Hour of the WolfIn the deepest hours of the night, when the souls of those recently departed drift into the afterworld, when our nightmares are in full swing in our slumber, the terror of our soul lurks, seeping thick in our veins, haunting us with the tremors of a deep, persistent pulse. And if that terrible depth of fear were to remain into our waking hours, a nightmare that would not end, what then? Ingmar Bergman's Hour of the Wolf is a gothic tale of both the fears which gnaw away at us in the middle of the night, and the forces which manifest in that loaming, spiritual quicksand which are made flesh and yet devour our essence.
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Our story is a testament from the combination of Alma (Liv Ullmann), a devoted housewife and sympathetic soul, alongside the testimony of her husband, Johan Borg (Max von Sydow), a taciturn painter who has begun sketching the phantasmagoric denizens of the island of Baltrum where they live. The opening title--and Alma's address to the audience--indicates this much, but also is accompanied by a self-aware quality in the opening titles, that this is a production, in keeping with much of Bergman's other body of work in this period, where the idea that the production is a film is not concealed but laid bare for the world to see, as Johan's own soul is stripped and flayed, just as the story is peeled back. Alma's recollection is of her husband's mental breakdown, his deterioration and descent into the world of darkness he is not strong enough to resist. Johan's transformation is hinted at subtly with the earliest scenes of them on the island, with their everyday moments frequently given to fades to black, suggesting the darkness which is set to consume Johan looming on the horizon. When Johan confronts Alma with his sketches of such bizarre inhabitants of the island as the "Bird Man" and the woman who removes her hat, and with it her skin, it would perhaps be more comforting if these were the mere delusions of Johan. When Alma accompanies Johan to the party at the castle at the invitation of the Baron van Merkens (Erland Josephson), she discovers that it is more horrifying that Johan has some basis for his fantastical imagery, with a party of aristocrats possessed of arrogance, wealth, and tastelessness--urbane monsters, the upper crust of the ninth circle. Alma spends her moments desperately attempting to reconnect with Johan, to bring him back to the realm of the sane and human with even small discussions about how she budgets their finances. But the cancer of the depression or melancholy is rooted deep, and he is falling in the undertow. One of my favorite moments is when Alma tries to quell his nerves by telling Johan a story about how she heard that as couples get older, they start to resemble one another, talk like one another, and even share the same thoughts. She says this not only to try to diffuse Johan's tension, but also to emphasize that she does want to understand just what Johan is going through, but cannot wrangle the demon that plagues him. This idea of thinking another's thoughts, of adopting qualities of their personality is another kind of self-reference in Bergman's work, hearkening back to his other film about personality appropriation, Persona. As Alma reads Johan's diary, she wishes to understand him better, but uncovers his guilt, his doubts, and worries about whether the accounts are memories or delusions, and can't be sure which is worse.
Hour of the Wolf might be on the surface a story about a madness which overtakes Johan, and more superficially a story about the monsters garbed in human skin occupying the gothic manor which the couple finds themselves ensnared in, but I find that the story of a marriage failing under the lack of solid communication and understanding a much more compelling interpretation. It could be said that Johan is unable or unwilling to open up to Alma, so she presses into his privacy to glean a better understanding of what it is that is eating her husband. There is a mania in Johan which would be frightening to any mate who does not understand the kinds of anxieties which accompany someone stricken with mental illness, as it appears Johan suffers from--even with the actual monsters stalking him, resembling vampiric counterparts from horror films. Johan keeps Alma up all night--through "the hour of the wolf"--out of a terror he has for sleeping in the darkness. He makes her count a whole minute, just as we do; we can sense the same agonizing tension in that full minute just as Alma does...how long an actual minute truly is. When Johan confesses that a wound he received earlier had not been a snake bite, but from a fevered encounter with a young boy while he was fishing, Alma is left speechless. Surely, if Johan is to be believed, he is also a kind of monster, but could it be just the fevered dream which has taken hold of him? Alma is placed in the position we are in, where we are compelled to judge, but do we have the right? Are we so superior that we can cast judgment on any of Johan's transgressions, especially if he is suffering from mental illness? I guess that depends on the severity and the authenticity, but then that too opens up doors about the subjectivity of morality. These are the shadows of questions lurking in the dark within the late hours of the wolf, the monstrous biting at our conscience. The ghouls of the castle are principally social monsters, who take pleasure in making Alma and Johan feel uncomfortable with verbal barbs designed to sting their relationship, like the frequent mention of an old flame of Johan's, Veronica Vogler (Ingrid Thulin). When Johan finally gives himself over to chaos, to reunite with his sin and commit to the widening gyre, his foray into the castle one last time is a warped odyssey, where he is made over in make up, harangued by the bloodsuckers, and ultimately mocked as he is most vulnerable to their wiles. His response is gratitude of all things, for having transgressed the last boundaries, having destroyed that image of the self which has kept him chained. For Johan, having been destroyed is a small price to pay for having freed himself of the constraints life had imposed upon him. It is a sad tale of a love which could not survive in the face of oblivion, and a conspiracy stronger than Alma and Johan could endure, but a haunting tale which leaves its scar on Alma, as she sends us the warning, moments which carry on beyond the film; as it ends mid-sentence--Alma continues to grieve.
Recommended for: Fans of a gothic horror story which attacks on the psychological level foremost, with a pervading sense of dread being the pellicle upon the meat of the story, a sorrowful tale but one which creeps under the skin.
Hour of the Wolf might be on the surface a story about a madness which overtakes Johan, and more superficially a story about the monsters garbed in human skin occupying the gothic manor which the couple finds themselves ensnared in, but I find that the story of a marriage failing under the lack of solid communication and understanding a much more compelling interpretation. It could be said that Johan is unable or unwilling to open up to Alma, so she presses into his privacy to glean a better understanding of what it is that is eating her husband. There is a mania in Johan which would be frightening to any mate who does not understand the kinds of anxieties which accompany someone stricken with mental illness, as it appears Johan suffers from--even with the actual monsters stalking him, resembling vampiric counterparts from horror films. Johan keeps Alma up all night--through "the hour of the wolf"--out of a terror he has for sleeping in the darkness. He makes her count a whole minute, just as we do; we can sense the same agonizing tension in that full minute just as Alma does...how long an actual minute truly is. When Johan confesses that a wound he received earlier had not been a snake bite, but from a fevered encounter with a young boy while he was fishing, Alma is left speechless. Surely, if Johan is to be believed, he is also a kind of monster, but could it be just the fevered dream which has taken hold of him? Alma is placed in the position we are in, where we are compelled to judge, but do we have the right? Are we so superior that we can cast judgment on any of Johan's transgressions, especially if he is suffering from mental illness? I guess that depends on the severity and the authenticity, but then that too opens up doors about the subjectivity of morality. These are the shadows of questions lurking in the dark within the late hours of the wolf, the monstrous biting at our conscience. The ghouls of the castle are principally social monsters, who take pleasure in making Alma and Johan feel uncomfortable with verbal barbs designed to sting their relationship, like the frequent mention of an old flame of Johan's, Veronica Vogler (Ingrid Thulin). When Johan finally gives himself over to chaos, to reunite with his sin and commit to the widening gyre, his foray into the castle one last time is a warped odyssey, where he is made over in make up, harangued by the bloodsuckers, and ultimately mocked as he is most vulnerable to their wiles. His response is gratitude of all things, for having transgressed the last boundaries, having destroyed that image of the self which has kept him chained. For Johan, having been destroyed is a small price to pay for having freed himself of the constraints life had imposed upon him. It is a sad tale of a love which could not survive in the face of oblivion, and a conspiracy stronger than Alma and Johan could endure, but a haunting tale which leaves its scar on Alma, as she sends us the warning, moments which carry on beyond the film; as it ends mid-sentence--Alma continues to grieve.
Recommended for: Fans of a gothic horror story which attacks on the psychological level foremost, with a pervading sense of dread being the pellicle upon the meat of the story, a sorrowful tale but one which creeps under the skin.