Autumn Sonata (Ingmar Bergman) 1978
Autumn Sonata, a
stunningly accomplished chamber drama from Ingmar Bergman, is relaxed as often
as it is austere. Set mostly in a country home, the film essentially has three
speaking parts, and the real crux of the film revolves around only two of the
characters, an emotionally and physically distant mother and daughter. Played
respectively by Ingrid Bergman (as Charlotte) and Liv Ullmann (as Eva), the two
actresses give phenomenal performances. After seven years apart, the death of
Charlotte’s longtime companion prompts Eva to invite her to her home, and the
film observes the way that the physical and temporal distance from their
relationship has in no way dulled the acute feelings that they have about each
other.
Watching a good Bergman movie is like being thrown into a
psychic vortex. The way that the director uses the screen to represent the state
of mind of his characters is truly unparalleled. His camera stresses the
unspoken but rarely appears to (notice the camera’s slightest recoil when the
mother and daughter embrace in bed). His close-ups are held for inordinately
long periods and the emotions that wash over the face of his actors have a
genuine complexity and depth to them. They don’t often say exactly what they
are feeling, but we understand implicitly. Everything that we see is intimate,
but there are even more layers suggested that are never revealed. In some of her
writings, Eva mentions that she values feeling without sentimentality, and
that's precisely what a Bergman film provides.
Much of the film feels like a condemnation of Charlotte,
who was more devoted to her work than her daughter, and it’s shocking that
Bergman would be so one-sided. It’s quite apparent that the scars of Eva’s
childhood haven’t been left behind. Some of her complaints, while essentially
valid (a mother should be perceptive toward her daughter’s feelings), seem a
bit unfounded (an adult should be able to accept that her mother is human as
well, foibles and all). As Eva continues to eviscerate her mother for her
neglect, the audience’s resentment toward Eva builds up for doling out the
punishment, making us better understand where Eva’s coming from. The film
doesn’t exactly take sides, but there is the feeling that Charlotte, who did
have an affair, is getting a bum rap from a woman that claims to be incapable of
love herself, yet is married. We certainly can acknowledge Charlotte’s guilt,
but this war being waged on Eva’s home turf feels a bit unfair.
It’s to Bergman’s credit, then, that the last two
minutes completely dispel any such complaint. With striking economy, the film
suggests there will be a winter to follow this relationship’s autumn, and if
the tone isn’t exactly hopeful, it’s certainly open to the possibility of
hope. Impossibly pretty, the film is shot by Sven Nykvist in autumnal hues and
impressionistic lighting with flashbacks that look more like animated paintings
than mere sets. Bergman’s technical brilliance is subdued here, allowing his
actors and script to leave the biggest impressions. If the humble Autumn
Sonata ultimately lacks the sheer power of Bergman’s similarly constrained
Cries and Whispers or Persona,
it is only because its admirable earthiness needn’t resort to the former’s
leaps into the supernatural and the latter’s narrative explosions.
****
01/18/02
Jeremy Heilman