The Human Voice

Cocteau's 'The Human Voice' was produced for television by David Susskind who never shied away from the controversial or the unusual. Ingrid Bergman was cast in this one woman production. Hollywood had 'forgiven' Bergman for her adultrous affair with Roberto Rosselini, when she received her Oscar for 'Anastasia' in 1957. And so, without a trace of irony, Bergman plays a woman who is trying to win back a lover who has abandoned her. Since we are on a TV set, the Cocteau's spare decor of a telephone, a desk and chair, has undergone interior decoration: Bergman is in an apartment with bedroom but nothing else seen in the flat. It is disorderly, ashtrays filled with cigarettes and ash, empty bottles, an unmade bed. Every is so arranged to set the tone, create the mood and the psychological mood of this lonely, edgy woman. Bergman brings her talents more as a plea than a declaration of love to revive the embers of a relationship that has gone cold. Cocteau, cleverly constructed the play, so that the telephone is cut and then as the connection is reestablished, Bergman's voice weakens as she tries to put on a brave face. We can imagine that his voice that we never hear is soothingly measured, perhaps not inflected, to soothe her bruised soul, since it is revealed, she has tried to kill herself. And in spurious urgency she realizes he is lying to her and that he telephoning from his new lover's place. And as fights back tears and her extreme desire to maintain contact with him, his lack of interest in her, in the end, defeats her struggle to stretch out conversation with him has reached its limit. And tearfully the human voice rings off. For French speakers, I suggest listening to Simone Signoret. For the opera lover, Francis Poulenc's one act opera.

Am someone who has always found Jean Cocteau's work very interesting, of which his monodrama 'La Voix Aux Humaine' ('The Human Voice') is one of his most intriguing for its emotional power and realistic depiction of the emotions a final telephone conversation can bring, though heard by one voice. Also have a lot of love for Poulenc's opera of the same name, beautiful music and an emotional roller-coaster, which incidentally Cocteau apparently loved, not surprising.

This 1966 television production is so utterly riveting dramatically, emotionally and in terms of writing that one completely forgets and doesn't care that the camera work is on the static side. It doesn't do anything to hinder the production though and doesn't cheapen the setting, which isn't too fancy or simple. Besides it is not the camera work that most people, including me, see 'The Human Voice' for. It's the dialogue and the acting in the title role that are the most important assets of this piece and both are out of this world.

From start to finish the story compels and draws in without ever letting go, staged in a way that's traditional and wholly respectful. It doesn't try to do too much, nor is it stage-bound or too compact.

Cocteau's writing makes for perhaps the greatest one-sided monologue/monodrama writing there ever was. It is emotionally complex, provokes thought long after, uncompromising in its realism and still has much pertinence today, the pain, the heart-break and the intensity of the situation is perfectly brought out in unflinching fashion. Anybody who has been through this situation or knows what final phone conversations are like will find themselves connecting with it especially. Despite us only seeing and hearing one side of the conversation one does not find it hard imagining or figuring out what would be said on the other side.

Ingrid Bergman is on towering form in the difficult one-woman show role, being the person having to carry the whole thing it was essential for her performance to work and her presence grabs you the minute she appears and for just under an hour one cannot look away. The character calls for a wide range of emotions and every single one needed is brought out intensely and movingly by Bergman.

Overall, sheer magic in every sense. 10/10 Bethany Cox

Jean Cocteau's short one act character study The Human Voice has been done numerous times in many different languages since it premiered in Paris in 1928. A crackerjack versionmwas done in 1966 with Ingrid Bergman as the woman on the telephone with her lover for the last time maybe.

They;'re both theatrical people and she was a Trilby like protege to his Svengali. Now he's found a new Trilby and the old one is getting the heave ho.

Ingrid does a great job running a whole gamut of emotions from hysteria to a forced resignation to her fate. It's anyone's guess what her eventual fate will be, whether she will summon up the strength of character to carry on.

I'm thinking this is a most autobiographical work, Cocteau was gay and had any number if relationships before and after this play made its debut.

In any event this was one good outing for Ingrid Bergman.

This is what used to be called a TV Movie or Straight to TV Film. Do we categorise films this way anymore or has streaming done away with such things. It's a slight cheapening of the feature film in that the production values are much lower, the run time clipped and the expectations reduced. Now true, this is clearly filmed on different stock to what you'd expect from 60s cinema, but it's bright realism actually helps. As does the 4:3 ratio that makes modern eyes feel as trapped as the woman on screen. Ah yes, the woman. The only character here, that's seen at least. She remains simply 'A Woman' throughout, but this is Ingrid Bergman. Even if you're not a cinephile, I'm sure that name instantly suggests class and this oozes it. She awakes in a room in Hampstead according to the rotary telephone, alone for only a dog. Chain smoking and distressed. Clearly she's troubled. We're searching the room for clues as the telephone rings and we learn of her lover on the other end. We only ever hear her side of the conversation and her inner thoughts. Slowly picking through the details of events that have lead her to this frazzled person before us. Bergman is magnetic. Running through a dizzying array of emotions and portraying each magnificently. Holding the camera that only moves when it really needs to and always effortlessly. It does look very simple, but the camerawork is gorgeously understated. Interacting with Bergman like a dance partner. We learn that the lover is now a recent ex-lover. Torn photos next to the overflowing ashtray. Based on a play, it's set like a stage. A life in a small apartment single room. A bed, a chaise, a sink, a chair, a desk and a table... with the telephone. The telephone is the device by which we learn everything. Props around the room only used to heighten her distress. But the telephone is also her anchor. Whilst the conversation continues, she clings on to hope, before another wave of reality washes over her. At 50 minutes, it's essentially one long scene, playing out in real time. Giving us a window into the cruel world of a break up. Bergman was 50 when this was filmed. She looks great of course, but she uses her age to inject an extra neurosis to her panic at being left alone. It's heartbreaking stuff, as she descends further into a wallowing grief. It's hard not to project where we're headed and it's quite agonising. Every word rung for as much tension as possible, but there's an understated control here. As staged as things are, it's feels honest, truthful... and captivating.

Another gem from that amazing 'BROADWAY THEATRE ARCHIVE', which brings superb stage performances of so many stars into our homes (what a pity though the USA DVD's have no -English or H.O.H.- subtitles).

Here the suave icon Ingrid Bergman enthralls in a solo-performance; we all know she is a fantastic actress, but in the 50 minutes of this one act play she completely grips the viewer and never lets go.

Next to the actress only a telephone is of importance, a dangerous apparatus since it is a device that changes the fastest in these modern times. By going back in time (this play was recorded in '66 and written well before that) the telephone must give the piece a dated feeling to it; on the other hand, in a modernized version the actress might well be using a mobile phone with the signal strength faltering occasionally, without hurting the consensus of the original play.

This televised play was aired and recorded in 1966, and it shows. Nothing terribly dodgy or weak, but the image isn't crisp and camera work isn't brilliant either.

But all that is of no importance, since Grand Dame Bergman will captivate and magnetize you !! Sweden meets France (by way of the superb play by Jean Cocteau) in an American production. It's in encounters like these true beauty can be found...