Review of Persona (2000) by Ian R — 12 Apr 2011

PERSONA ranks as one of Ingmar Bergman's masterpieces. Released in 1966 after a three-year hiatus following his "chamber films" of the early 1960s, PERSONA is Bergman's first mature film focusing entirely on human psychology and interpersonal relationships, leaving behind the religious angst of his earlier output.

Even before the action of the film begins, we are treated to an incredible mix of images. We see an arc lamp come to life and film rolling through a projector. A silent comedy film pops up for a few moments, only to be replaced by enigmatic footage of a slaughtered lamb and a hand being nailed to a cross. Finally, a boy wakes up (incidentally the same actor as the child protagonist of Bergman's earlier film TYSNADEN), puts his glasses on, and picks up a book (incidentally the same book as in that earlier film). But he is suddenly distracted, and holds his hand out to the camera. We see the boy touch some invisible screen, as the eerie images of two women alternate upon it. Then, the credits roll. This opening montage may seem unnecessary, but it serves as Bergman's way of hammering home the point that what we are watching is a film, and far from being banal entertainment, cinema is in fact capable of expressing striking truths, as we are about to experience.

The plot of PERSONA initially seems simple. The nurse Alma (Bibi Andersson) is tasked with caring for Elizabet Vogler (Liv Ullmann), an actress who has mysteriously ceased speaking. As Alma jabbers away, while Mrs Vogler says nothing, the action develops much like in Strindberg's play "Der Starkare". But a series of events suggests that things are much more complex than they seem. Are Alma and Volger the same woman, representing just two different facets of a single personality? This interpretation is a popular one and quite probable, but the film's mysteries don't end there. What is the meaning of the two historical tragedies Vogler witnesses, the clearing of the Warsaw ghetto and the self-immolation of the Vietnamese monk? Unlike contemporaries like Vilgot Sjoman, Bergman never directly responded to the violence of the mid-century, and I daresay here we get an explanation why, for how can mere words adequately relate to such horror?

If you don't like auteur cinema, and films that are fairly open in interpretation, then I don't know if I can convince you to love PERSONA in a humble Amazon review. Nonetheless, this is a film I highly recommend for the questions it raises. Rarely does one encounter a work of art that provides such satisfying challenge and leaves one thinking about it for a long time after it ends.

Sven Nykvist's cinematography expertly serves Bergman's storytelling. I was especially stunned by a long rolling shot as Alma and Mrs Vogler run along a beach. One gets the sense that after the intentionally limited "chamber trilogy", Nykvist was reveling in the greater variety of shots available to him. I'm impressed by how Bergman presents a plot that feels so epic when in locations and casting, at least, this is more similar to the chamber trilogy than the films of the late '50s. Besides Alma and Mrs Vogler, there are only two other characters, a psychaitrist (Margaretha Krook) and Mrs Vogler's husband (Gunnar Bjornstrand) who appear only briefly.