A theatre viewer’s Bergman films:
The Silence of God Trilogy: a case study
A recent
article of Bratya Basu published in Boier Desh (July-September 2020) on
Ingmar Bergman and his autobiography The Magic Lantern, compelled me to
revisit the world of perhaps the foremost auteur of the medium of cinema and at
the same time, a compulsive theatre-maker. I went on devouring nine of his
cinemas almost in an incessant regimen. Basu, in discussing the artistic journey
of Bergman explored the Swede’s background of theatre, and had commented that
this fact had never been discussed by any theatre analyst, critic or scholar of
the Bengali theatre ever. This particular insinuation brought to my mind a reference
the legendary thespian of the Bengali stage Shombhu Mitra had mentioned in a
class that I had the opportunity to attend to, in Santiniketan in the late
70’s. He was giving us a lesson on how to see a theatre performance, and went
on giving examples from world cinema. And in doing so he mentioned Ingmar
Bergman amongst others. But what intrigued us was while he mentioned Bergman,
he pointed out that the Swede had had an enormous experience of stage
production that had vastly influenced his making of his signature films, and that
Bergman was an ardent admirer of Henrik Ibsen and, of course, August Strindberg.
For the record, it would be worth mentioning that Mitra had also discussed the
works of John Ford, Charles Chaplin, Sergei Eisenstein, Vittorio De Sica, Akira Kurosawa, Orson Wells, Michelangelo Antonioni, Jean-Luc Godard
and Francois Truffaut,
and from where one could perceive the ideas of framing, lighting, movement and
such other things that make-up a ‘scene’.
But as
there was no YouTube facility then, I had to wait for film-clubs, and there were
many such, to arrange for such films in Sunday morning shows. I did see a few
films of a number of these giants. Mitra had pointed out that Kurosawa had
imbibed the traditional form of Noh in his films, particularly in films like The
Throne of Blood, which I had the opportunity of seeing at the FITI, Pune,
shortly afterwards.
However,
the present exercise is a direct fallout of reading Basu’s article. As a
theatre enthusiast and a cinema lover I felt it a sense of compulsion to
dissertate the theatrical elements in the films of Bergman, though a number of
scholars have written, published and spoken on this subject since the last
couple of decades. This present dissertation is a very personal exercise for me
to hone my senses regarding the wonder world of Bergman and that of theatre, as
well.
Apart from
the very obvious fundamentals of theatre like the acting forms, costumes, make
up, sets, props, etc., other essentials like the narrative form, distributions
and building up of dialogue scenes, background score and ambient sounds, and of
course, the mise en scene that define the work and its creator’s artistic bend
of mind, are shaped out depending on the very basic nature of the medium, that
is, whether it is the medium of cinema or it is the medium of theatre. And that
is where a theatre-maker’s stage job differs from a film-maker’s cinematic
design.
But what
happens if someone who happens to be world’s one of the most productive stage
directors plunges into the world of cinema to create a new language? Ingmar
Bergman happens.
Johannes
Riis in his article ‘Notes on Ingmar Bergman’s Stylistic Development and
Technique for Staging Dialogue’, had pointed out that two influences had
developed Bergman as a complete author of films: his vast works in theatre and
the theories of the Finnish psychologist and philosopher Eino Kaila. We would
be concentrating on the first influence, that is, the influence of theatre on
his films. As Jan Holmberg, the CEO of Ingmar Bergman Foundation had said that
Bergman regarded theatre as the faithful wife and cinema as the exciting
mistress – and that he would always return to the wife. It would have been
prudent to discuss his theatrical ventures in short, but that, too, would also
be a pretty lengthy affair.
For our
case study we have selected the three films that he had initially called a Trilogy
but later denied, and which he had made one after the other at the peak of his
creativity. He had said, ‘These three films deal with reduction. Through a
Glass Darkly – conquered certainty. Winter Light – penetrated certainty. The
Silence – God’s silence – the negative imprint. Therefore, they constitute a
trilogy.
Watching
these films is a cinematic experience that has no parallel in the film world.
And these films also have intensive theatrical attributes that a student of
theatre would find greatly enriching.
Considered
as twentieth century’s one of the most prolific directors of the stage, having
made 171 productions, including radio ones, Bergman, over a span of six
decades, made 59 films that included television films and non-fiction documentals
as well. So, it is naturally a challenge for anybody to discern out the
evolutionary vivacity of his themes and his craft. The Ingmar Bergman
Foundation has roughly chalked out five periods of his cinematic activities
with the principal thematic elements in each. They are (1) 1944-1953: Working
class and Young lovers, (2) 1952-1955: Marriage and Woman, (3) 1956-1964:
Metaphysics and Man, (4) 1966-1981: The role of and the
artist and Woman, and (5) 1982-2003: Epilogue and Autobiography. The third
period (1956-1964: Metaphysics and Man) is that span of his career when he made
his most significant and his most defining films like, The Seventh Seal,
Wild Strawberries, and his ‘silence of God trilogy’ Through a Glass
Darkly, Winter Light and The Silence.
This was
the period when he was equally busy with his theatre productions. During this eight-year
period, he had produced fourteen stage productions variously in Malmo City
Theatre, Royal Swedish Opera popularly called Dramaten, eleven radio theatres
and six television theatres. Thus, both the cinema-maker as well as the
theatre-maker in him were equally active, and his theatre works naturally had a
profound effect on the making of his films of this period, especially the
trilogy, where one finds exceptional instances of chamber films, in the mould
of the chamber plays of August Strindberg, and making them extremely personal
and challenging for the viewers.
The
first of the three is Through a Glass Darkly was made in 1961. It is a film about Karin, a psychologically fragile
woman (Harriet Andersson) who recuperates from a nervous breakdown while
vacationing with her family on a remote island. Her father (Gunnar Bjonstrand)
has been exploiting her illness for material for his literary pursuits. Her
doctor husband (Max von Sydow) fails in his efforts to treat her. Her brother (Lars
Passgard) is engrossed in his quest for sexual fulfilment. She further descends
into isolation and even indulges in incestuous sexual activity with her
brother. The entire family goes into introspection about the deep alienation
amongst themselves. and questions the existence of God, while Karin meets God
as a monstrous spider coming out of the attic.
Bergman
built up the film in the typical structure of a three-act play. Following the
chamber plays of Strindberg he kept the number of performers to the minimum;
four players only play out the inner struggle of the human being to come in
terms with the intangible presence of God and the enigma of love.
Bergman’s
next venture Winter Light (1963) is an exploration of the worth of a
meaningless existence and a personal endorsement to face a world that seems to
be abandoned by God. Here, a small-town pastor (Gunnar Bjornstrand)
trying to minister a declining congregation, finds himself suffering from a crisis
of faith as well as his failure to respond to the earthly love offered to him
by his obstinately faithful, ailing mistress (Ingrid Thulin). He is thus unable
to appease a disturbed parishioner’s (Max von Sydow) devastating fear of
nuclear annihilation. He could only convey to the man his own doubts about the
existence of God. The man commits suicide on his way back.
In this
film, too, number of players is limited, and of which only three are the main conversationists.
Bergman’s use of time, a period of few hours, reminds one of the short time-span
seen in Strindberg plays and that which enforces the viewer to remain intent
all through. As Peter Cowie, a specialist in Swedish films, says, ‘…he shoots
the picture with an uncompromising severity that demands total concentration
from the spectator’. A six-minute episode of the letter written to the pastor
with a normal close-up of Thulin is such an example. The use of light by his
cameraman Sven Nykvist brings the coldness of the theme, that is itself a
lesson for the theatre student.
The
Silence was made just
after Winter Light and in the same year,1963. Ingrid Thulin and Gunnel Lindblom, respectively,
playing two sisters displaying contrasting attitudes toward life and are
estranged emotionally from one another. The younger who has a kid son (Jorgen
Lindstrom), is a bit of the sensuous type as Leo Braudy had argued identifying
her with the physical type as she is shown bathing and having sex. She wants to
break away from the bindings of her elder sister who is an intellectual type
and is a professional translator who keeps sick and, according to Braudy, is
repulsed by sex and only masturbates. As they try to reach their destination, metaphorically,
their relationship turns sourer. The kid-son remains a spectator and is more of
a ‘perceiver’.
In this
last of his trilogy, Bergman absolutely denies the existence of God and the eerie
presence of the dwarves in the otherwise empty hotel with an elderly lanky
steward-in-attendance gives the film that feeling of silence and emptiness. The
Freudian implications, like in the previous two of the trilogy are much more
starkly picturized. The nonverbal communication is done by Bergman with the use
of the hands, which is a tool that is effectively applied on the stage.
Bergman’s
questioning of the existence of God and the absurdity of existence itself, are
the defining themes that recurred in his films. But behind these there is the Strindberg
shadow. Mysticism and allegories that the playwright had brought in, in his
plays, and the dream forms are all, too, obviously present in Bergman, too. Johannes Riis has quoted Marilyn
Johns Blackwell, who has studied how Strindberg’s character patterns of his
chamber plays influenced Bergman chamber films. She had said that Bergman draws
on Strindberg’s contrast between characters who ‘use words to insulate
themselves against an unpleasant truth’ and the variations of those who are
capable of perceiving supernatural phenomena, of divining the truth, and of
stripping away the facades of lies and deceits, like the schizophrenic woman in
Through a Glass Darkly, the forlorn mistress in Winter Light, or
the kid in The Silence.
And then
there is the personal conflict with religion that both Strindberg and Bergman
had experienced during their own respective lifetimes. Blatantly speaking, both
had placed Love above God.
Though it
is purely coincidental, but it is worth mentioning here that, Chetana on their
forty-eighth anniversary presented Ujjwal Chattopadhyay’s Kusum Kusum,
an adaptation of Giris Karnad’s Flowers, which happens to depict the
same theme of the conflict of choice between God and Love. And watching it I
felt the combination of the father in Through a Glass Darkly, and the
pastor in Winter Light, both played by Gunnar Bjornstrand, rolled into the tormented character
of the priest Abhay played by Sujan Mukhopadhyay. It was a great experience to
perceive Bergman’s presence in an important theatre production of Calcutta.
[I would like to express my
gratitude to Ishita Mukherjee for providing me different YouTube links to view
some of the films.]
