When discussing cinema, there is an unspoken distinction which is understood by the elitist mentality that accompanies both Fanboy and critic alike. There are “movies”, and there are “films,” and to use either term improperly is, to either group, tantamount to inadvertently admitting that your mind is an unclean cultural garbage disposal. To these cinefiles the art of moving pictures is broken up into two categories bearing little resemblance to one another. Movies are Hollywood- produced star vehicles which are driven by special effects, violence, and the potential for erotic, but rarely shown, sex, and have the vague possibility of being good, despite the fact that they are driven by merchandising crossovers and the blatant desire to make money. Films on the other hand, are European-influenced personal artistic explorations of the human soul which are often boring and slow, but praised for being so. They rarely make any money and are somehow better for not having done so.*
These distinctions are of course ridiculous, and while I understand them, and much of the reasoning behind them, I still use the terms interchangeably when I write about the movies because I like synonyms. There is a ton of literature on the difference between these classifications, but it basically boils down to this. We see movies, and we watch films. These terms imply that movies are something we sit in front of to fill the voids in our meaningless lives, while films are texts that we actively engage in as we voyeuristically search for truth about the human condition. (As to why we say that we “watch” television then, I’ll never know.)
Taking into account these somewhat arbitrary distinctions I can think of no long-working director, with the possible exception of Dryer, who made more “films” than Ingmar Bergman. Having just seen the Swedish master’s Winter Light (1963) I must say that I’m in awe of his powers as a Director. I don’t Love everything Bergman ever touched. Of what I’ve seen, I feel Scenes from a Marriage (1973) dragged on for an eternity, and that The Seventh Seal (1957) is possibly one of the most overrated (but still worth seeing) movies ever made; a guaranteed inclusion on any pretentious “best of all time” list. Of the Bergman films I do like (Wild Strawberries [also 1957 – you have to give him credit there]; Smiles of a Summer Night [1955]; Fanny and Alexander [1982]), each has affected me deeply, popping into my head at moments that seem strange, but are somehow relevant due to these pictures.
Winter light I believe will fall into this category. I loved it, mostly for reasons I’m still discovering, but primarily because it, like so many of Berman’s efforts, deals directly with subjects other directors would make little more than footnotes in their films. Who else would have a character speak the contents of a letter directly into the camera for an almost unbroken six minutes? Even if they did, would it work? It does here in a scene that effectively rips another character to pieces with the written word. The scene in which this act is reciprocated in person is one of the cruelest conversations I have ever seen on film.
This piece is the second installment in what came to be known as the “Silence of God” thematic trilogy, between Through a Glass Darkly (1961) and The Silence (also 1963; again with the credit). Having seen, and enjoyed, that first film I understand the comment Berman biographer Peter Cowie makes in an interview included on the Criterion edition of the DVD regarding the different visual approach taken in this film. Unlike in most of the work that preceded Winter Light, Berman and his longtime cinematographer Sven Nykvist chose to shoot here in dark and muted tones. This decision perfectly reflects the darkness of the picture’s story of a pastor no longer able to feel the presence of God. The film’s original Swedish title translates as “The Communicants,” referring to the attendees of the communion services which bookend the movie. The irony of course is in the fact that though communing with God, these people are unable to communicate between one another.
Essentially, this is what Bergman made films about. Potential viewers can be intimidated when they hear that much of his work centers on his own struggle in a search for faith, but his pictures were always about the people at their center. The faith comes in later. In this film it’s during a short conversation about the passion of Christ which absolutely floored me. I love films about doubt vs. belief, but if you’re unfamiliar with Bergman, Winter Light might not be the best place to start. This picture was beautiful, but much better suited for that purpose are Wild Strawberries or Fanny and Alexander, the closest thing he ever made to a “Movie.”
I read once in an interview with Roger Ebert that Bergman shared an agent with only one other client, Charles Bronson. Once, when the two met through the agent, Bergman asked Bronson how the blood packs used in filming so many of his movies exploded. Bronson began to explain before stopping and remarking that Berman should know because he was a director. Bronson didn’t realize that Berman didn’t make those kinds of pictures. He was about as un-Hollywood as you could get.
Grade: 3.5 Hats Off
*For more info on the Movies vs. Films dichotomy see Kamp & Levi’s The Film Snob’s Dictionary (2006).
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