Ingmar Bergman is one of the classic auteur filmmakers who I haven’t really gotten around to in my study of film. I’ve seen The Seventh Seal of course, and am aware of some of his themes and style, but I haven’t experienced his work much at all to my embarrassment. And though I intend to see more of his movies, I feel like no movie speaks better to the kind of director he was than Persona, his classic bewildering psychological horror-drama about the nature of self.
Approaching Persona is no easy task. It’s one of the most talked about movies in cinephile circles, debated, re-interpreted, and analyzed so much that film historian Peter Cowie famously declared “everything that one says about Persona may be contradicted; the opposite will also be true”. I disagree to the point that I believe there are facts of this movie and readings that are absolute, but it’s certainly mysterious and entrancing, with a meaning that’s incredibly intentionally opaque.
The plot, as much as it matters, is about a nurse Alma (Bibbi Andersson) taking care of renowned actress Elisabet Vogler (Liv Ullmann) who seems to have gone mute, though most suspect it’s a conscious choice. Most of the movie takes place at a secluded cottage by the sea where the women bond, mostly through Alma opening up to Elisabet, until things begin to get freaky.
Persona is one of those movies that’s a go-to parody for incomprehensible art films. It’s style, content, and inexplicable details have been lampooned by SCTV, French & Saunders and many others over the years. And yeah, it’s not a movie that endears itself to most audiences because it refuses to bow to conventional visual and narrative devices. The average moviegoer would see it as snobbish, which it certainly is; but there is still brilliance to it, and no one who sees it, whether they go in expecting something coherent or not, is going to forget about it soon afterwards. It has a lingering effect, much like 2001 or Citizen Kane, though it’s not quite to their level of genius. This is a movie way more about its themes than its story. It’s got a good story of course, driven by strong characters and emotions, but what the movie is communicating is Bergman’s biggest concern. In my discussion of this movie I won’t be avoiding spoilers as I usually do, this being a film near impossible to discuss with any honesty otherwise.
Persona is about a lot of things, probably most significantly though is its titular idea, the Jungian notion of “persona”, the metaphorical mask worn publicly to conceal ones’ true character from the world. It’s most literal application in this movie is in Elisabet, whose silence her doctors believe to be a rebellious act designed to cut off her true personality that she fears is open to public judgement when she performs. And so she plays the mute to keep herself from scrutiny. Alma too, is putting on a persona of stability, racked as she is with guilt over an abortion and the circumstances that led to it. It gets more complicated when Alma and Elisabet’s personas merge into each other and a kind of paranoia, particularly on Alma’s part, starts to kick in. The film at times suggests the two women as parallel images of each other, or possibly the same person. According to Andersson the two actresses intentionally played their parts as two sides of the same personality –Bergman’s personality to be specific, and this accounts for their similar natures, as well as the fact that with each other only can they peel back their personas. Or at least Alma does. Elisabet’s is mostly forced, only with certainty speaking when given no other choice: first when physically threatened and second after intense coaxing from Alma.
The movie unravels identity fascinatingly when Alma begins questioning whether she is herself or Elisabet. This comes out of that stressed duality of the two characters, though Begrman clearly thinks they look a lot more identical than they do; through his use of frequent overlaying imagery bringing their features into focus (and contrast), and the one memorable shot where the two halves of their faces are superimposed against each other. The illusion never quite works for me though, it’s pretty apparent who’s who. But what’s important is that that’s not the case for the characters. Whether it’s a dream or not is uncertain, but Elisabet’s husband arrives and confuses Alma for her, with Alma eventually conceding and making love with him, all while under some mysterious influence. Only when she can cast off the illusion that she’s Elisabet or that they’re one and the same can she break free from this reverie and leave the cottage. This comes about from Alma telling Elisabet’s own story to her, possibly the reason behind her silence.
After this scene Alma can once again assert dominance in the relationship she lost when she read Elisabet’s letter and learned she was being studied. The submissive/dominant relationship that changes hands between the two is of course related to the movies’ sexual themes. There are very clear homoerotic overtones to Alma and Elisabet’s interactions, from their intimacy in a number of moments, Alma laying her head on Elisabet’s shoulder or breast, their faces close to one another, to their behaviour and possible fantasies (Elisabet coming into Alma’s room at night), and of course the infamous orgy recollection scene. It’s one of the most sexually explicit monologues in any film, delivered tremendously by Andersson, with Ullman’s intrigued reaction adding to its eroticism. And while there’s no overt lesbianism in the story Alma recounts, her description of her female companions’ body and action is very voyeuristic. Obviously this scene was the most controversial for international distribution, and it’s interesting that the actresses not only defended it, but Andersson rewrote parts of it to give it a more feminine tone. It’s important to note too this scene comes at the end of a series of moments where Alma has admitted to feeling freer in Elisabet’s company than she ever has before. Revealing to her this story and secret is her being extremely confidential with this patient; that she chooses to relive her greatest ecstasy and guilt alike with her is very telling. There definitely is a degree of sexual attraction between the characters, but also an antagonism and possible jealousy. One scene they may be about to make out, the next they may be ready to kill each other. But the sensuality is always apparent. To this end it’s worth noting the voyeuristic camera itself.
The movie deals with femininity, specifically with the womens’ mutual skeletons being related to motherhood. Alma’s impregnation and abortion is contrasted with Elisabets’ giving birth to a child she never wanted -a child who craves attention and love ignorant to his mothers’ disdain. Elisabet perhaps envies Alma, having attempted a self-induced abortion. The guilt of one woman stems from terminating a pregnancy, while the others’ stems from bearing a child. The shame of both is related to an ambivalent society that doesn’t condone either. Neither woman seems to value the men in their lives either. Alma admits to never having had a fulfilling sexual experience with her fiancé, and Elisabet’s husband, if that whole sequence is real, clearly can’t tell her from someone else, something she doesn’t seem too disturbed about.
Taken more literally of course, the movie could also be read as an exploration of insanity. It’s the most rational explanation for a lot of what goes on if you fixate on plot. As much as the movie is about dual nature, Alma’s is the perspective most of the film is told from. The turning point seems to be Alma’s discovery of the letter -that’s where her trust in Elisabet starts to get shaken. She actively tries to hurt Elisabet with broken glass and is rather quick to nearly scald her during a fight. As she loses her grip on reality and identifies with Elisabet, Alma behaves in increasingly drastic ways which shows through in how the film is presented. Persona is one of the finest examples of blurring the lines of reality, which has since become a favourite technique of directors like David Lynch, Satoshi Kon, and Darren Aronofsky to varying degrees of quality. But Bergman is doing it more than just to illustrate a fragmented psyche, he’s expressing ideas and images outside the strictures of the narrative, without fully understanding them himself I suspect. He simply wants them to evoke. It’s entirely possible the whole movie isn’t real -it bookends with a child (probably Elisabet’s) in some undefined white room trying to make out the face of a woman who’s either Elisabet, Alma, or both, confirming once more Bergman’s intense interest in their duality.
All this discussion and interpretation is fine, but Bergman wanted the film to be an experience of feeling more than dissection. He certainly wanted to intellectually stimulate, but was more concerned with it making a visceral impact. So okay Ingmar, I’ll tell you how Persona made me feel: unnerved. This is a horror movie, though it bears few of the common markers of that genre. But on a technical level it emphasizes tension, an eerie atmosphere, and mystery, which in relation to its themes on self and identity creates a psychologically frightening effect. There’s also a dreamlike quality it exudes, not just in how it’s paced and structured, but in little choices Bergman makes. During the confrontation scene about Elisabet’s child, rather than use the typical shot-reverse shot formula, Bergman presents the scene in its entirety twice to show both parties react to it. And in both cases he breaks up the continuous takes with dissolving cuts to the same shot. In fact the use of the dissolves throughout the movie is anomalous, leaving a mystified impression on the viewer. Perhaps what it feels most like is a distant memory, with its unreliable flow, slivers of moments like recollections and only the most important assertions and revelations remaining lucid. And like a distant memory, what’s learned from it is what sticks.
Bergman employs a degree of artsy flourish too that scholars have read into, but I personally have no interest in. Notably, the array of images and symbols projected at the very beginning, which includes among other things a spider and a crucifixion. They do a good job to disorient the viewer off the start but whatever significance they have is entirely arbitrary. I don’t believe there’s necessarily a purpose for the imagery Bergman chose (including a subliminal penis), because academia would read whatever they want into these things regardless of what they were. My feelings are similar toward the melting celluloid effect in the middle which symbolizes nothing more to me than that this movie thought of that fake-out before Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Admittedly though, the images of self-immolation in the Vietnam footage Elisabet watches and the later appearance of the Stroop Report photograph are compelling. And Bergman’s own appearance as a director filming Alma leaving the cottage right at the end is interesting, because it intrudes on the action of the film itself and once again questions the reality of what we’re seeing in a fascinating way.
If you don’t enjoy Persona (and there are many who wouldn’t), you can’t deny it’s a movie worth talking about. Look how long it took me to discuss just its general themes and interpretation. It’s that kind of cerebral film that demands you question everything you see, yet what we do see is all very well done. Andersson and Ullmann give excellent performances, each capturing the inner truth of their characters. Ullmann especially is required to be silent for most of her screen-time proving Bergman’s contention that “the human face is the great subject of the cinema”. She’s unbelievably expressive, even when she’s just looking vacantly at the camera for most of a minute (a whole conversation could be had on how much this film breaks the fourth wall). But that’s not to discount Andersson by any means, who goes from seemingly good-natured and friendly to hostile with absolute conviction. And it need not be said the pair have terrific chemistry, as the only people on screen for most of the movie.
Persona is a great movie, not quite as great as The Seventh Seal, but much more fascinating and emblematic of Bergman’s personality as a director. One last conjecture to pose is that Bergman was projecting his own doubts, questions, sexual feelings, latent fears and desires onto the film, as well as perhaps his self-consciousness –auteurism often stresses the filmmakers’ fundamental personal influence on the work. I wonder if in some way this movie isn’t a glimpse through the persona of Ingmar Bergman himself.
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