Saraband (2003)

Director: Ingmar Bergman
Country: Sweden


Back in 1982, Ingmar Bergman's magnificent Fanny and Alexander was released (my review here). That film was widely presented as Bergman's "official" final film - a summation of his cinematic career and loving good-bye note to the medium. Afterwards, he kept himself busy by writing screenplays for television and film projects and directing plays. However, he couldn't quite keep himself out of the director's chair. He worked on some television projects as a director in his post-Fanny and Alexander career, yet the one that is most popularly known as his return to film is 2003's Saraband, which truly was his final directorial work before his death in 2007. While not as grand, rich or definitively conclusive as Fanny and Alexander, it still serves as a fitting final word from one of the greatest filmmakers who ever lived.

Saraband returns to two characters last seen in Bergman's 1973 work Scenes from a Marriage: Marianne and Johan, portrayed once more by Liv Ullmann and Erland Josephson. Although some describe this film as a follow-up or sequel to Scenes, it in fact stands quite solidly on its own. I myself have yet to see Scenes, but I had no problem getting into and enjoying the story being told in Saraband. It sufficiently establishes the impression of the deep, troubled history between Marianne and Johan, establishing the nature of their relationship in such a clear and complete fashion that the viewer is given all that is needed in this film alone. In any case, a major factor of the film is the thirty year gap since the two last saw each other, their reunion after so much time just one of the many ways in which the film touches upon the spectre of the past.

The central story of the film doesn't focus on Marianne and Johan, but rather Johan's nineteen year-old granddaughter Karin (Julia Dufvenius) and her father Henrik (Börje Ahlstedt). Both of them are cellists, though Henrik's professional career is steadily winding down. He lost his wife, Anna (represented by a frequently shown photograph and based on Bergman's wife Ingrid Von Rosen, to whom the film is dedicated), two years previous, leaving him with little more than a ferocious, obsessive devotion to Karin. He spends most of his time preparing her for her musical career, often subjecting her to long, stressful practice sessions that take their toll on the young woman. Eventually, circumstances arise that pose a difficult decision before Karin: should she act for the sake of her father, or herself?

Saraband is very much a film about parents and their children, explored not only through Henrik and Karin, but also Henrik's relationship with Johan, who fathered him from a marriage before Marianne. This father-son bond is rotted to the core, with the two men on the bitterest of terms. Johan cares a great deal about Karin, but is ultimately dismayed at the failure his son has made of himself. Both Johan and Henrik reveal unpleasant qualities, but it is ultimately the older man who is the more formidable one, subjecting his son to scathing contempt. As he has done before in films like Cries and Whispers, Bergman masterfully explores the darker side of family relations.

Marianne submerges herself in this poisoned atmosphere, essentially an outside observer to the drama surrounding this family, sometimes acting as a confidant. The film is set in the secluded rural area where Johan lives, with Henrik and Karin occupying a nearby cabin. The title refers to a Bach cello suite for couples, which perfectly fits the structure of the film. Its scenes focus on the four characters conversing with each other in pairs: Marianne and Johan, Marianne and Karin, Johan and Henrik, and so forth, made constantly engaging by the power and subtlety of the actors' performances. Bergman's gift for raw dialogue remains fully intact as each of the main characters reveal layers of themselves with magnificently delivered exchanges and monologues weighted down with emotion and honesty.

With its secluded setting and focus on character, Saraband very much resembles a play, yet is still cinematically engaging and visually sumptuous. Working with five cinematographers, Bergman delved into the digital realm with this film and managed to produce images so smooth that they could easily pass for ones shot on film. As one would expect, Bergman makes the most of the human face, holding long close-ups on his actors, further uncovering their characters' layers of feelings and conflicts. The framing and lighting remains as top-notch as one would expect from a Bergman film (particularly a late Bergman), allowing the viewers to seamlessly slip into the story that is unraveling before them.

For one last time, the master successfully proved his worth. Any fans of him or simply great cinema will likely be pleased by what Saraband has to offer them.

Autumn Sonata (1978)

Director: Ingmar Bergman
Country: Sweden


The other day, I finally got around to sitting down and revisiting Autumn Sonata. The film is one of Ingmar Bergman's later color triumphs, an elegant chamber drama clearly made by a mature artist. But there is another figure who attracts just as much of the audience's attention in front of the camera: acting legend Ingrid Bergman (no relation) in, unfortunately, her only collaboration with the great filmmaker. But perhaps the rarity of this collaboration makes it all the more special - or perhaps we should be thankful that it happened at all, as its result is truly something to be experienced.

Autumn Sonata mostly takes place over the course of one day and night in the home of Liv Ullmann's Eva and her husband Viktor (Halvar Björk). Eva's mother Charlotte (Bergman), a renowned pianist, comes to stay with them for a few days, her visit at first starting off with a friendly reception, but soon giving way to more painful confrontations. Among the sources of tension between mother and daughter is Helena (Lena Nyman), Eva's sister who is stricken with a crippling illness and whose presence makes Charlotte very uncomfortable, and buried feelings of resentment that stem from Eva's neglected childhood.

Autumn Sonata, as well known as it is for its two headliners, is remarkable for so much more than the meeting of the Bergmans, serving as a perfect convergence of several artistic forces. Liv Ullmann is at her typical best here, giving a both powerful and subtle performance that ranks among the most memorable of her many collaborations with Ingmar. In similar fashion, the great cinematographer Sven Nykvist produces absolutely gorgeous imagery, suitably making good use of autumnal colors all throughout the film. Especially worth noting are the beautiful stylized flashbacks theatrically portrayed with isolated shots that stand out as miniature masterpieces of lighting, set design and composition. Also, keep an eye open for Bergman regulars Erland Josephson and Gunnar Björnstrand in minor roles.

While Eva's husband and sister serve as interesting and important characters in the narrative, it'd be a joke to place any relationship in the film above that of the mother and daughter. The entire "sonata" of the film is built around their inevitable conflict, even when the two of them greet each other warmly enough when Charlotte first arrives at the remote house. A precursor for what is to come is presented in a scene in which Eva practices one of Chopin's preludes on the piano for her mother, after which Charlotte performs her own rendition of the piece. In a way, the scene is a variation of the double monologue scene in Persona, as the camera lingers on each woman's face as the other plays the Chopin piece, recording every subtle flicker of emotion as she regards her opposite in quiet contemplation. However, unlike the Persona scene, Bergman now no longer needs the device of direct repetition nor the aid of dialogue - wisely, he lets Chopin's music do all the talking (though before her turn to play, Charlotte does offer a rather brilliant analysis of the composer, his character and how it should be reflected in his music).

Then all of the elegant exposition soon gives way to the middle portion of the film, a veritable emotional tempest as the two women reveal their pain and anger towards one another. At first, one could call Ingrid's character a monster based on her authoritative, confrontational nature - one could easily draw that assumption from her decision to wear a flowing red dress so soon after her partner Leonardo's death, which she does mainly to thwart her daughter's expectations of her. However, the long nighttime dispute sequence and the way it shows both Eva's and Charlotte's perspectives towards one another simply makes it impossible to conduct so simple a reading. Each woman takes turns as both victim and antagonist, digging up bitter memories of sacrifices made and regrets long harbored.

While an often bleak affair, Autumn Sonata is also an irrefutably brilliant work of art, and upon this recent viewing, I'm fully prepared to list it among such other Bergman favorites of mine as Persona, Cries and Whispers and Fanny and Alexander.

Along with this review, I thought I'd include a topic- and season-appropriate treat: a gallery of photos I took of some of the wonderful autumnal sights around my home town of Oakville, Ontario that can be seen around this time of year. I hope you enjoy 'em.