Persona

There are few directors whose films have sparked as much rumination and analysis as Ingmar Bergman. His cinematic creations, utterly unique in style and tone, have been and shall continue to be debated and critiqued for decades. Many consider him the master of minimalism, whose work subtly exposes the truth of the human condition, while others hail his films as unnecessarily abstruse and pretentious. Whatever one's feelings on Bergman, it must be said that his films are certainly intriguing; and perhaps none more so than 'Persona.'

'Persona' follows Alma, a nurse, who is put in charge of Elisabet, an actress who has been inexplicably rendered mute. It is determined that Elisabet may better recover in an environment other than the hospital, and she and Alma travel to a cottage on a remote island for respite. While there, a strange metamorphosis occurs, and the identities of Alma and Elisabet become blurred in relation to one another; as repressed memories are brought to light and motivations questioned.

'Persona' tells this story in a manner most abstract, relying heavily on Sven Nykvist's powerful cinematography and the expressionistic talents of Liv Ullmann and Bibi Andersson to forward the narrative as much as Bergman's screenplay and dialogue. It is a strange, sinister film seeped in a mysterious aura of despondency that challenges and offers the viewer no quarter. Through its' examinations of jealously, sex and identity, the film holds a mirror up to the human condition; the reflection of which is most affecting and raises many questions.

Just what is the film about? Is it some kind of Scandinavian Jekyll and Hyde story about doubling and the duality of man? Does it fit in with Jung's notion of persona, or could it be a psychological interrogation of female sexuality? Is it a critique of theatre and the notion of performance in itself? The film is open to interpretation, and many readings can be given as to its' meaning. Whether or not this appeals to the viewer is entirely subjective; though those who enjoy stories of abstraction will certainly find it an interesting, unique experience.

As mentioned above, much of the film's impact is due to Sven Nykvist's cinematography, which is spellbinding. The film begins with a bizarre montage of distorted images, ever-increasing in strangeness and emotional intensity from there. Under Bergman's direction, Nykvist captures what Herzog refers to as the drama of the landscape masterfully, as well as making excellent use of the close-up; adding immeasurable power to scenes. Nykvist's collaboration with Bergman was one of the most fruitful in cinematic history; as the striking images in 'Persona' prove yet again.

'Persona' stars Liv Ullmann and Bibi Andersson, both delivering fascinatingly impassioned performances as Elisabet and Alma, respectively. Ullmann does the bulk of her acting silently, utilizing her impressive expressionistic talents to convey the emotion and feelings of her character, which she does in a manner most efficacious and affecting. Andersson displays remarkable versatility, intensity and emotional perspicuity, creating in Alma a remarkably multi-faceted character that one does not easily forget. The two of them work together wonderfully, showcasing a chemistry both electric and genuine.

Having said all that, it's easy to see why many viewers feel the film isn't worthy of its' reputation as a motion picture magnum opus. It is an intentionally difficult film, one which forces the viewer to think and doesn't offer much entertainment value in the traditional sense. The story and its themes are Delphic and the characters are hard to warm to, and- though undeniably powerful- the irregularity of the cinematography can be occasionally confounding. It is not unjust to say that some may feel the film underwhelming and incomprehensible; though many more may find its obscurities intoxicating.

Ingmar Bergman's 'Persona' is a captivating film, one which continues to perplex and puzzle. Strongly acted and beautifully shot by Sven Nykvist, the film is somewhat recherché, and its meaning and value will likely be hotly contested by film buffs for years to come. Intriguing, abstract and unique, it is not exactly a movie one will say they enjoyed; it is too calculated and cold a film for that. Rather, it is a film one experiences; and 'Persona' makes for a very memorable experience.

This is one of the most studied and challenging films in history, inviting analysis from historians, critics and psychiatrists. I find it not dramatically different from other Ingmar Bergman films. The internal dialogue, frank discussions on sex, confusion about one's place in the universe, brutally harsh judgements of the artist - these were present before Persona, and after. When asked about the film, Bergman said he trusted audiences to form their own conclusions. An answer I found refreshing. I don't think Bergman, who also wrote the screenplay, was out to create a puzzle that must be "solved". There's no gamesmanship.

I admire the film's aesthetic, the impeccable chemistry between Liv Ullmann and Bibi Andersson, and its humanity. There's warmth and comfort in the writing. I go back to the bedroom confessional: Liv Ullmann's Elisabet, the actress who mysteriously stopped speaking, sitting on the bed; Andersson's Alma, the nurse charged with Elisabet's care, at the other end of the room. Alma vividly recalls a sexual experience on the beach, with a couple of voyeurs, salaciously detailing everything, subverting the image Elisabet may have had of her, as a prude. In that scene, the patient, Elisabet, transforms to therapist, and Alma becomes the patient. A rich irony.

The scars take some time to reveal, our wounds forever birthed and re-peeled, there are phases you will find, time to re-mask and re-blind, but you'll never get the chance to fully heal.

Who are we and why? Do we really know for sure? An electro-chemical cocktail that will never deliver a cure, or are we slaves to our surroundings, inadvertently fine tuning ourselves as a result, none more so than when we're children growing up.

The outstanding and spectacular pairing of Bibi Andersson and Liv Ullmann provide Ingmar Bergman with his most cryptic, ambiguous and perplexing performance puzzle to date, that you can conjure a myriad of meanings to but, ultimately, will probably leave you not that much wiser to what he really had in mind.

I can understand the viewpoints of those who loved and were moved by Persona and those who were confused or frustrated by it. I personally love it, but I was underwhelmed by it first time. Persona is definitely not the most accessible of Ingmar Bergman's films, Wild Strawberries and The Magic Flute were much more in that regard, and it is also not an easy film to talk about or review. I have seen those who didn't like Persona finding that the story structure is disjointed. In a way it is, but what also made it fascinating in my view was how it explored the nature of art and reality in an ever thought-provoking(by Bergman standards) manner. Sven Nykvist's cinematography is fantastic, the melting frame was an interesting and well-done technique here, as is the scenery, and it is not a Bergman film with a memorable image or two. Persona definitely has those, with the disturbing and somewhat daring images at the start, the immortal image of the two main characters' faces becoming an entity and the more retrospective one with Alma reminiscing with the sexual encounter. The score is hauntingly beautiful, and the way it's written Persona comes across(like Cries and Whispers) as emotionally complex, somewhat disturbing and very moving, and as ever thoughtful also. The inclusion of off-screen voices are well-incorporated. Bergman's direction I cannot fault, and it's the same with the two leading ladies. Liv Ullman proves that a performance where actions and gestures speak louder than words can still move you, and she does that splendidly. But for me it is Bibbi Andersson's film, she is just heart-breaking in her loyalty and compassion. Overall, a brilliant film but understandably not the easiest of films to watch or review. 10/10 Bethany Cox

From its opening, seemingly random B&W images, Ingmar Bergman's "Persona" screams intellectualism. The film is cold, clinical, and abstract. It induces deep, philosophical questions that lack answers, or questions that provide for a multiplicity of emotionally unsatisfying answers.

About eight minutes into the film, the story begins. In a hospital, young Nurse Alma (Bibi Andersson) is assigned to care for Elisabeth Vogler (Liv Ullmann), an actress who, for no apparent reason, has ceased speaking. Concluding that there is nothing physically or mentally wrong with Elisabeth, the hospital exports her to a seaside cottage, where she is to be cared for by Nurse Alma. Most of the rest of the film is set at the cottage, where the two women get to know each other. But throughout, Elisabeth does not speak. She communicates only with facial expressions and body gestures.

For all of Elisabeth's silence, the film's script is remarkably talky. Nurse Alma talks in long monologues: asking, probing, recalling. She tries to build a relationship with Elisabeth, by vocalizing her own memories and emotional pains in life. Certainly, the film's curious narrative has a lot to "say" about the art, or rather the artificiality, of human communication.

The best element of the film is the artistic, B&W cinematography by Sven Nykvist. Lighting trends toward high contrast, with stark boundaries between light and darkness, a feature that contributes to the film's cold, intellectual tone. There are lots of close-up shots, even extreme close-ups, of the two women. The film's production design is ascetic, unadorned, austere. And this, too, enhances the analytic, abstract feel of the film.

Bergman conceived "Persona" while he was confined to a hospital. And I am inclined to think that the film is a cinematic expression of his own inward psychological struggles during that period of his life.

In other words, "Persona" communicates to us as much about Bergman's mindset, and his ideas of suffering and reality, as it does about any deep, universal questions in a post-modern world, although to some extent, the two dimensions intersect and overlap. Bergman is telling us that, ultimately, the film is not real. It is "nothing". It is an artificial human construct. That is, it is art, a perception that approximates, but does not replace, what we experience as reality.