223 - Persona, 1966, Sweden. Dir. Ingmar Bergman.

Friday, August 11, 2017

223 - Persona, 1966, Sweden.  Dir. Ingmar Bergman.

The birth of cinema.

Let us start over.

Let there be light.

Carbon arc lamps.

The projector turns on.

Reel.  Film.  Celluloid.

The film spools through the sprockets.

The light passes through the film.

Aperture.

The projector projects.

Countdown.

Images flash.

A raised phallus.

Cartoon.  An animated woman.  Upside down.  Dips her hands in the water,  Splashes them up to her face.  Splashes them up to her breasts.

Real hands washing.

Light.

A skeleton suit.  Slapstick in the bed.

Arachnid.  Tarantula.  Remember: Through a Glass Darkly.  God as spider.

Sheep.  Slaughter.  Eyeball.  Entrails.

Pounding nails through the palm of a hand.  Another hand.

Brick.  Wall.  Trees.  Snow.  Winter.

The brick texture becomes the tree texture.

Bars.  Railing.  Upsteps.

Dirty snow.

Dead woman.

Dead boy.

Dead man.

Morgue.

Hands hanging.  Feet hanging.

Telephone.  Ring!

Open eyes woman.

Open eyes boy.

The boy moves.

Drip.  Drop.

A book.

The boy reads.

Var Tids Hjalte.  Mikhail Lermontov.  A Hero of Our Time.  The Byronic hero.  The antihero.

Johan, played by Jorgen Lindstrom, read the book in The Silence.

This boy, also played by Jorgen Lindstrom, reads the book here.

Clue: two women and a boy.  In The Silence, he was the son of Anna, played by Gunnel Lindblom, and the nephew of Ester.  In Persona, he will be the son of Elisabet, played by Liv Ullmann.  And. Maybe.  The spiritual son.  Of the doppelganger.  Alma.  Played by Bibi Andersson.

The boy stands inside the morgue inside the womb.

The place of birth is the place of death.

He places his hand, his right hand, on the walls of the womb.  A screen.

He looks at the wall of the womb.  The screen.  And sees.

His mother.  The face of Elisabet.  The face of Alma.  The face of Elisabet.  The face of Alma.

He moves his silhouetted hand over the contours of the face.  Touches the face.  Caresses the face.

Longs for the mother of the face.

Will he have a mother?

Will he be born?

Will he die?

Opening credits.

Flashing images.

Boy.

Burning Monk.

Boy.

Vertical lips.

Boy.

Water.

Elisabet.

Tree through tree.

Boy.

Alma.

Boy.

Sunken seagrass.

Boy.

Elisabet.

Boy.

Rocks in the water.

Boy.

Alma.

Boy.

Keystone slapstick chase.

Door.

Alma the nurse comes in.

The Doctor, played by Margaretha Krook, assigns her.

Elisabet the actress has stopped speaking.  One mourning during Electra she simply stopped.  She looked around as if in surprise.  Later she apologized, saying she had gotten the urge to laugh.  The next morning she stayed in bed and missed rehearsals.  She was awake but did not speak or move. This condition has lasted for three months.  She is mentally and physically healthy.  She just no longer speaks.

Any questions, Sister Alma?

You may go to Mrs. Vogler now.

Sister Alma goes.

And we begin a fascinating journey through a wonder world of mysterious identity.

Of broken-down storytelling.

A fantastic voyage through a woman's brain.

Wait.

Fantastic Voyage came out the same year.  In 1966.  Of course they have nothing in common.

And in one pass we feel the immediate influence on the following films:

Mulholland Drive by David Lynch.  Stardust Memories by Woody Allen.  The Double Life of Veronique by Krzyszlof Kieslowski.  Sliding Doors by Peter Howitt.  Femme Fatale by Brian De Palma.  Vertigo by Alfred Hitchcock.  Adaptation by Spike Jonze.

And more.

When Ingmar Bergman stopped wrestling about God his films became more interesting.  Which is quite an accomplishment considering how amazing they were already.

The film is bifurcated by a broken film reel.  Which burns the film as it stops before the light.

The first half narrative.  The second half stream of consciousness.  Or dream.  Or something.

This is the kind of movie you do not have to intellectualize.  Just watch it.  And get swept up in its poetic undulations.

Yet it is fun to wonder.

She is literally her nurse.  She is figuratively her sister.  She is morally her conscience.  She is psychologically her guilt.

OR

She is literally her patient.  She is figuratively her desire.  She is psychologically her projection.  She is emotionally her regret.

The actress creates a persona.  And it talks back to her.
The nurse creates a dream.  And she becomes it.

In the end there is one woman.

Mr. Vogler knows.

And what an amazing opportunity for these two actresses.

One spends the entire movie talking.  Telling stories, revealing secrets, asking questions to which she will not receive answers.

The other spends the film in silence.  Listening.  Focused.  Processing.  Responding in thought and face and feeling.

Both roles are deliciously challenging.

Potentially roles of a lifetime.

Persona is richly layered.

It will continue to unfold with repeated viewings.