Reviewing Surrealism: Persona by Ingmar Bergman

I had tried to watch at least two Ingmar Bergman movies in their entirety before seeing Persona (1966), and was never successful. I think one reason for my success with Persona was because my film professor in college showed a short scene from it in class, a scene that at the time seemed strange, unsettling, sensual, and a little confrontational. I wasn't used to films like that embracing surrealism to capture a state of mind, not to mention breaking the forth wall to have characters turn and stare me down.

You might know the infamous scene I'm talking about. A blonde woman with pixie-like hair is in bed, seemingly asleep, and a ghostly woman with long brown hair drifts into her room, then out again to an adjacent room, all the while remaining in the shot. As the blonde woman wakes up, the ghost woman returns and they come together in a caring embrace. The scene ends with taller, dark-haired woman bringing her hand up to lovingly smooth the other woman's hair, staring into the camera provocatively as if to say, watch this.

With Persona, reading the basic plot description does nothing to help your understanding. The film begins with a montage of disturbing images that left me wondering if someone was about to call me and warn me in a raspy voice that I had seven days to live. But from there, the plot comes back into focus and we begin to settle into the story of the relationship between Elizabet (Liv Ullmann), an actress who has suddenly lost the will to speak, and her nurse, Alma (Bibi Andersson). The two women head off to a secluded retreat so that Alma can nurse Elizabet back to health. When Alma finally finds out what Elizabet is really thinking behind all of her silence, the trust is broken between the two women. Their relationship, and the film's plot, completely unravels.

I'm not sure if this is possible, but it seems that this film essentially has nothing to do with Elizabet and Alma, no matter how bewitching their beauty and performances. This movie is about Ingmar Bergman. It is his effort to take the conflict raging inside him and understand and subdue it by putting it on the big screen. It's about feeling something so overwhelming and beyond your understanding that it could destroy you unless you figure out how to express it. In one scene, Elizabet is in her hospital room watching footage of a Buddhist monk burning himself alive in protest of the Vietnam War. Elizabet is seeing something truly horrifying, but all she does is back up to the wall with her hand over her mouth. It may be that events like this lend to Elizabet's silence. Of course, one of the great things about this film is its openness to endless interpretations, so this is just one young woman's opinion in a sea of many.

My comprehension of the film leaves me feeling wildly jealous of Bergman. I've always wanted to be able to effectively convey a piece of myself through some form or art, but to be able to exercise a personal demon with art would be incredible. I am basically familiar with communicating feelings through words, but for the most complex emotions, words are often not enough. It's as if Bergman uses Persona, and several of his other films from what I understand, to give you a metaphorical glimpse into his own mind.

If you're not a big fan of surreal films like me, this movie might be the one to help you along. It helps to have an open mind and remember that plot isn't everything. Sometimes a broken string of images can say so much more than a conventional storyline.