Review of Cries and Whispers (1972) by Byron B — 07 Oct 2008

Ingmar Bergman is able to do one thing with "Cries and Whispers" that many filmmakers are never able to do in their entire lives: create bare, bitter, tride and true emotion.

Unblinking and extremely painful, "Cries and Whispers" operates solely on a psychological level: the color of the walls, the shifting color of dresses, the baring of breasts and self-mutilation. All of these elements swim together in a house that is located on a sprawling estate. But, with only a few exceptions, the audience and the characters are trapped inside the red walls of this house, all partaking the painful poignancy.

This is the second film of Bergman's that I have seen, the first being his last, "Saraband." Though many years and experiences separate these two works, there is still a common thread beautifully uniting what they mean: Ingmar Bergman was a very sad man. It is a simple statement, only profound if simplicty is viewed as profound, but nonetheless true. With this sadness, Bergman has crafted a filmography that spans the the last half century.

What is important to note, and the key to all of his film's power, is the grasp that he has on his own sadness. As I mentioned in my "Saraband" review, Bergman never grovelled in his sadness, but utilized the cinema as an outlet for the world to see, understand and possibly identify with.

The first time I saw "Cries and Whispers," I admit I wasn't quite prepared for the amount of emotional devastation. The second time, however, I knew what was going to happen and was therefore able to focus on why.

The reason "Cries and Whispers" is timeless and successful is that nothing is hidden. The audience is never left to wonder why something happened, only what might have been if...

Bergman has an intended audience. He never points fingers, though, but this audience may see themselves in a character.

The ending of the film is what I want to focus on lastly. It is an incontrovertibly genius conclusion, giving perfect balance to hope, despair, possibility and pain.

We know what happens to the dying sister by the time we hear her mental thoughts of joy and "capturing these moments of perfection." Therefore, Bergman places these happy thoughts at the very end to exist solely as they are: thoughts.

As I'm sure he would see them: fleeting thoughts.

[I look forward to exploring more of Bergman's world, specifically the trilogy on the silence of God. There is much to be learned from this man.].