220 - Winter Light, 1963, Sweden. Dir. Ingmar Bergman.

Tuesday, August 8, 2017

220 - Winter Light, 1963, Sweden.  Dir. Ingmar Bergman.

Our Lord, Jesus Christ, on the night He was betrayed, took bread, gave thanks, broke it, and gave it unto His disciples, saying: Take and eat.  This is my Body which is given up for you.  Do this in remembrance of me.  Likewise he took the cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, Drink ye all of it.  For this is my blood of the new testament which is shed for many for the remission of sin.  Do this, as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance of me.

Let us now pray together, even as our Lord Jesus hath taught us.  Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed by Thy name.  Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.  Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.  For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever.  Amen.

The peace of God be with you.

The words above are the opening words of Ingmar Bergman's film Winter Light, as provided by the subtitled translation.  He wrote it.  He directed it.  He chose these words.

The words of the service are full of life and faith and hope and love.  They are good news.  But Bergman does not see it that way.  For him the words are empty.

We are in a church service.  We see the minister and the congregants.  We hear their singing.  We see their individual faces.  Someone plays the organ.  They sing.  They pray.

Afterwards, a married couple, Jonas and Karin Persson, come to the pastor to talk to him.  Jonas is brooding, depressed that China is working on an atomic bomb, facing an existential crisis over global annihilation.  It is 1963.  This is a movie of its time.

Tomas advises Jonas to go ahead and take his wife home and return so that they can talk some more.

A woman named Marta then comes to comfort pastor Jonas and nurture him in his flu.  She does not have faith, but she loves him and wants him to marry her.  She has written him a letter and wants him to read it later.

Later he reads it.  In the letter she appeals to him.  And in a bold choice of filmmaking, the actress Ingrid Thulin looks directly into the camera and recites the letter for five-and-a-half minutes.

Marta appeals to Jonas to abandon his faith and join her.

Jonas will do so.

Tomas returns and Jonas declares that he no longer believes in God's existence.  Tomas proceeds to go out and kill himself.  Jonas declares himself free of faith, and goes to join Marta.  But he is inexplicably cruel to her and rejects her.  She goes with him anyway to deliver the news of Tomas' suicide to his wife Karin, who breaks down.  Tomas returns to the next service and does his duty.

Leave it to Bergman to make everyone miserable.

Bergman was the son of a Lutheran minister.  He turned his back on his father's faith.  But he wrestled with it for years.  And made films that asked questions.  That in itself is a good exercise. But he did have a tendency to weigh heavily with moroseness.

Reading Bergman reviews is like reading a thesaurus.  Eventually, you feel as though you may as well dispense with the review and just provide the thesaurus.

So here is our thesaurus entry.

Austere, Bleak, Desolate, Dreary, Exacting, Forbidding, Formal, Rigid, Sober, Somber, Stringent, Ascetic, Astringent, Cold, Earnest, Gaunt, Grave, Grim, Harsh, Relentless, Rigorous, Serious, Solemn, Sparse, Stern, Strict, Unrelenting.

I have just spared you from having to read reviews of Winter Light. . . . Wait.  There is another one: Spare.

At least you can give your vocabulary a good workout.

Ingmar Bergman is the world's worst apologist for spiritual rebellion.  He wants you to have the worst of both worlds.  On the one hand, forsake the comfort and love of a life of faith.  On the other hand, deny yourself the pleasures of this world.  He is the self-flagellant of atheists.

But if you are not going to believe, why not at least have a good time?  If you are going to be a prodigal, why not at least indulge in licentious license before wallowing with the hogs?

Nevertheless, this is a beautiful film.

It is a study on lighting interiors, composition, the use of silence, understatement, and authenticity.

Throughout the film you feel you are in the hands of a master.

And you feel comfortable with Bergman's questioning because he does it with honesty and in good faith.

One may conclude that Bergman wrestled with these questions so deeply and for so long because he must have taken them seriously.

He must have had something deep inside him that wanted to believe.

And he must have somewhere deep-down loved and longed for his father.