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Film: The Virgin Spring
Release date: 28th October 2002
Certificate: 15
Running time: 86 mins
Director: Ingmar Bergman
Starring: Max von Sydow, Birgitta Valberg, Gunnel Lindblom, Birgitta Pettersson, Axel Düberg
Genre: Crime/Drama
Studio: Tartan
Format: DVD
Country: Sweden
Winner of the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film in 1961, Ingmar Bergman's The Virgin Spring is part of Tartan Video's extensive 'Bergman Collection' on DVD, along with the director's many other masterworks.
Set in the barren yet beautiful landscape of medieval Sweden, the film centres on religious land owners Töre (Max von Sydow) and Märeta (Birgitta Valberg) and their virgin daughter Karin (Birgitta Pettersson).
Karin is appointed to deliver candles to the church, requiring a day's travel on horseback. She sets off in the morning with her adopted and heavily pregnant 'sister' Ingeri (Gunnel Lindblom), a secret Norse worshiper. Jealous of the undeserving levels of affection given to the spoilt Karen, Ingeri prays to Odin for misfortune.
An altercation during the journey causes the pair to part ways. Karin continues alone and soon encounters a trio of mischievous herdsmen – two adults and a boy. Taken in by their charm, Karin invites them to join her for a picnic luncheon that ends with tragedy. Karin is raped and murdered by the two older men and robbed of her best outer clothing. She is left half buried in the clearing.
As the cold winter night draws in, the herdsmen unwittingly ask for shelter at Töre and Märeta's farm. Worried about her daughter not returning home for supper, Märeta's worst fears are confirmed when one of the herders attempts to sell her Karin's clothes. Töre decides to take revenge...
If The Virgin Spring's basic narrative is familiar to you, that's because it was used as the basis for Wes Craven's seminal, iconoclastic exploitation debut The Last House On The Left (1972) and its own subsequent remake of the same name released in 2009. However, despite this familiarity and its aforementioned Oscar success, The Virgin Spring is a frequently overlooked item in the Bergman catalogue. There are two possible reasons for this. The first is the film's position within the director's somewhat impressive oeuvre; coming a few years after the one-two-punch success of The Seventh Seal and Wild Strawberries (1957) – two of Bergman's most famous works – and just before his much lauded 'Faith Trilogy' – consisting of Through A Glass Darkly (1961), Winter Light (1963) and The Silence (1963).
The second reason stems from Bergman's own apparent ambivalence towards the final product, disregarding it as being “dreadfully triste” as the film introduces “a totally unanalysed idea of God.” However, it is perhaps for the same reasons why The Virgin Spring is one of Bergman's most endearing and powerful films.
While the film may not offer an analysed idea on God, it does offer an analysed idea on something far more tangible: the family unit. Töre is a firm but fair patriarch, but is forever lenient when it comes to his daughter's wishes; much to the chagrin of his far more devout and straight-laced wife Märeta, who believes in a well disciplined household. As a result, The Virgin Spring plays out like a grim fable about the naivety of youth, which is true to the roots of Ulla Isaksson's script, itself adapted from a 13th century Swedish ballad entitled ‘Töres dotter i Wänge’. It’s also a befitting match with Bergman's penchant for bleak, introspective subject matter, which is out in full force here.
As far as the acting goes, Max von Sydow gives Bergman yet another excellent performance (they worked together on thirteen films in total) that doesn't overshadow the rest of the cast. After all, a fair amount of the film's screen time is also dedicated to Birgitta Pettersson's Karin and her fateful journey. Having worked with her previously on The Magician (1958), Bergman coaxes a strong performance from the young Pettersson as well as Gunnel Lindblom as rival adopted sister Ingeri; creating chemistry fraught with barely contained disdain. The film's final act, however, definitely belongs to Sydow. The preparations for his act of vengeance are simply sublime; wrestling a lone tree to the ground to stock the farm's bathhouse with nothing but the sheer determination to do it is a deceptively powerful moment. His insistence on cleansing his body before shedding blood not only makes for a very good build up to the act itself, but is very telling with regards to his character's moral and religious values. Murder is unjustifiable, even if it is for a good cause, and it’s interesting to see the film take a decidedly grey stance on the matter. Töre's vengeance is not the cathartic dispensing of poetic justice that it’s intended to be. It is a grisly and barbaric affair that burns through his very being and Sydow plays it beautifully.
Sven Nykvist's camerawork is strong and quietly impressive throughout, capturing the inherent beauty and bleakness of the Swedish countryside whilst simultaneously hinting at the grim unpleasantness to come. And while said unpleasantness may be somewhat tame by today's standards, it still packs an emotional wallop to say the least; more so than Craven's more famous re-imaging. Mainly because of Isaksson's economic scripting as well as Bergman's insistence on giving the characters enough time to bond with the audience, without resorting to clichéd schmaltz, only to sweep the carpet from under their feet. The results are subtle, but have a profound impact on the overall experience, with Bergman deftly able to switch between sombre and tense atmospheres merely through conducting his cast to perform a certain look or facial expression. A scene where the murderous herdsmen dine with Karin's parents and their farmhands is especially well realised and brilliantly taut, with the youngest of the trio – an unfair accessory to the other men's crime – ready to crack and confess at any second.
While it lacks the portentous grandeur of The Seventh Seal or the experimental flair of Persona (1966), The Virgin Spring is still Bergman at his best, even though he would be inclined to disagree. The final scene – Bergman's biggest bugbear; maintaining that it was a last minute addition – does display a certain amount of religious whimsy but it befits the dark, fable-like style exhibited throughout the rest of the film, as well as offering a strange sense of overcoming. If God does exist, he certainly moves in mysterious ways.
The Virgin Spring is a compact yet masterful piece of filmmaking from one of the great exponents of world cinema. Its measured pacing, exquisite camerawork and brilliant performances render it a haunting and searing masterpiece. Also, the simplicity and familiar nature of the story makes it a perfect entry point for those who are new to Bergman's work. Highly recommended. MP
Film: Winter Light
Release date: 19th November 2001
Certificate: PG
Running time: 81 mins
Director: Ingmar Bergman
Starring: Ingrid Thulin, Gunnar Björnstrand, Gunnel Lindblom, Max von Sydow, Allan Edwall
Genre: Drama
Studio: Tartan
Format: DVD
Country: Sweden
Ingmar Bergman is considered to be the epitome of high brow art house cinema, combining human angst for the exploration of big themes such as faith, mortality and the meaning of life with a deeply innovative and sober auteurial style that has led to many labelling him as the antithesis of Hollywood. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the second of Bergman’s ‘faith’ trilogy, Winter Light.
Set in a rural and isolated part of Sweden, the film takes place in a three hour window between midday and 3pm on a winter’s Sunday, and revolves around the village pastor Tomas (Gunnar Bjrnstrand), who has been suffering from a crisis of faith since the death of his wife four years earlier.
The film opens with the end of midday mass for a tiny congregation, including an easily distracted child presumably dragged to church by his devout grandmother, an atheist schoolmistress (Ingrid Thulin) with an ulterior motive for attending, and a young fishing couple.
Following the congregation, Tomas coughs and splutters his way through preparations for his next mass in the neighbouring town of Frostnas, when the troubled young couple come to him for advice. He swiftly sends them away, advising Jonas Persson (Max Von Sydow) to return for a more in-depth chat later. Subsequently, Marta, the schoolmistress, slips into the pastor’s office to enquire about her unread letter, and declares her love for him before leaving.
When Tomas is finally alone, he reads her scathing letter that makes him doubt his faith, and finally has time to reflect before Jonas returns, anxiously seeking counsel for why God would allow global atrocities to take place. Tomas, however, cannot provide answers but merely more questions regarding God’s silence, and admits that his own faith wavered after the death of his wife. Jonas leaves more confused than when he arrived, whilst Marta is overjoyed that Tomas has finally decided to renounce God for love.
However, as they start to make their way towards Frostnas for the 3pm mass, some unforeseen events prove that God moves in mysterious ways…
The films sombre and austere mood is set right from the opening bleak shots and silence; only punctuated by ominous church bells. This is a special kind of film, in which all of its aspects - the camera work, desolate sound, lighting, script and acting - are restrained, working in shadows and low key to conversely create a spiritual exploration for a God greater than the sum of its parts.
This contrast is no more apparent than in the twelve minute long opening scene. Bergman juxtaposes large open spaces shot in wide frame and extreme long shots with the tiny congregation to highlight not only the isolated environment of his film but how isolated man is from God as well. Then this effect is recreated through image and sound as the confident church organ, hymns and Tomas’s laborious preachy words exclaim devotion, yet the tight and intense camera work focuses intimately on solemn faces that betray doubt, fear and anxiety.
The stark use of light and shade is another key element in the film. Reportedly Bergman and his cinematographer, Sven Nykvist, spent days studying how the natural Nordic light created shadows in the church before shooting the film. A key example of the use of light is in the pivotal scene where Tomas – at his most vulnerable and isolated from God - echoes Jesus on the crucifix with his question: “Why have you forsaken me?” In this scene, after being in shadows for the whole film, surrounding by questions, he finally renounces God and is bathed in sunlight, as if being baptised by the Pagan, and earthly god symbolises his choice of corporeal love.
Indeed this leads to another of the Bergman’s techniques that make this film a cerebral masterpiece; the use of symbolism. Bergman makes every one of his ‘believers’ in the film have some physical ailment and cause of pain - from Tomas’s cold and the loss of his wife and Marta’s eczema-ridden hands to Algot’s limping leg. Each of the believers are suffering, and the film subtly investigates how much humans will endure for their faith.
Concurrently, Bergman puts his viewers through this dense dreary and claustrophobic film to ask them: “How much will you endure for the sake of art?” Although this is a motif he uses more pertinently in later films such as Cries And Whispers, it’s brilliantly implemented here in Marta’s 6 minute monologue, when Ingrid Thulin talks directly to the viewer. Framed tight and in an unflattering fashion, she details her insecurities and thoughts towards Tomas directly at the audience, rendering the viewer to feel completely uncomfortable with no escape.
Whilst Winter Light is one of Bergman’s shortest and bleakest films, the beauty of its craftsmanship, profound subject matter and simplicity lends to repeat viewing, and gives it an ageless quality. Perhaps the film was best summed up by Bergman’s own wife, who said "Ingmar, it's a masterpiece. But it's a dreary masterpiece." QA
Film: Intacto
Release date: 13th October 2003
Certificate: 15
Running time: 108 mins
Director: Juan Carlos Fresnadillo
Starring: Max von Sydow, Eusebio Poncela, Leonardo Sbaraglia, Mónica López, Antonio Dechent
Genre: Drama/Thriller
Studio: Momentum
Format: DVD
Country: Spain
From the mind of the darkly comic Esperados, comes the feature length debut of young Spanish director Juan Carlos. Intacto makes tangible the concept of luck as characters can steal, win, barter or risk their fortuitousness in a series of gambles that range from the familiar surroundings of a casino to the deadly world of Russian roulette.
Samuel runs a casino in the centre of a vast deserted wilderness. Within its halls, he invites those who believe they are lucky enough to chance their fortune on the roulette tables and those brave enough to a more macabre version of roulette. Samuel is ably assisted by his manager, Federico, who, having been taught by Samuel, is capable of stealing the luck of anyone who ends up being more successful than the owners would like. However, after a falling out between the pair, Samuel rescinds the powers he bestowed upon Federico, and banishes him acrimoniously from his presence. Federico promises he will return and exact revenge on his former master and sets off in search of one lucky enough to rival the self-titled luckiest man on the planet.
Picking up a national newspaper, Federico reads the headline about a plane crash that killed all but one of the passengers onboard. He believes this surviving individual could have the potential he could harness to achieve his goals.
Tomás is a petty thief whose life is spiralling downward at a rapid rate so does not hesitate in accepting the offer presented to him when he is told he can make millions from playing games. From simple card games to running through a forest blindfolded, Tomás undertakes several tasks, as the events of his and everyone else’s pasts, their reasons and desires, are slowly revealed to us, including that of a young police woman, Sara, who is hot on their heels, seeking to shut down these underground rings, and, at the same time, understand the mystical logic that decrees and guides people’s fates...
One of the joyous aspects of Fresnadillo’s Intacto is the pace at which it marches along. As a viewer, you are thrown right into the heart of the action from a very early stage, and certain elements of the film’s luck-based construct are never explained outright. This is because the director trusts the audience to quickly adapt and accept the premise on which the transfer of fortune operates, and, as a result, allows the plot to remain sharp, snappy and, most importantly, unpatronising in what would be an otherwise futile attempt to ‘justify’ the sequences.
Each of the four protagonists is presented to the viewer with enough air time to justify their motivations and garner enough emotional sympathy or antipathy, respectively. Argentina’s Leonardo Sbaraglia delivers an understated performance as the drifting Tomás, whose initial naive exuberance for the money-making venture yields for an increasingly disillusioned stance. While he enjoys winning and making money with Federico, his lack of personal motivation for the Samuel confrontation makes him an increasingly uncooperative partner. We gradually learn of his own problems and heartache as we lurch from one outlandish contest to the next - it transpires his girlfriend was to board the same fateful flight as him until he admitted he did not love her moments before boarding.
The main arc is balanced delicately with the equally naive sub-story of investigative police officer Sara. However, whereas for long portions of the film Tomás comes across as disinterested in how and why his luck is so powerful and valued by others, Sara is the inquisitive mind the audience longs for. Whether or not we wish her to succeed in her goal is entirely relative to the viewer, yet she provides us with the analytical route into understanding why certain situations take place. Not simply a police officer, she too is blessed with some of the good fortune possessed by others in the story and, as a result, in an attempt to better understand the world she investigates, takes part in some equally strange games of chance. Sara, whose emotional degradation is played warmingly by Monica Lopez, is the counterbalance to Tomás’ own tale. Sara often struggles in keeping herself together as she has repeated flashbacks of the death of her husband and child, saying “I love you” to them moments before their car is careered into by a wayward driver. It is not by fluke that her story is the antithesis to Tomás’, as director Fresnadillo intertwines the themes of chance and love, challenging his characters to understand why one may prove to be greater than the other.
The unique quirkiness with which luck is addressed in Intacto is at the heart of what sparks the enjoyment from its viewing. Never has luck been shown as a tangible commodity, something that can be accumulated, bartered, traded and exchanged, which can explain why it is that certain people escape certain situations. Yet the definition of luck in Intacto is as vague as it is surreal. From games involving giant stick insects to running across a motorway at rush hour, Fresnadillo tends to view luck as one would wealth - it is something you can be born into, something that can be earned through one’s own endeavours, or something very few can stumble into by chance (like a lottery).
While the lack of depth in Intacto benefits the overall momentum of the film, it does provide a few holes in character development, in particular with Max von Sydow’s Jewish mastermind, Samuel. While Sydow’s performance is nothing less than powerhouse, and winds up stealing the show, the justification for his character’s actions are noticeably lacking. It is never fully established whether he is a reluctant participant, driven by what the fates have chosen for him, or whether he pursues his terminal games of chance with his opponents with any motive - malicious, redemptive or otherwise. It proves to be an irritation more than a severe downfall, and while clarification would be desired, the soliloquy by Sydow in the vastness of the casino’s wastelands is an impressively moving moment of cinematic gravitas by anyone’s standards.
Intacto is a film full of fresh, vibrant ideas and a philosophy on luck based on the ideas of Immanuel Kant that are transferred onto screen by Fresnadillo, whose keen directorial sense includes an eye for impressive panoramics and a use of vivid colour, which are highly reminiscent of fellow Spanish director Pedro Almodovar.
Armed with a team of highly skilled actors, both known and unknown, Intacto is presented with panache and poise that is both a success cinematically and for the studio that gambled on this emerging and talented director. BL
