by Allan Fish
(Sweden 1972 91m) DVD1/2
Aka. Viskningar och Rop
The wrinkles of indifference
p/d/w Ingmar Bergman ph Sven Nykvist ed Sib Lundgren m Frédéric Chopin, Johann S.Bach art Anna Asp, Marik Vos cos Marik Vos, Greta Johansson
Liv Ullmann (Maria), Ingrid Thulin (Karin), Harriet Andersson (Agnes), Kari Sylwan (Anna), Erland Josephson (Doctor), Georg Arlin (Karin’s husband),
There is surely no colour in the spectrum that has been so expressively and symbolically used in cinema as red. Just think of the girl’s coat in Schindler’s List, the lipstick in Black Narcissus, the eponymous shoes worn by Norma Shearer, the room occupied by Michael Anderson in Twin Peaks, the free-falling carnations in Heimat, not to mention the incredibly rich textural use by Zhang Yimou and Krzysztof Kieslowski in films we needn’t name. Yet no film, before or since, has ever tried to incorporate a colour into a film’s very being in the way Bergman’s masterpiece uses red. It has often been thought to have represented blood and, while it may be too vibrant for that to be taken literally (Kubrick got it right with the blood gushing from the elevator in The Shining), it’s still an astonishing coup that Bergman pulls off with almost supreme brilliance.
In its essence, the plot recalls the likes of Tolstoy, Chekhov, Genet and even Proust, and follows the dying days of a thirty-something woman, Agnes, cared for by her maid, who has recently lost a child of her own, and her recently returned sisters, the earthy Maria and the aloof, almost scary Karin. Her final hours, and those that follow her death, force all three other women to face up to hidden demons.
Indeed at times, it feels like we’re watching a post mortem, or perhaps more accurately given the shades of red, the cinematic equivalent of open-heart surgery. It is often deliberately unsettling, discomforting viewing, but Bergman holds your attention with the skill of a supreme mesmerist. It must be said that the aforementioned use of red is critical in this context, as everything is red; the drapes, carpets, chairs, bed covers, screens, walls, even apples. Between shots the screen dissolves not into black, but into red, like a still picture developing in a dark room, a feeling further intensified by some of the most intense, soul-baring close-ups in cinema history. And whereas often in such films it’s easy to see where the discomfort sets in, here it sets in from the very beginning. It’s nearly nine minutes before a word is spoken, the silence only occasionally interrupted by the distant ticking of a clock, symbolic perhaps of the sands of time ticking away for poor Agnes. The haunting is increased still further by the presence of the two sisters in the following sequences, including a seemingly traumatised Ullmann lying on her bed with a doll while her music box eerily tinkles out Strauss’ ‘Emperor Waltz’. We soon see that these objects of childhood haunted all three sisters, as the dying Agnes recalls events from their childhood, including a Magic Lantern show on Twelfth Night.
In actual fact, there is too much emblematic resonance to do justice to it in a mere page. Better to give laurels where they are due, and certainly everybody both in front of and behind the camera did exceptional work, from Asp’s unforgettable production design, to Vos’ costumes, so perfect as to be frightening in themselves (Thulin like the evil stepmother in Disney’s Cinderella), and from Nykvist’s incredible interior photography to the peerless performances from his cast. Though Sylwan does admirably as poor Anna, it is of course Bergman’s three mainstays who dominate, with Andersson and Ullmann merely magnificent, and Thulin simply devastating. The cries of the title are shattering, the whispers icy cold, the silence frankly deafening, the whole experience traumatic, disorienting, painful and absolutely essential. A feeling perfectly summed up by the priest when he declares, with a tear running down his cheek, “pray for us who have been left in the darkness, left behind on this miserable earth.” After watching this, you’d be forgiven for thinking that waking each morning was like a stay of execution. Thankfully, it ends on a peaceful moment of reconciliation.
One of your best pieces – succinct, suggestive, yet forceful.
I look forward to the rest of the series but will mostly be watching from the sidelines, continuing to update the Wonders post on my blog but attempting to refrain from commentary (or even to read such) as I’m trying to take a break from blogging and watching movies starting after tomorrow. But keep up the good work.
Think you hit the nail on the head here. Succinct, and straight to the point. A page is, indeed, too small a space to go into all the metaphors Bergman accomplishes in this film. I, parsonally, think this one could be one of, if not the singular, masterpiece by this titan of film-making. Merely saying the words that make up the title of this film floods my body into gooseflesh. It is, and always shall be, one of those devastating film going experiences that never leaves the viewer. It’s intimacy is almost embarassing in the sense that I often feel like I’m evesdropping on the private moments of these characters lives. Thulin is unforgettable. I have this film as number two on my own personal list for his decade. Bravo Allan! Thanx, Dennis
Well, one thing is for certain. This is my favorite Bergman of all, and the one foreign-language film above all others that launched my lifelong love for foreign-language cinema, affecting me deeply as an impressionable youth. I saw it first at the Cinema 1 on Third Ave., and 60th Street, and I remember vividly getting my car towed for my efforts.
This was one of cinema’s most exquisitely photographed films, with Sven Nykvist at the height of his powers, but there are a quartet of electrifying performances on display here.
Yes this is a great review, with that proper “color” lead in, although I have always seen that to respresent the inner chambers of the human soul. I understand Allan’s numerical preference, but for me this is unquestionably one of the two or three greatest films of this decade, and has been so documented on my own Top 25.
Our good friend R.D. Finch gave this film quite a treatment two weeks ago at the Movie Projector:
http://movieprojector.blogspot.com/2009/06/study-in-scarlet-ingmar-bergmans-cries.html
Sam’s love for this film is legendary. Matter of fact it was Sam who introduced me to it years ago when we were the most formidable collectors of Laserdics inhabiting the east coast. I don’t know why, the film is loaded with so many passages of humanity and longing, but the adjective that I feel best sums up my feelings about this film is CHILLING. Nowhere in either American or foreign film have I ever been able to recall the kind of long lasting impressions of regret and despair that this film has left on me.
I love that word. DESPAIR. See also angst, misery, depression, torment, desolation, gloom, suffering, melancholia…what’s not to like?
Movie Man: I still need to comprehensively respond to that lovely email you sent me, and i will. I do not blame you one iota from taking a blogging sabatical, as you have done nothing but boost our own site here for weeks now. You will be missed, but you really do need to watch some stuff, and to post at The Dancing Image. What you have done here for all of us is simply incalcuable, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I can only imagine how many times you burned the candle at both ends to enter all of these insights on so many films and subjects.
Dennis: Indeed, there are few films that I have promoted as relentlessly as this one. Geez, I saw it 14 times in the theatre. You express some great thoughts there.
Movie Man:
My own very special tribute to America is being negotiated right now, and will be ready to post within three hours, much to Allan’s great disdain. I am reviewing the film musical 1776 as part of my “Forsaken 70’s Cinema” series, but I will make a rousing defense!!!! LOL!
I like that ‘what’s best for Alaska’ Movie Man!!! Good one!!!
I will certainly look for those two posts you plan away from The dancing Image, and have alll intentions of being a regular when you return in force.
I’m over here now for a barbeque and thought I’d add a few words. This is the one film over all others that wears the Bergman trademark. All the elements of the earlier films, even the clocks, are joined with the color composition in a philosophical look at one’s inner demons. Allan Fish is right to use those words to describe it. It’s not pleasant.
In the pantheon of films that is the work of Ingmar Bergman I immediately draw imagery from certain films from my memory that have never left me. The chess game from SEVENTH SEAL is my first memory. The opening montage from PERSONA still haunts me like a bad dream. Just about any image that is WILD STRAWBERRIES. The children under the table in FANNY AND ALEXANDER. The silence in front of the keyboard with the luminous Ingrid Bergman in AUTUMN SONATA. But, for my money (and I believe Allan is right as well as Sam freeze-framing the image for me the first time I saw it) is the perfectly realized composition of the woman in the bed in this film, probably Bergmans masterpiece.
Dennis:
Just about NOBODY would call CRIES AND WHISPERS Bergman’s masterpiece. (greatest film) That is an extreme minority position. Not even the film’s greatest admirers would make that contention, and I know not a single major critic who feels that way. But what I was trying to say there is that the film is my FAVORITE Bergman for the reasons I spoke of above. It may also be the most emotional of Bergman’s films as well though both FANNY AND ALEXANDER and THE VIRGIN SPRING are supreme in that department.
The titles that come up most often on that question are: PERSONA, WILD STRAWBERRIES, THE SEVENTH SEAL, THE SILENCE and even FANNY AND ALEXANDER. Some will even go with SMILES OF A SUMMER NIGHT.
Your post here is wonderful, as those scenes you mention are indeed unforgettable.
I wasn’t saying that the film was Bergman4 best film. I was trying to say the composition of the image of the woman in the bed might be his masterpiece visual. God, always jumping down my throat. Try reading what I write. I might not be a poet or a professional scribe but I thought i WAS clear that I was talking about Bergmans imagery. I’ll brinhg a pillow over the house the next time we discuss film, Sam, and after you get done chastising me about everything you can take a nap while I speak.
“God, always jumping down my throat.”
Gee, and I thought my e mail was polite and constructive?!? Who is jumping down who’s thoat here?
Wow wow wow — Nothing much to say here except that this is an excellent response to a masterful film. This may be one of the finest takes on a movie I’ve read here at WitD. I particularly love this piece:
Indeed at times, it feels like we’re watching a post mortem, or perhaps more accurately given the shades of red, the cinematic equivalent of open-heart surgery. It is often deliberately unsettling, discomforting viewing, but Bergman holds your attention with the skill of a supreme mesmerist. It must be said that the aforementioned use of red is critical in this context, as everything is red; the drapes, carpets, chairs, bed covers, screens, walls, even apples. Between shots the screen dissolves not into black, but into red, like a still picture developing in a dark room, a feeling further intensified by some of the most intense, soul-baring close-ups in cinema history. And whereas often in such films it’s easy to see where the discomfort sets in, here it sets in from the very beginning. It’s nearly nine minutes before a word is spoken, the silence only occasionally interrupted by the distant ticking of a clock, symbolic perhaps of the sands of time ticking away for poor Agnes.
So very true and so eloquently stated Allan. You immediately hit on why red is so important in the film, and its prevalence is something that many people have a hard time with, but I think it’s brilliant.
This is my favorite Bergman film. I don’t think there was a better film in the 70’s (all thought Apocalypse Now comes close). It’s a haunting film that is not easily shaken…even after a couple days passed I still wasn’t able to stop thinking about this movie when I first saw it. (I was 16)
I especially love that you mention those close-ups. Nykvist’s cinematography was top-notch here (this may have even been his best film) as some of the interior shots are just amazing, too.
I’m struggling to find anything profound to say because you have already said it in this fabulous treatment on a masterpiece of a movie. Someday when I get around to reviewing this movie on my own blog (I’ve been meaning to for a while now) I will make sure to come back to this review and reference the fine passage I quoted above.
Great stuff.
Yes indeed, Kevin, despite Allan’s downplaying he is an exceedingly gifted writer, and this review is extraordinary by any barometer of measurement. I was just telling him on the phone yesterday that the passage that you just sited (the descriptive clarification of the use of red in the film) was superlative, but Allan, being Allan, disagreed. LOL! Few writers on the net are as gifted, no doubt. He continues to set the standard with his illustrious countdown entries.
Thanks so much for your splendid appraisal of his reviews and the film you so dearly love.