SarabandAge. Love. Family. Regret. Every one of us moves through this complex yet simple routine we call life and experiences this. We make connections, we love, we hate, we feel longing and resentment. Who we are is a labyrinthine web of these connections, of events...moments that define us despite ourselves. Saraband was the final film written and directed by Ingmar Bergman, and is a swansong, a sequel, and a farewell. We are reunited with Marianne (Liv Ullmann) and Johan (Erland Josephson) from Bergman's 1973 Scenes from a Marriage. This is a recollection, an album of memory, and a promise of the unwritten future for those who survive us.
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As mentioned, Saraband was the last movie written and directed by legendary filmmaker, Ingmar Bergman, whose works would influence and inspire countless filmmakers and audiences alike. This film embodies all of the best aspects of his body of work which has made him so beloved of a filmmaker. From the start, Marianne is seated at a table littered with photographs--echoes of the past and memories both. This may not be a "real" table in her home, but it is a metaphor for her own introspective search into her own past. She recalls how it has been many years (maybe more than thirty, the chronology is fuzzy) since she even spoke with Johan. She thinks wistfully and with some joy about their time together and the children they brought into the world, now grown up. She decides that, despite her better judgment, she will go visit Johan at his remote cottage in the countryside, where he has retired. What's intriguing here is that despite having no contact with him, she has been following his life in detail. She knows that he has an acrimonious relationship with his son, Henrik (Börje Ahlstedt), from a prior marriage; Henrik and Marianne are just about the same age now. She creeps her way into his cottage, and despite the drafty house slamming doors behind her--as if to trap her within Johan's circle of influence yet again--she strides forth willingly, if a bit tenuously. She wakes Johan, and it were as if she was just awakening him from an afternoon nap and that she has been there with him all this time. She decides to stay for a while after feeling the warmth of their love rekindled, and yet speaks to us at the end of the first act, saying that she knew that coming here was a mistake. A mistake? Yes, because she has allowed herself to again be drawn into Johan's tumultuous orbit. Marianne already knows that Johan may be intelligent and charming, but also that he is consumed by resentment and vindictiveness. Marianne hopes that this would have subsided with age, and to an extent, it has...except where Henrik is concerned. Henrik appears to have inherited his father's embitterment, or rather it would be more accurate to say that it has been inflicted upon him by Johan. Henrik is now a widower, living in a small cottage owned by Johan in the valley, where he stays with his daughter, Karin (Julia Dufvenius). Marianne first meets Karin after she bursts into Johan's cottage in an emotional state, following a bitter fight with Henrik, who has been training her to be a cellist, so that she can audition for placement in a music conservatory. Karin is an accomplished cellist, but she is tired of feeling like a surrogate spouse for Henrik--something that represents all kinds of problems to say the least. Marianne tries to bolster her spirit through a heart-to-heart talk...along with plenty of wine. Yet Henrik's emotional center is thrown off-balance after this fight, and he begrudgingly comes to his father with hat in hand to ask for a loan to buy Karin a masterwork cello. Johan all but spits in his face, enraged over a comment his son made out of anger many decades ago; he still holds a grudge. When Henrik and Marianne finally meet at a local church, she sees the effects of Johan's "parenting" on Henrik, who she remembered as a chubby little boy, now someone who is boiling over with hatred and spite instead. And so Johan seizes the opportunity to escalate his feud with his son and tries to buy Karin's love by offering her a more prestigious invitation into an orchestra and formal training by way of a recommendation from an old acquaintance...with the implication that she keep this secret from her father. And so the cycle of the family in conflict perpetuates. And so life continues down its inexorable path, replete with potholes and hurdles, and all manner of heartache.
I could talk more about the technical side of Saraband. I could say that Marianne's fourth-wall breaking monologues are not only consistent with Bergman's other work--such as in my favorite of his films, Winter Light--or about how faces are represented and become a focus in scenes, like in Persona. I could say that may of the scenes in this "chamber piece" are presented in a way that resembles a play for the stage, which makes sense given that Bergman was also a lauded theater director. I could even talk about the nuanced and impassioned performances by the small (yet overwhelmingly talented) cast of players, and how the story is so heartfelt and true (and rumored to be semi-autobiographical). But I think, for me, the greatest reason to watch Saraband is the way that it reminds me of my own relationships in my life, with my loves and my family. I don't ordinarily feel that speaking about myself is interesting to anyone reading these essays, so I'll keep this brief and disclose just enough to illustrate how on point Bergman's story of broken hearts and strained relationships really is. I recently reconnected with my estranged father after over twenty years. I cut him out of my life and didn't think about him for a long time. The years passed, and then--for unrelated reasons--my brother did the same thing to me and my mother. It hurt in a way that still pains us profoundly to this day. I came to realize just how much this pain affected me, and I reconsidered what I did to my father. I asked myself, "haven't I punished him enough?" And I realized that what my brother has done, I have done, and I must forgive, or I am lost, with the hope that my brother will one day do the same. I share this because I see just how much honesty there is in Saraband. Some might view Johan as a toxic parent, and while they wouldn't be wrong, it wouldn't be the whole picture; aren't we all "toxic" to some extent? In my experience, anyone who says otherwise is lying. Some might be confused as to why Marianne would reconnect for the second time with this man and even share with us that she felt it was a mistake, yet allow him into her bed when he is suffering from a massive anxiety attack during his own "hour of the wolf" (the title of the film's final chapter and a self-referential nod to Bergman's own movie of the same name, also starring his ex-wife, Liv Ullmann). This movie is a portrait of an artist, even if it isn't all about Bergman. This is a story with the heart poured out onto the film. Even if the staging feels like it belongs in the theater, even if there are predictable (or perhaps it would be better to say "inevitable") beats in the story, every moment is filled with naturalism and with humanity. If you've ever lived life and experienced the kind of pain that comes from complex relationships, you will immediately identify with how true Saraband is. I don't believe that we set out in our lives to hurt one another, but we do this to our family in ways that even the worst of villains couldn't top. There is great sadness to me in knowing this...in living this. To see Bergman capture this feeling so perfectly speaks to the masterful craft of Saraband on every level.
Recommended for: Fans of an emotionally true and compelling drama about a rekindled relationship and the complexities that come from reentering it. Saraband is essential viewing for fans of good film, but especially for Bergman fans; but see Scenes from a Marriage first.
I could talk more about the technical side of Saraband. I could say that Marianne's fourth-wall breaking monologues are not only consistent with Bergman's other work--such as in my favorite of his films, Winter Light--or about how faces are represented and become a focus in scenes, like in Persona. I could say that may of the scenes in this "chamber piece" are presented in a way that resembles a play for the stage, which makes sense given that Bergman was also a lauded theater director. I could even talk about the nuanced and impassioned performances by the small (yet overwhelmingly talented) cast of players, and how the story is so heartfelt and true (and rumored to be semi-autobiographical). But I think, for me, the greatest reason to watch Saraband is the way that it reminds me of my own relationships in my life, with my loves and my family. I don't ordinarily feel that speaking about myself is interesting to anyone reading these essays, so I'll keep this brief and disclose just enough to illustrate how on point Bergman's story of broken hearts and strained relationships really is. I recently reconnected with my estranged father after over twenty years. I cut him out of my life and didn't think about him for a long time. The years passed, and then--for unrelated reasons--my brother did the same thing to me and my mother. It hurt in a way that still pains us profoundly to this day. I came to realize just how much this pain affected me, and I reconsidered what I did to my father. I asked myself, "haven't I punished him enough?" And I realized that what my brother has done, I have done, and I must forgive, or I am lost, with the hope that my brother will one day do the same. I share this because I see just how much honesty there is in Saraband. Some might view Johan as a toxic parent, and while they wouldn't be wrong, it wouldn't be the whole picture; aren't we all "toxic" to some extent? In my experience, anyone who says otherwise is lying. Some might be confused as to why Marianne would reconnect for the second time with this man and even share with us that she felt it was a mistake, yet allow him into her bed when he is suffering from a massive anxiety attack during his own "hour of the wolf" (the title of the film's final chapter and a self-referential nod to Bergman's own movie of the same name, also starring his ex-wife, Liv Ullmann). This movie is a portrait of an artist, even if it isn't all about Bergman. This is a story with the heart poured out onto the film. Even if the staging feels like it belongs in the theater, even if there are predictable (or perhaps it would be better to say "inevitable") beats in the story, every moment is filled with naturalism and with humanity. If you've ever lived life and experienced the kind of pain that comes from complex relationships, you will immediately identify with how true Saraband is. I don't believe that we set out in our lives to hurt one another, but we do this to our family in ways that even the worst of villains couldn't top. There is great sadness to me in knowing this...in living this. To see Bergman capture this feeling so perfectly speaks to the masterful craft of Saraband on every level.
Recommended for: Fans of an emotionally true and compelling drama about a rekindled relationship and the complexities that come from reentering it. Saraband is essential viewing for fans of good film, but especially for Bergman fans; but see Scenes from a Marriage first.