Review of Winter Light (1963) by Cory T — 24 Nov 2008

The second film in Bergman's trilogy on God's silence. This is, I believe, the most personal film Ingmar ever made; there is such painful uncertainty and contempt mixed together, one cannot help but feel sympathy for the creator of such a film.

The film is concentrated in a roughly three-hour span of time on a bitter and desolate Sunday in a small Swedish village. The pastor of the local church is a man who knows every word and lineage to spout to his congregation and send them on their way to be good shepherds of Christ... but doesn't believe a word. Bergman establishes the tedious nature of the Lutheran communion service, carefully lingering on Gunnar Bjornstrand's face as he passes the Body and Blood to his people. There is an emptiness and hollow void in this man's eyes. The worst, he seems to know, is yet to come.

A fisherman and his wife approach Bjornstrand's character after the service, in dier need of uplifting or some sign of hope. We never quite learn what it is that troubles the fisherman so badly, but he has no other spiritual alternative than to seek the guidance of his pastor. Sadly, though, the pastor is just as lost and searching for something substantial. The young fisherman cannot bare to comprehend the news when his pastor tells him that God hasn't existed for him for a long time. He puts a bullet in his head and leaves his wife and children behind.

The pastor also cannot bear to deal with a young woman who faithfully follows him around, for she desperately hopes to marry him soon. In one of the greatest and most daring shots I have ever seen in a film, Bergman focuses tightly on the woman's face as she reads aloud the long note to the pastor, explaining their differences and her love. It is a magnificent shot, for we are forced to stay for about 5 to 6 minutes on this woman's face alone, and feel entranced.

Anyone who understands Bergman's life and, more importantly, his childhood, will grasp why Bergman made such a morbid and bleak look at religion. All his life, Bergman struggled with faith and God's existence. I believe, though, that just as Ingmar sees himself in the eyes of the pastor, he also commiserates with the young hunchback in the church, who is a small man of large faith.

The pastor admits to his mistress at one point that he has always felt forced into the priesthood by his parents. At this moment, they are sitting in a car waiting for a train to pass. The cars of the train are not shaped like boxes, but coffins.

Metaphorical symbolism?

- No definitive answer can be given, for no one knows Bergman's actual intentions, but for we film buffs who are obsessed with such an idea, it cannot be anything else.