Persona

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.

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.

'Persona' is one of the most enigmatic movies in the history of cinema. Those who read the chronicles written right after the 1966 release of the film or the articles dedicated to it in the books of cinema history will encounter as many interpretations as authors. The same happens if we read the opinions written by film lovers on sites like IMDB, or we discuss the film between us. Ingmar Bergman had the inspiration not only of not talking a lot about this film (even less than about his other films) but he also avoided sharing too much of his personal thoughts or ideas even with the actresses or the other members of the production team. The result is an enigma. Each of us who sees or sees again this movie has his own Persona'.

The ambitions are clear from the way the film is 'packaged' using the classic projection room effects. Short sequences from classical films emphasize the effect of declaring 'here we have a work of cinema'. The prelude sets up an atmosphere that could be defined as a dream, we are clearly in a world that resembles the real world but which exists only in the eyes and souls of the spectators, built with materials put together by the creator of the film from his own thoughts and dreams about the world. The 'story' could be told in few words, even if it is not a banal story. This is where the interpretations begin. What do we actually see on the screen? An ambiguous relationship between two women, evolving from a patient-care relationship to an attraction that starts to look as a melding of one into the other? Are the two characters the symbols of the two facets of the human personality - the soul and the character - as interpreted by some experts in the psychoanalysis theories? Is there a hint (or more) to a lesbian relationship? Maybe there is an element of class struggle, between the actress active on the intellectual level and the country girl whose strongest emotions are on the erotic plane? Are we dealing with a horror story, a thriller in which there is a physical threat and a struggle between the two women to gain control one over the other? Why did the actress stop talking - personal traumas, maternity failure? What is the connection between the horrors of the outside world (wars, the Holocaust) and the inner storms concealed by the Scandinavian calm? These are just a few of the questions that can be asked and of the possible interpretations.

Comprehensive and ambitious cinematographic constructions involve risks. More than 50 years after the film, the Vietnam War is no longer actuality but history, closer to the Holocaust which is also quoted by the famous photograph of the terrorized little boy in the Warsaw ghetto. The black and white image also gains aesthetic significance, not necessarily obvious and intentional at the time the film was made. Acting is gorgeous, Bergman's two preferred actresses (and lovers), Bibi Andersson and Liv Ullmann are building on the screen two versions of femininity that at some point merge one into the other, two variants of the director's fascination with women for which he created the most generous roles in his films. Seen for the first time or seen again today, 'Persona' is a cinematic art concentrate and an intellectual challenge that continues to attract and fascinate through its open character and enigmas.

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.