La pasión de Ana

"A Passion" is one of Ingmar Bergman's underrated classics (inaccurately titled "The Passion of Anna" in the U.S.) and includes one of cinema's great movie endings. "Identity" is one of the primary themes of the film, and the film concludes with Max von Sydow's broken Andreas pacing back and forth in the frame--in an empty, bleak landscape. As the camera pulls back, Bergman (or rather, Nykvist) optically moves in--creating an effect where the image "flattens out" and Andreas literally dissolves into the grain of the film. Brilliant!

Disappointing after Shame, which was near-perfect. Clearly an experiment to break the third wall in a Bergman film, just not at all something I wanted from a Bergman film. I like to be completely absorbed in the reality of the situation. An improvised dinner-party scene where the actors bandy about miscellaneous pretentious ideas, mockumentary moments where "Liv Ullman" and "Max von Sydow" are interviewed about the characters just didn't work for me. I had to turn it off. Will try again at a later date maybe, but I've only just started finding Bergman films I love, this was not a good choice...

There were scenes I liked, but then I'd get dragged out of the spell by the mockumentary scenes, very strange.

4/10

It's a movie about lying to oneself, about holding up fictions about ones life and trying to live precisely by those lies. And yet, the movie isn't as against the idea as the quick summation may imply.

Andreas lives alone on a remote island in Sweden. He's consumed by trying to maintain that isolation, especially at an emotional level. As we learn over the course of the film, he's been scarred deeply by a failed marriage, so he has embraced the idea that he deserves nothing. One day, as he's trying to fix his roof, Anna comes and asks to use his telephone. He eavesdrops on the first part of the conversation, a plea for money, until Anna begins to break down and cry when he silently edges away. She leaves, forgetting her purse, which Andreas promptly rifles through where he finds a letter from Anna's deceased husband that describes the inherent violence in their relationship.

Anna is staying with Eva and Elis, a married, occasionally unfaithful couple who invite Andreas to dinner. In a apparently improvised scene, the four each have moments to highlight their characters. Eva ends up wide-eyed and desperate for something to believe in, while Elis is a cynical man who believes in literally nothing. Each outlook has something to do with their reactions to a failed pregnancy from years before.

So, out of the four characters, three are desperate for some kind of higher truth or lie to help mask the problems in their lives, and the fourth, Elis, looks at the world through as clear a glass as possible. But, that clear vision isn't as true as he makes it out to be. He's an architect (who believes in nothing of the buildings he helps design) and amateur photography (who insists that he can't see the truth in anyone else, even as he searches intently through his photography).

As with most Bergman movies, we have clearly defined personalities that slam up against each other. Andreas and Eva begin a light affair that Andreas casts off as soon as he and Anna begin living together. Eva takes the rejection without emotion. Andreas becomes Elis' employee, typing up notes Elis makes for his architectural work. In the background, there are a string of violent actions taken against animals, including a Dachshund hung by a very precisely tied noose and nearly a dozen sheep slaughtered for no reason. The brutal acts are never explained (though a local hermit is accused, beaten, and then commits suicide because of the suspicion around him), but I think it's eminently obvious that it was Elis. He admits to a fascination in violence, pointing out boxes of photos that show violent acts, but without a solid belief system other than some thin nihilism, he seems like the perfect culprit to decide that torturing animals is a path to finding truth.

All of this is highly intellectual, an exploration of fantasy overriding reality in different forms, but how does it play as a movie? The answer is very well, of course. Bergman was, among other things, a great filmmaker in general. His relationships with actors allowed to extra very raw performances. His knowledge of what to film, whether extremely tight closeups of his actors' faces or subtle combinations of images to create the illusion of multiple suns in the sky is fantastic. Bergman uses all of his skill to tell this intellectual story intimately and on very human terms.

If you take a shovel, and dig right into the middle, there are things you'll likely find, quite impossible to riddle, conundrums wrapped entwined, blind alleys, sacs that bind, confusion, chaos, mayhem all well signed; encompassing them all, is the fear of standing tall, of being seen to fall, of rejection all around, the desire to be found, the need to melt into the ground, just to live as if not bound; but you're moulded in their vision, taught to be so since incision, told what, where, when, who you are, plasters, shields overlay scars, behaviours born from who knows where, send your chaos to despair, no support for your constructions, can relieve these sad contortions.

If you don't recognise something in them in you, you're in denial.

The Passion of Anna (or The Passion, as it might've been more appropriately titled in Sweden), is Ingmar Bergman with a cast of some of his most recognizable faces- Max Von Sydow (Seventh Seal), Liv Ullman (Persona), Erland Josephsson (Scenes from a Marriage), and Bibi Anderson (Cries and Whispers) - and with a script he's written that shows him not entirely sure, or rather confident, as he usually is as a filmmaker.

He uses improvisation with his actors in some scenes, experiments with what's in the story and what's outside of the story (it's self-conscious but good self-conscious, similar in tune with Persona's self-consciousness of a film being made outside of what's in the story), and deals away with his classic themes of despair, self-drought, and inner-maelstroms. And, indeed, the theme of deconstruction of the soul is in focus. For a couple of moments some of the self-consciousness could come off as distracting, or at most dangerous boring, but there are counter-weights to balance out whatever troubles Bergman must've had that he's pouring out onto the celluloid.

While I thought the Passion of Anna wasn't one of Bergman's very best works, it has a story and characters (and with a cast that doesn't do wrong within any given scene) that remain as potent as in his masterpieces. The sub-plot involving the slaying of the animals on the island maybe could've been developed more, but that too brings a thought-provoking backbone to the central characters. At the core, Bergman's presenting the audiences with people who are in a hell-ish situation, with fires and blood being spread along the fields, and that these people feel more or less stuck here.

The relationship between Andreas (Von Sydow) and Anna (Ullman) is the strongest asset to the film, and for their performances it's nearly worth it enough to rush out to buy the DVD. But beneath that, this is a Bergman film that could grow on a particular viewer over time. Maybe upon a first viewing, at least for what I came away with, the style may be trying to one-up over the substance, and that could be what hinders this from being a magnificent work of art on the level of Persona or The Seventh Seal. However, it's also holds subtleties to the craft, to the compositions by Sven Nykvist, and in the emotions conveyed by the principles of the cast.

Pretty haunting, evocative, though not entirely perfect, this is definitely an intriguing Bergman entry. Grade: (strong) A-