifice through the regular insertion of non-narrative images such as projectors burning, film breaking, fragment of silent movies "Persona" depicts the vampiric relationship between a talkative nurse and an actress who refuses to speak or work after a traumatic realization of the futility of creation in a loveless world surrounded by war… Psychology, philosophy and social comment are mixed to brilliant effect in a complex, clear interrogation both of filmic illusion and of the illusory values of modern life

Ingmar Bergman's 'Persona (1966)' opens with a bewildering montage of sounds and images, a frenzied newsreel of sex, death, cinema and comedy. The sequence is so far removed from my previous experience with the director that its effect is jarring, shocking; I momentarily wondered if I'd hit a wrong button and started playing Buñuel's 'Un chien andalou (1929)' by mistake. I question Bergman's motives for including such an uncharacteristic opening, for it appears to have very little to do with the narrative that follows. Is this montage - an account of the sickening and concealed horrors and desires of society - a possible explanation for Elisabeth's continued silence? Even so, it all seems somewhat exploitative, as though Bergman was simply going for shock-value, obliterating any notions of subtlety with which I had begun to associate him {though I'll admit that the strength of 'The Seventh Seal (1957)' arose from its not-so-subtle representation of Death}. The opening scene concludes with a young boy awakening in the morgue, his hand outstretched towards the vague image of a woman's face. Elisabeth's unloved child? Alma's aborted fetus? An endless line of critics, it seems, have celebrated 'Persona' as a masterpiece, and among the greatest films ever made. I'd hate to be the lone voice of dissent, but the film is certainly the lesser of the three Bergmans I've hitherto seen, if only due to the noticeable absence of the good-natured humour to be found in both 'The Seventh Seal (1957)' and 'Wild Strawberries (1957)'. If, indeed, I were to describe 'Persona' as a masterpiece, it would be in regards to the visuals, which, photographed by long-time Bergman collaborator Sven Nykvist, are beyond description in their detail and intimacy. The film takes particular interest in the human face, and entire conversations of words and emotions are played out through the communication of the eyes, and the glimmering hint of a smile on the lips. There is one immortal moment in the film when Bergman juxtaposes the faces of each woman onto the screen, merging Elisabeth (Liv Ullmann) and Alma (Bibi Andersson) into a single entity. Persona also includes one of the most vivid depictions of sex that I've ever seen. Though the film shows us nothing, Alma's whispered description of an intimate encounter on the beach is staggering in its effectiveness; her words allow the viewer to formulate their own visuals, every emotion and nuance perfectly incorporated from the rich story we are being told. Though I may exhaust hours spouting the merits of Ingmar Bergman's film, I can't escape the fact that watching 'Persona' felt very much like a chore. The film boasts a relatively short running time, but it never seems to attain any comfortable sense of rhythm, and, by the film's end, I was left wondering just what the film was trying to get at. Bergman includes various allusions to Bertolt Brecht's "Verfremdungseffekt" effect – highlighting the inherent artificiality of the cinematic medium – with the film at one point appearing to burn; but, unlike in Fellini's '8½ (1963),' these self-referential flourishes seem to serve little foreseeable purpose. Am I looking too far into this film for meaning? Or am I not looking far enough? Even just hours afterwards, another layer of meaning has unfurled itself. Maybe it'll get better.

I was hesitant to write anything about this film at first because I wasn't sure if my negative reaction was from moodiness or the result of disappointed expectations. I haven't seen too many Bergman films, but most of the ones I've seen present interesting ideas, but as though they were the most earth-shattering profound concepts ever conceived. It can be a bit much. Okay, so here we have a movie that deals with similar themes as his later, better film, "Hour of the Wolf". Liv Ullman plays a popular actress who goes mute in the middle of a stage performance. A nurse, played by Bibi Andersson, is assigned to care for her. Eventually the two take a vacation to a cottage out on the beach (a typical Swedish method of recovery?) where a series of interactions begins to take their toll on their personalities. Here the film seems to investigate the line that is blurred between people's identities who are in close proximity over long periods of time. It seems the characters are established exclusively in order to explore Bergman's philosophical meanderings and musings, which involve the significance of the interior and exterior views of the self. Elizabeth (Ullman) seems to be someone who recognizes her lack of a strong internal identity. Alma (Andersson) is the opposite and manifests a strong internal sense of self but a weak external influence. Maybe Bergman is also saying something about the role of the artist -- that their persona is stolen by so much giving, so much internal conjuration and performance. That over time, society consumes the artist's inner world by making their gifts into novelties and taking the inner spirit for granted. But I don't really know and that's the problem. Many people say this movie is open to interpretation and that's what makes it so deep. But I think such an explanation only proves that this film is too broad or vague and relies too much on hind-sight and art-house praise. On some level it becomes too self-indulgent to really be enjoyable. I really suspect that many individuals like this movie because they view it with the same self-impressed state of mind as Bergman did when he made it. I can certainly credit Bergman with having a knack for writing decent dialog and for being inspired in his film-making. He really is empowered to make films. But he also seems obsessed with his own perceptions, making complicated and fractured works about feelings and ideas that could be presented more concretely. But then again, many people like him for that, or his aesthetic, or a variety of other reasons that I haven't mentioned here. I enjoy some of his works, but this one didn't interest me too much.

An actress who has stopped talking is cared for by a nurse. Perhaps disturbed that Fellini and Godard had overtaken him for the title of the most pretentious filmmaker in the world, Bergman shot back with this much-praised drama. The film opens with random images of a movie projector, a cartoon, an animal getting disemboweled, an aroused male organ, etc. that leave most viewers bowing to the pure genius of Bergman. The film was probably cathartic for Bergman, saving him some money on therapy sessions, but viewers should not be subjected to such heavy-handed nonsense. Andersson and Ullmann are good actresses and the only reason for watching this.

Profound studie of the human psyche. Honest story about nooks of existence and vain hopes. Anatomy of helplessness and deep solitude. Life as convention, mask for feelings and expectations. Another room of Bergman's universe. Same cruel instruments, game of flash-backs and dream sequences, visions and memories. Fight between two women as screen for interior struggle. Impact of consciences and lights of sin. Illness like armour against fake images and empty future. Confesions like way to be yourself. Like cries suffocates by silence of the other. Story about refuse and cages. About dreams and disillusions. About chaotic values and flavour of extinction. People as rabbits for experiments. The other like sign of salvation. And the question of soul. "Persona" is an act of confrontation between Ingmar Bergman and God. The silence, the cruelty of letters, the cries and the confessions of Alma are only guns in a strange and ambiguous war. So, any film of this great director is a religious personal answer to permanent subtle fear. In this case, the shadow of divine presence is the Liv Ulmann smile.

From its opening, seemingly random B&W images, Ingmar Bergman's "Persona" screams intellectualism. The film is cold, clinical, and abstract. It induces deep, philosophical questions that lack answers, or questions that provide for a multiplicity of emotionally unsatisfying answers. About eight minutes into the film, the story begins. In a hospital, young Nurse Alma (Bibi Andersson) is assigned to care for Elisabeth Vogler (Liv Ullmann), an actress who, for no apparent reason, has ceased speaking. Concluding that there is nothing physically or mentally wrong with Elisabeth, the hospital exports her to a seaside cottage, where she is to be cared for by Nurse Alma. Most of the rest of the film is set at the cottage, where the two women get to know each other. But throughout, Elisabeth does not speak. She communicates only with facial expressions and body gestures. For all of Elisabeth's silence, the film's script is remarkably talky. Nurse Alma talks in long monologues: asking, probing, recalling. She tries to build a relationship with Elisabeth, by vocalizing her own memories and emotional pains in life. Certainly, the film's curious narrative has a lot to "say" about the art, or rather the artificiality, of human communication. The best element of the film is the artistic, B&W cinematography by Sven Nykvist. Lighting trends toward high contrast, with stark boundaries between light and darkness, a feature that contributes to the film's cold, intellectual tone. There are lots of close-up shots, even extreme close-ups, of the two women. The film's production design is ascetic, unadorned, austere. And this, too, enhances the analytic, abstract feel of the film. Bergman conceived "Persona" while he was confined to a hospital. And I am inclined to think that the film is a cinematic expression of his own inward psychological struggles during that period of his life. In other words, "Persona" communicates to us as much about Bergman's mindset, and his ideas of suffering and reality, as it does about any deep, universal questions in a post-modern world, although to some extent, the two dimensions intersect and overlap. Bergman is telling us that, ultimately, the film is not real. It is "nothing". It is an artificial human construct. That is, it is art, a perception that approximates, but does not replace, what we experience as reality.

Having seen about 5 of Ingmar Bergman's films throughout the years I always end up extremely angry, literally FURIOUS, after suffering the man's boring, pretentious, inhuman stories and point of view. Why am I subjecting my self to this torture? Why? Because for some reason, all the great directors (and my favorite directors) admire him. I don't believe that his movies were made by a human being. They feel like they were made by sociopaths, or even aliens, trying to emulate human emotions and behaviors. No, nobody speaks that way, nobody reacts that way, nobody thinks that way. Nobody would confess their deepest secrets to a mute patient. Nobody would ever care so much (to the point of madness) about what a mute patient thinks about them... But, wait a minute.... A MUTE PATIENT? What ???? An actress who stopped talking?? Oh, boy, are the Swedes having a hard time or what? People survived the holocaust and kept on leading normal lives, but "Ingmar Bergman" characters are such sensitive existentialist geniuses (even when they are nurses...) that they are so deeply traumatized by an abortion or marrying the wrong man that they decide to go mute, or develop an alter-ego in their heads... Yeah, sure, one can definitely relate to that (NOT!). Of course this movie is filled with pseudo-intellectual clichés (Hallo Vietnam screening - Make our super-sensitive actress go completely insane from a TV programme) and "freudian" imagery that tries to point out hyper-OBVIOUS things about life and human psychology, in such a pretentiously artistic way that literally makes my blood seethe with anger. What? We project a different persona than our real deeper self to the outside world - IT HAD NEVER EVEN CROSSED MY MIND BEFORE THIS MOVIE, THANK YOU SO MUCH INGMAR BERGMAN! What??? People have to suppress their deeper sexual fantasies and preferences when they enter marriage??? THIS IS SO AVANT GARDE I CAN'T EVEN BEGIN TO GRASP THE GENERAL PICTURE!!! I hope that one day this pretentious piece of trash will be regarded as an equivalent to Tommy Wiseau's "The Room" because that's the only other movie that I know with such annoying-logic defying characters and behaviors, such pointless scenes and such unreal dialogue.