Efter repetitionen

This is only my second Ingmar Bergman viewing, the first being the magnificent "Seventh Seal", which left me with a long lasting impression. Perhaps it is not fair to compare this little ditty to the impressive, thoughtful epic that was the former film, but it was with such unrealistic expectations that I started watching "After the Rehearsal".

Unfortunately, I left the film disappointed and indifferent. The plot revolves around an aging play director's relation to his young lead actress, and concerns itself with acting, the personal relations of people in the profession, parenthood and estrangement. Alas, I'm afraid even my simplistic presentation makes the film sound far more interesting than it really is. In the end, "After the Rehearsal" only amounts to a monotonous (if articulate) study of romantic and interpersonal manipulation. I suppose viewers interested in acting and the theater might find something of interest in this movie, especially concerning the issues of what it means to act and direct, and how it affects persons of the field.

Personally, however, I was not engaged at all to the characters' petty personal issues, nor could I project parallels to issues larger than their own particular microcosm from their mundane -if eloquent- verbal sparring. If the "Sevent Seal"'s characters could be likened to those of Dostoyevsky's literature, "After the Rehearsal"'s protagonists would be more similar to Oscar Wilde's aestheticists and their monologues. Who do you prefer?

Fanny and Alexander, to Ingmar Bergman, IS his last released film, written and directed by him. But this film, which was originally meant only for Swedish television, found its way to the USA and abroad, and (excluding Saraband, which was a film that just had to be made by its maker) is a welcome piece of theater, about the theater. After the Rehearsal is a short, but extremely satisfying take on what it means to be a director, and what it means to act, or to just be in the profession of the imitation of life. Bergman gives us only three actors (two kids, who pop up only for a few moments, one of which the child who wonderfully played Alexander in the above title, is one of them), and all that happens is talk, and talk.

To one who may not be familiar well with Bergman, it may not be wise to go immediately to this film. That is, unless one is very much in love with the theater. The filmmaker, who was also a major producer and director of countless theatrical production, is able to suffuse his personal views, good and bad, on the process, or the lack thereof. Interesting too is how his lead male, Henrik (Erland Josephsson, one of Bergman's most recognizable and accessible talents), has a conversation not just with an aspiring actress (Lena Olin), but also his ex-wife (Ingrid Thulin, also one of the magnificent women from Bergman's repertory company), to explore his past and present difficulties.

There is so much that Bergman brings to the table to discuss about the theater in this film, and in such a short running time, that it might be moot to delve very far into his what certain things may or may not 'mean'. Like many of the director's films, it's dramatic structure that tries to get behind the surfaces of what lies in seemingly one or two-sided characters. Henrik, at times, is given voice-over narration where he questions what he's saying, sometimes in anger or despair, to this young actress. Or, when his love (Thulin) is shown to be somewhat compassionate even as she seems a little crazed or, in fact, lonely. As Henrik and his pupil talk (not rehearse, of course) about why they are there, it becomes strikingly existential even when it's not meant to be. Olin is brilliant in the opposing side of Josephsson's often calm but boiling persona, as she tries to figure out what it is this director wants out of her.

When it comes down to it, Bergman is not only asking questions about the theater and the people in it, but also about human nature in its role of the theater. While this could sound like subject matter to scare or (worse) bore away some viewers, if you give the film enough patience for the 72 minutes (that seem to fill each minute with enough substance for an average work twice its length), it serves its purpose well enough to not be disregarded as an important later work in Bergman's career. And, by the way, if you're young (i.e. under 17) and have some reason to want to check this out, don't let the R rating deter you; it's one of the most un-necessarily R-rated films ever (for a brief flash of nudity, which could very well even be given a PG rating). A+

Here's an interesting little movie with a cast of three, set entirely on a stage, and that jumps backwards and forwards in time.

Henrik is a theater director spending some time alone on the stage after a rehearsal of A Dream Play by August Strindberg. He wants to collect himself before he returns to his domicile to take a nap prior to that night's rehearsal. As he sits there, one of his actresses, Anna, arrives on stage with a thin story of looking for a bracelet. What follows is a long conversation between the two that swirls around topics as it operates as some kind of seduction, direction, and exploration of the other.

About a third of the way through, something happens that is quite jarring at first. Another woman shows up on stage. This is Rakel, Anna's mother who has been dead for ten years. Anna sits on the couch watching the scene without moving or speaking, and we soon deduce that Henrik is playing out a conversation he had had with Rakel eleven years before, just prior to her death.

Rakel was a great actress in her day. She played the same role Anna is playing to great acclaim, but she had Anna and quit acting. At the time of the conversation, she's living in a hospital and the small role she's playing (the mother) is almost an act of pity on the part of Henrik. He used to love her, but she spurned his affections before. However, in this conversation, she throws herself at him, and Henrik cannot stand it. He eventually makes an empty promise to follow her to her room, but we get the impression that there's going to be no encounter.

The conversation returns to Anna as Henrik takes up the exact same position he had been in when Rakel had walked on, implying that what we had seen was just a memory that had passed in a flash. In this final third of the film, souls are bared and dark revelations of Anna's recent past come out. There are protestations of love and hate. It's a swirl of emotions that's surprisingly effective.

The movie ends when the camera suddenly cuts to a new view we haven't seen before. The movie has almost entirely shot with cameras from the audience pit, but the final shot is to the stage from the side. We see a giant brick wall and the director and young actress small against it. The conversation even changes tenor becoming more professional in nature than emotional. Something's drastically changed.

Early in the movie, Henrik talks about how he's willing to do anything to work with actors (whom he loves) in order to help them reach their potential. He looks like he's playing in their field, but he's never really involved. So, at that final shot, those words came back to me, and I asked, "Was it all an act?" Were the high emotions and swings all about directing his actor?

It's an interesting exploration of the relationship between directors and actors, something obviously intimately familiar to Bergman. Watching the movie, it became obvious how Bergman could strike up so many affairs with so many of his actresses, and, at the same time, how they could all fall apart in the end. Still, the movie is a little insular to acting specifically which limits its broad appeal. It's a good little movie, a fascinating little footnote in Bergman's career.

Here's a bit of an odd confession. I'm starting to like this Ingmar Bergman guy. Mind you, I've only seen two of his films (the other being Cries and Whispers) but he knows how to make a film, let me tell ya! After the Rehearsal is a great movie that makes you think, while marveling how clever the whole thing is. A theater director (played by Erland Josephson) is putting together a production called "The Dream Play". One of his actresses (Lena Olin) stays behind to talk to him about past experiences, his life and hers, and other existential topics. He does the same. A little while later an older actress comes on the scene, and essentially talks the same talk, only a little older but definitely not wiser. The interesting thing about this is, is that both women don't acknowledge the other.. So what's that about? Was this the same woman, only years later? Did these women exist at all, or are we indeed watching a "dream play" already? So many fascinating theories, I love it when a movie does that to me. The movie somewhat lags during the third act, but let me tell you, Bergman KNOWS how to end movies, like in Cries and Whispers and this one, it leaves some questions unanswered for us to figure out by ourselves, and Bergman seems to rejoice yanking us away from the story to go to the credits, which is great.

I want to see more! I will see more! Yay!

This is a brilliant work of art - it manages to be both an outstanding piece of theatre captured on film and an equally engaging film about theatre. There is no plot in a conventional sense, and absolutely no action. Instead, Erland Josephson, utterly convincing in his role as an aging theatre director, quietly and with ruthless honesty interacts with both his current new star and an actress from his personal and professional past. During this interplay, the director on the screen (speaking for the director behind the camera?) explains his love for actors and the theatre, while simultaneously modeling and undermining the sense of alienation that he feels he needs to have in order to get his job done in this world that he loves. At the same time, his young star examines her reasons for acting, and the woman from his past presents yet another take on the function of theatricality.

The dialogue is, as always with Bergman, perfect; the film is saturated with ideas; and the simple stage where every moment of the film takes place works in two directions at once, reminding us that we are watching a performance even while it insists we are also seeing "real" people at work.

Bergman is always amazing in his ability to express, in films that are set in singular specific locations, deep emotions and concepts that are nonetheless universal - in this film he gives us a little bonus, an insight into the motives behind manufacture of representation itself.