Review of Hour of the Wolf (1968) by Matthew J — 18 May 2012

Ingmar Bergman is flat out my favourite film director of all time without even the hint of a rival. From the moment I stuck on Persona I was transfixed. The man crafts cinema like no one else. He brings to the screen nothing less than his very soul. He is a cinematic philosopher; an artist whose canvas is the motion picture; he is a celluloid poet. Bergman is the definition of a true auteur. So great is my level of respect for him that I've thus far avoided writing a review of any of his films. I simply feel I'm not capable. My ability to write simply cannot capture the essence of his works. This is something to bear in mind whilst reading my review of Hour of the Wolf - it will be inadequate in presenting a full picture of my feelings toward the film, and it'll be worse than inadequate in conveying the meaning of the film.

Hour of the Wolf is oft considered a flawed piece. Typically, the film is described as one of Bergman's 'lesser works', which by the way, is no great insult considering the calibre of the other opuses in his oeuvre.