Il rito

Seven stars. This isn't essential Bergman by any means. But it's well worth watching for Bergman fans. The tiny cast (four speaking parts, with Bergman himself as a silent priest) and the staging show Bergman's connection to the theatre. But the way it's shot is pure art-house. Nothing but near shots and extreme close-ups. And all that intricate framing! Things like the shots of both Thulin and Bjornstrand (two Bergman regulars, going back to the early 50s, in absolutely knock-out performances) with Erik Hell's arms around them, coming down from above. Or the framing of the actors against the carefully chosen backgrounds in the backstage scene. Any one who comes into this thinking it's going to be a standard narrative film will be utterly lost by scene 2. It's a cinematic fable. Complete with a "moral" at the end. Bergman made this in 1969 (for TV! Think about that, given the costuming in the last scene), in the middle of a period when he was making genre pictures, and clearly wasn't sure of what he was up to. After the monumental (if flawed) Persona, he stumbled for about six years before he roared back with Cries and Whispers. This film fits squarely in with The Hour of the Wolf (gothic horror), Shame (Bergman does a war film) and The Passion of Anna (an experimental film about disintegrating relationships), as movies that strike me as experiments for Bergman to work out what he wants to do. So let's strip things down to the barest minimum -- four actors, no sets to speak of, no story in any obvious sense. Instead we get this Kafka-like situation, in which a group of artists are being questioned by an official about something in their show. No one ever talks about it directly. In fact, no one ever talks about ANYTHING directly. Even Abrahamson's confession just beats around the bush. And then we get that last scene. . . . 24 May 2024.

Pros: 1. The aspect ratio of 1.33 : 1 and the usage of close-ups help add weight to the drama and tension, as it provides a more personal feel to the film. 2. There are no weak performances. Ingrid Thulin (Thea Winkelmann), Erik Hell (Judge Dr. Abrahamson), Gunnar Björnstrand (Hans Winkelmann) all deliver great performances. Anders Ek (Sebastian Fisher) in particular is phenomenal. 3. The dialogue is intense, well-written, and enthralling to listen to. 4. The rape scene is suitably uncomfortable and impactful to watch. 5. There is an appropriate insertion of an eerily disturbing and ominous score. 6. The last 12 minutes are captivating and serve as a satisfying end for Judge Dr. Abrahamson.

Cons: 1. The movie at times is a little too slow-paced, despite its relatively short run-time. 2. The editing and cutting is a little too abrupt at times.

... when all the world's a stage, performances established by surroundings in a cage, whose screens and makeup mask the cells of who we really are, unless threatened by authority and we leave the door ajar.

Make of it what you will, especially the end, somethings you might distil, before it takes you round a bend.

Coming in at 72 minutes, and with notable Bergman stalwarts Gunnar Bjornstrand, Anders Ek, and Ingrid Thulin, this made for TV conjuring will leave you scratching your chin and raising your eyebrows as bizarre events unfold and you wonder what on earth is going on. Suffice to say the imagination from the master director will once again have you as confused as ever, but the acting is outstanding.

Rite, The (1969)

*** 1/2 (out of 4)

A judge (Erik Hell) asks three actors (Gunnar Bjornstrand, Anders Ek, Ingrid Thulin) to enter his chamber for individual questioning so he can determine whether their performance is obscene or not. While the play their acting in is the main reason for questioning, the three actors as well as the judge have other issues to deal with as well. This was the first film Ingmar Bergman made for television and I really wasn't expecting too much and was honestly shocked at how well the film worked considering there's no real story to deal with. The dialogue is wonderfully written and Bergman's bleak direction builds a nice little atmosphere. The rest of it is up to the four actors who all deliver very good performances. Bergman even appears in one scene playing a Priest. It's also rather funny to see what could be shown on Swedish television back in 1969. There's no way in hell this thing could play in America today let alone way back then.

This is a somewhat odd and enigmatic film from Bergman; perhaps in keeping with many of the other films that he produced during the mid-to-late 1960's, and one that seems to be an extension of the artistic and psychological themes established in his more widely-acknowledged masterpiece, Persona (1966). Like that particular film, The Rite (1969) is a carefully structured drama built around a small cast of characters warring with one another in a close and claustrophobic environment that stresses the theatrical nature of the script. By refusing to extend on the material as many other filmmakers would when adapting one of their own works from stage to screen, Bergman creates a much tighter situation that gives the drama a stark, nightmarish quality that removes us completely from reality. Here, we are isolated with these characters, with all notion of the outside world or life beyond those drab, grey, minimalist locations having been removed completely, creating a void that overwhelms us.

The film also extends on some of the director's more recognisable themes, such as performance and persecution, with the idea of actors playing actors creating a performance that is not simply a part of the film, but also a comment upon it. It's perhaps a little clumsy in some places, especially compared to the aforementioned Persona, or indeed, similarly themed films like Hour of the Wolf (1966) and A Passion (1968); with the deeply enigmatic nature and theatrical presentation working towards an incredibly cold and uncomfortable atmosphere that never quite explains itself. I suppose this is a result of the short-running time and the fact that it was produced quickly and cheaply for Swedish television. However, it is still an incredibly bold piece of work, and one that definitely needs to be experienced by those with a real taste and admiration for the filmmaker; with the typically "Bergmanesque" themes and the strong performances and intense and troubling characterisations created by the cast making this a much more interesting and rewarding film than the brief plot outline might suggest.

The structure of the film is intended to somewhat distance us from the drama in a way that many of Bergman's better films would. Here, he uses chapter headings to disrupt the narrative; bringing to our attention the theatrical nature of the presentation and the artificiality of the world to, in effect, remove us from it. It works on a similar level to the self-reflexive interview sequences that punctuate the narrative of the previous A Passion, albeit, on a much more subtle level. Again, it is intended to add a further dimension to the film, but also to make the viewing process even more difficult. It also denies us a central character, with both the central government figure and the three performers all moving from hateful to sympathetic from one scene to the next. There are also at least two scenes that seem to be even further disconnected from reality. One such scene involves the youngest of the performers setting fire to his hotel room, lying back on his bed with his sunglasses on and staring up at the ceiling with a cool detachment as the room is engulfed by flames. It is never referred to or explained whether this scene actually takes place or if it is merely symbolic; though I suppose it could be read on an analytical level in regards to that particular character and his somewhat damaged and detached personality.

The second scene I won't go into, as it's one of the most important moments in the film. However, it is interesting how it sets up the atmosphere for that troubling and enigmatic finale, which again, is never fully explained and seems to sway the film away from the performers and more towards the self-appointed judge. There's a definite Kafka-like influence developed here, not only with the characters but with the situation that they find themselves in. So, we have a small group of characters put on trial for what we later learn are "obscenity charges", but the actual scenes between the judge and the performers seems to be much more cryptic and personal. If you're fond of the mind games and psychological role-playing developed in Persona then you should get a real thrill out of the five interview scenes that form the backbone of the film in question, with each character playing up to their own emotional strengths and weaknesses whilst finding themselves in this hopeless and incomprehensible situation.

Given the nature of the film I won't discuss the ending too much, though suffice to say it changes the way we look at those preceding scenes and seems to open up the narrative to further ideas of self-reflexive interpretation. So, we have the idea of a film within a film, or perhaps something more literal. Or is it a metaphor for the struggle of creativity in the face of government oppression. Indeed, at the time this film was made, Bergman was fighting his own battles against both theatre and cinema and how they were being developed back in Sweden at this particular time. It seems like he had lost faith in his audience and those who were paying for his work to be developed and these fears and anxieties are presented in the film alongside a rage of fury and aggression. For certain, this is a dark, troubling and enigmatic psychological piece that rewards patient viewers with a thought-provoking, Kafkaesque moral dilemma with room for personal interpretation.