Searching for Ingmar Bergman: Von Trotta Remembers the Great Auteur

The hard truth is there simply are no filmmakers still around of the same generation and stature as Ingmar Bergman. Magarethe von Trotta might be as close as we can get. He helmed his first film nearly thirty years before von Trotta’s directorial debut, but he offered her considerable personal and professional encouragement over the years. Von Trotta takes stock of Bergman’s Bergmanesque life and his remarkable body of work, giving special attention to his Munich years in Searching for Ingmar Bergman (trailer here), “co-directed” by Felix Moeller (her son) & Bettina Böhler, which opens this Friday in New York.

Any mention of Bergman is likely to mind his muse and lover, Liv Ulmann, who soon appears for a sit-down with von Trotta (they rather appear to be old friends). Although none of Bergman’s contemporaries are left, von Trotta talks with several of the accomplished actresses, who graced his films, including Julia Dufvenius, who starred in his final film, Saraband, from 2003.

Bergman’s sensitive handing of his ensembles, particularly actresses becomes one of von Trotta’s primary themes, along with his neurotic insecurity and anxiety that bordered on depression. However, that was all part of his artistic temperament, which Bergman chose to embrace. Von Trotta also gleans some insights from younger filmmakers, such as Ruben Östland, Mia Hansen-Løve, and Olivier Assayas (who probably has the most thoughtful perspective to offer).

Of course, there are generous clips from Bergman’s films as well. We see quite a bit of The Seventh Seal and The Hour of the Wolf, which makes sense, since they boast some of the starkest, most iconic imagery of his entire oeuvre. Not surprisingly, This Can’t Happen Here, his disowned spy thriller, is sadly overlooked again, but so is Smiles of a Summer Night. Alas, that is the problem with having so many masterworks to your credit.

In many ways, Searching is a safe and conventional docu-tribute, but von Trotta’s credibility and relationship with Bergman clearly opened a lot of doors, literally. Many of her interview segments consist of relaxed chats over coffee at her colleagues’ flats. That lowkey, amiable vibe serves the film quite well. She does not duck awkward subjects, including Bergman’s extensive and complicated family, but she does not dwell on them either. Nicely balanced and arguably more engaging than Dheeraj Akolkar’s Liv& Ingmar, Searching for Ingmar Bergman is recommended for cineastes and Bergman admirers when it opens this Friday (11/2) in New York, at the Quad Cinema.

Disowned by Bergman: This Can’t Happen Here

Scandinavia and the Baltics are ethically and socially similar, but their Twentieth Century history could not be more different. The great auteur Ingmar Bergman was keenly aware of that Scandinavian-Baltic divide. He was married to Estonian concert pianist Käbi Laretei for five years—a good run, by his standards. He also helmed this 1950 curio about Soviet spies infiltrating the Baltic refugee community in Sweden, featuring many Baltic refugees in the cast. As Bergman’s stature grew, he did his best to keep his odd little espionage film out of circulation. Fortunately, it still survives—and has even been digitally restored by the Swedish Film Institute. It is bucket list time for Bergman devotees, because This Can’t Happen Here is now screening at MoMA.

Like an episode of Law & Order, many of the names in TCHH have been changed to protect the guilty and the innocent. For instance, Atka Natas (anagram alert) is a ruthless spymaster for Liquidatzia, a transparent analog for the Soviet Union. He has come to Sweden (which is still Sweden, but was Norway in Waldemar Brøgger’s source novel) with an attaché case full of documents in hopes of defecting to the West. However, it seems his real goal is to continue tormenting his estranged wife Vera Irmelin, a chemist granted political asylum.

Not surprisingly, Irmelin wants none of him and will do what it takes to protect herself. Of course, the Liquidatzians want them both back, unsafe and sound. Frankly, they are openly contemptuous of the Swedish authorities. Nevertheless, her rather chaste Swedish romantic interest (a forensic chemist with the C.I.D.) has a bit of fortitude, despite being hopelessly polite.

Taken at face value, TCHH is an undeniably creaky but diverting little film noir that also functions as a nifty visual time capsule of its period. However, the context and subtext that go along with it are fascinating. First of all, this is a Swedish anti-communist film, which alone makes it rather special. Signe Hasso is also terrific as Irmelin, in a Swedish homecoming performance. Although she had not exactly been the toast of Hollywood, she had prominent roles in films like Heaven Can Wait, A Double Life, and The House on 92^nd Street.

Yet, all the talk in the film about refugees and expat communities sounds especially timely in 2018, as Sweden struggles with huge influxes of refugees from the Middle East. Apparently, the Baltic refugees were much easier to assimilate, even with Soviet agents running amok, shooting at them.

Ironically, TCHH was conceived for the export market and largely funded with tax credits, but it reportedly only screened in a handful of UK theaters. You could chalk it up to Swedish socialism, except Sweden has never been as socialist as leftists like to think (especially not in 1950). (FYI, the land of Bergman and Saab currently ranks #15 on the Heritage Index of Economic Freedom, while the USA comes in at #18. Historically, Sweden has spent a good deal on welfare programs, funded with progressive tax rates—as Ingmar Bergman’s notorious tax problems can attest—yet there is comparatively less regulation and property rights are scrupulously respected, but perhaps we digress.)

That all makes TCHH an even weirder, less likely bit of Bergmanalia. At times, Bergman stages it like an out-and-out farce, but Gunnar Fischer (his first great collaborating cinematographer) frames some strikingly noir images. Particularly notable is the use of Stockholm’s King Charles XII statue, which famously points towards Russia, in what is widely considered a call to vigilance regarding a longtime historical foe.

Bergman keeps it all surprisingly spry, while Ulf Palme chews the scenery with sinister glee as Natas. It is highly watchable in an old-fashioned kind of way, but there is no way it would screen for a week at MoMA without the Bergman connection. Regardless, there just are not going to be a lot of opportunities to see TCHH, so anyone interested had better get to MoMA this week. Recommended for its historical interest and some game performances, This Can’t Happen Here screens daily through Tuesday night (9/11), at MoMA.

NYFF ’12: Liv & Ingmar

They collaborated on some of the least romantic films ever (see Hour of the Wolf, for instance).  Yet, Ingmar Bergman and Liv Ullmann became the first couple of international art cinema.  The Swedish auteur’s romance with his Norwegian muse would not last, but their relationship continued to evolve and endure.  Ullmann reflects on each stage of her career-defining association with Bergman in Dheeraj Akolkar’s Liv & Ingmar (trailer here), which screens as part of the 50^th New York Film Festival’s Cinema Reflected sidebar.

What a difference a few years and a more northern latitude make.  Whereas Ingrid Bergman was pilloried for leaving her husband to take up with Roberto Rossellini, Ullmann essentially did the same thing with Bergman, but with no attendant outrage from the world press.  As she tells it, she was widely encouraged by friends to do so.  Indeed, the film is entirely presented from Ullmann’s perspective, relying almost entirely on her narration and extended interview sequences to tell their story.

Nevertheless, there is no score settling in L&I.  Even after the dissolution of their intimate cohabitation, the legends of Scandinavian cinema remained on good terms, eventually becoming the closest of friends.  There is definitely a lesson in that, especially if you think documentary crews will one day be interviewing your former lovers.  However, it might not make the most compelling viewing. 

Ullmann still offers some insight into the dark places manifested in Bergman’s films, but that is about as far as the film goes.  As a result, L&I is permeated with a fatal sense of respectability.  Granted, nobody wants or needs to see a great filmmaker like Bergman trashed by an ex.  The fact that he and Ullmann continued to mean so much to each other is quite touching and nearly the extent of the film’s takeaway.

Scenes of Ullmann revisiting Bergman’s Fårö Island home give the documentary a vivid sense of place and there are plenty of tellingly illustrative clips from their films.  L&I is quite a heartfelt tribute, but as a work of cinema in its own right it is hardly essential (though it is an interesting film to see in conjunction with Francesco Patierno’s thematically related War of the Volcanoes, also screening during this year’s NYFF).  Mostly recommended for dedicated Bergman and Ullmann admirers, Liv & Ingmar screens this coming Monday (10/1) and Tuesday the 10^th during the 2012 New York Film Festival.

Biolcati's Persona

Persona
By Massimo Biolcati
ObliqSound

Feel the Bergman love. Massimo Biolcati’s debut CD as a leader, Persona (on-sale today), takes its inspiration from the Ingmar Bergman film of the same title. There might be some irony in taking a film about two contrasting personalities as the jumping off point for his first opportunity to establish a distinct impression as a leader. However, Biolcati’s program of opposing themes has some bright, energetic moments.

The first five tracks (which would have been side 1 back in the day) form the so-called “Motion” program or persona. The first two tracks are direct reflections on the Bergman film. “The Beginning,” logically enough the lead-off track, starts the proceedings at a crisp tempo. “Deconstruction” is less of a flag-waver, conveying a sense of nervous energy through the guitar of Lionel Loueke. Up to this point, Biolcati is probably best known for his work with the guitarist, including Loueke’s acclaimed Virgin Forest from last year.

“Wise Way” is an appealing feature for the leader’s bass. Inspired by drummer Jeff Ballard’s work with Chick Corea, it brings to mind some of the pianist’s pleasing past melodies. The energy portion of the disk concludes with “TT (in Memoriam Take Toriyama),” which became a tribute to the late drummer, but according to Biolcati: “It’s not a requiem, as I wrote it when he was alive and full of energy, which is the way I want to remember him.”

Fittingly, the tribute to Toriyama leads into the “Stillness” program. The introspective portion of Persona starts with a vocal performance by Lizz Wright, interpreting a poem by Norwegian poet Mona Vetrhus (Biolcati is actually Italian-Swedish). The lyrics are appropriately Nordic, beginning:

“When you disappear like a barren winter time, the night under the white
Searching for your tomb and talking to the moon, you say you’ll be home soon.”

“Stillness” is an apt description for “Hopeless Dream To Be,” which has a strong ECM flavor. The Northern European vibe eventually reaches its apex with the concluding composition, “Scandinavia.” Pianst Peter Rende switches to accordion, giving the track a ghostly Old World quality.

Biolcati has penned some intriguing melodies and presented them in a thoughtful manner. Persona sounds like a real concept and not just a collection tunes, making it a strong debut for the bassist as a leader.