Infidèle

Ensconced in the study of his house on a secluded island off the coast of Sweden, an aging director reminisces and reflects on aspects of his life apparently still in need of resolution, in `Faithless,' written by Ingmar Bergman and directed by Liv Ullmann. Bergman is the name of the director, played by Erland Josephson, who engages in a fantasy conversation with a woman named Marianne (Lena Endre), who confesses to him her affair, after eleven years of marriage, with a man named David (Krister Henriksson), the best friend of her husband, Markus (Thomas Hanzon). Through their conversations, as well as scenes depicting particular episodes from her life-- beginning with the initial encounter with David-- we learn the intimate details of Marianne's life, as well as Markus' and their young daughter's, Isabelle (Michelle Gylemo) and, of course, David's. It's an intense, engrossing character study that examines the weaknesses and foibles of human nature to which we are all susceptible. It's a story that is, by turns, grim and thoughtful, at times poignant, while at other moments distressing, as it reflects the myriad emotional levels to which the human condition is prone at any given time. As the story progresses, it becomes impossible to distance yourself from the characters involved in the drama, for there is so much about them with which anyone in the audience will be readily able to identify; not necessarily with the infidelities, but grounded in the choices we all must make throughout our lives and the consequences thereof, and upon which a film like this precipitates rumination. As with all of the films Bergman has written and/or directed during his career, it is a pensive, thought-provoking incursion into reality. As she proved with her directorial debut of the 1997 film `Private Confessions,' also scripted by Bergman, Liv Ullmann is more than up to the formidable task of bringing Bergman's story to the screen. Her style of directing is similar to Bergman's, as could be expected-- their close working and personal relationship has spanned more than thirty years-- but her approach is perhaps a bit softer than his, and uniquely her own. In the final analysis, any similarities are primarily due to the story, which lends itself to the style Bergman perfected and upon which Ullmann certainly draws. It's not so much a matter of imitation as it is of following an intrinsic pattern conducive to the storytelling, and Ullmann has an innate sensitivity to the material that translates into the presentation of the drama and elicits the necessary sympathy and compassion from the audience that enhances the impact of it. Like Bergman, she uses the camera to help capture the sense of the drama visually, which at times creates an almost ethereal, poetic atmosphere that contrasts so well with the more stoic aspects of the story. Ullmann has an excellent sense of rhythm, and the pace of the film allows the viewer time to assimilate the many nuances of emotion expressed through the characters. Lena Endre gives a remarkable performance as Marianne, infusing a passion into the character that makes it ring so true to life, and it's one of the strengths of the film. She bares Marianne's soul, leaving no question as to the inner turmoil with which she must cope, and it reflects in Bergman's character as well; through her struggles we also feel the remorse of Bergman's character, and upon reflection it makes you realize how effective Josephson is in the role of Bergman. For it is in his subtle reactions to the phantom Marianne, and in his silent ruminations, that we learn so much about all that has transpired in their lives. Henriksson gives a notable performance as well, deftly exposing the complexities of the character that lie beneath the somewhat reserved exterior of the man, while Hanzon is effective as Markus, as is Gylemo as the young Isabelle. With `Faithless,' Ullmann firmly establishes her mark as an artist of extraordinary vision and sense of reality. Her collaboration with Ingmar Bergman is a cinematic triumph, and we can only hope that there will be more to follow, for with every film they make, another chapter is written in the Book of Life. I rate this one 10/10.

The performance by Lena Endre was the best I have seen this decade. And the facial nuances of Erland Josephson were superior as well. All in all, the acting surpassed the totality of the movie per se; but, still this is a movie well worth seeing. I wish the US would produce films like this.

Even if directed by his all-time leading lady Liv Ullman, "Faithless" is a 100% Bergman movie.It is directed wonderfully, with an amazing photography and beautiful sets. The influence Bergman has over Liv Ullman is really strong (fortunately) and the script is as Bergman as it gets : Psychological tension in its peak, visceral human relationships, self-destruction and all the well known Ingmar's demons. Those really familiar with this giant writer/director will find in "faithless" a lot of autobiographical quotes. Let's hope this is not the last we hear from Ingmar. This movie is wonderfully moving. A must for the Bergman lover, and for anyone with high taste.

Scripted by Ingmar Bergman and directed by his protege Liv Ullman, this film is much closer in spirit to Bergman realist dramas of the '70's than to his earlier expressionist work. Many of his characteristic themes are here: the responsibility of artists, and the hopelessness at the heart of modern relationships are prominent.

It's a deeply melancholy film, the only piece of comic relief is a scene where one of the protagonists is rehearsing a play which is hopelessly overwrought: if cinema is Bergman's mistress and theatre his wife, in this case, she's a wild, psychotic spouse. The movie as a whole is deeply theatrical, though, saved from being stagey by a few beautifully poetic cinematic touches. The acting is wonderful, bringing to a well-worn tale a deeply moving grandeur.

'Faithless', as a film experience, is both novel and old-fashioned. Novel, because films like this simply aren't being made today, films that take the length of an expensive historical epic to concentrate on the characters, emotions, words, experiences and largely interior milieux of a handful of people; people who are not grim, sword-wielding Romans or suave cannibals, just fundamentally decent, cultured people capable of horrendous acts for love, in a low-key, familiar, plausible, yet devastating way. It is a film that knows its audience will accept 2 1/2 hours devoted largely to talk and relationships; where anything sensational, like rape, suicide or murder, is kept off-screen.

'Faithless' is, however, curiously old-fashioned. This kind of film used to be a fairly regular staple of art-house production in the 1960s and 70s, the heyday of its screenwriter, Ingmar Bergman. A time when an audience with this level of patience and willingness to involve themselves in constructing the film's meaning was quite large and influential. Where carefully realised characters, places and dialogue were important; where subjects like marriage, divorce, grief, death, betrayal were explored in complex, understanding ways that never cheated on them for the sake of a quick ending.

Such a throwback is shocking. Even the arthouse alternatives of today have largely forsaken this mode of filmmaking for fear of being labelled unwieldly or -horrors - pretentious. it is not only pre-'STar Wars', but almost pre-post-modern; irony here is a creative tool, not a cop-out attitude. I'm not suggesting that films which privilege character and dialogue over plot and action are inherently superior, but it's nice to see one once in a while.

I know they're a hard sell. I desperately want you to see this film, but I can't promise that you'll be entertained or amused. We are asked to watch, for 154 minutes, the relentless dissolution of a marriage and the adulterous relationship; we are asked to watch characters analyse, torture themselves, seek emotional exits through self-pity and histrionics. We are asked to watch the effect of all this on a young child. We have to watch this path lead to some truly shocking climaxes. Even 'lollipops', such as the pleasure of the affair, the Parisian interlude etc., are soured by our foreknowledge of the events and their general outcome, if not details. There is no Hollywood softening through swelling music or redemptive epiphanies. The film's austerity, autumnal/wintry tone and self-reflexive formal apparatus reminds me of a late Beckett play, like'Ohio Impromptu' or 'That Time'. An old artist (in this case a filmmaker), emotionally paralysed for decades having taken the wrong decisions in a relationship through a monstrous pride and egotism, tries to unravel the processes that led him to his current shellshocked state.

The long, painful move towards understanding involves tortuous conservations with ghosts, memories, past selves, all filtered through, and thus compromised by his own subjective ego, his need to explain and expiate. The film we watch is also about the creation of the film we're watching. Self-reflexivity intrudes throughout - the film projector through the window behind Bergman; the characters all in the arts; the theatre settings; the allusions to Bergman's past works; the motif of the 'Magic Flute' magic box etc. - all emphasising the way characters perform and ritualise their genuine feelings; asking us how we interpret testimonies that are, in any case, the wranglings of a guilty man's head.

The film is such a bracing reminder of what cinema used to do, you're prepared to forgive its faults - the neatness of the plot, especially, tending predictably towards a harrowing, yet cathartic, revelation. Like Francois Ozon's brilliant Fassbinder adaptation 'Water Falling on Burning Rocks', Ullman's Bergman pastiche cannot fully replicate the power of the original; audiences couldn't handle it, we've been intellectually softened. The climax is harrowing, but contained - think of the true horrors of a film like 'Cries and Whispers'. Bergman would never let us, or the character Bergman, off so easily.

But this is Ullmann's picture, and the way she films a scene like Marianne's revelation about her nocturnal plea-bargaining with her husband, or the earlier, squirmingly comic scene where he discovers the lovers in flagranto delicto, have an empathetic, non-exploitative tact that may have been beyond her master.