The Devil's EyeHell can never fully grasp the full spectrum of love that dwells in human hearts. The Devil's Eye is a romantic comedy that tells the story of the infamous Lothario, Don Juan (Jarl Kulle), sent by Satan (Stig Järrel) to seduce the lovely, virgin bride-to-be, Britt-Marie (Bibi Andersson), to score a victory for Hell in the ongoing war against goodness and virtue. Don Juan and his manservant, Pablo (Sture Lagerwall), infiltrate Britt-Marie's home as guests of her father (Nils Poppe)--a vicar possessed of a childlike innocence--and his bedridden wife, Renata (Gertrud Fridh). They are joined by a shapeshifting devil (Ragnar Arvedson), tasked to keep watch over these would-be sexual saboteurs.
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Ingmar Bergman's The Devil's Eye--like many of his works--has elements in common with the theater, especially the comedies of William Shakespeare and operas of Mozart. As a matter of fact, Don Juan is derived from Mozart's "Don Giovanni"; The Devil's Eye could arguably be called a "sequel", with Don Juan returning from Hell for one last go around of debauchery on Earth. But The Devil's Eye is hardly a crude or vulgar display of lustful impropriety. On the contrary, it foreshadows Bergman's later works that would explore the myriad complexities existing within that most unfathomable of human puzzles: love. Bergman's film is irreverent toward institutions like religion. His narrator (Gunnar Björnstrand) serves as a classical chorus, announcing the breaks in the movie's "acts", and commenting on the story, characters, and rough geography of Hell with dry humor. These interjections emphasize how hollow the efforts of dispassionate and self-serving governing powers (like Hell) are where it concerns matters of the heart. Satan entices Don Juan to claim Britt-Marie's virginity for the purpose of dispelling a "stye" (infection) that has affected his eye, attributed to Britt-Marie's refusal to relinquish her maidenhood before marriage. (This comes from an old Irish proverb, acknowledged in the opening titles.) The film's interpretation of Hell is hardly a realm of pitchforks and boiling lava. Instead, it resembles a corporation and royal court put together, with Satan as CEO. The prince of darkness surrounds himself with lickspittles and cronies, including a pair of depraved courtiers--the Marquis Giuseppe Maria de Macopanza (Gunnar Sjöberg) and Count Armand de Rochefoucauld (Georg Funkquist)--who flatter the enemy of Man with insipid deference. Sentences in Hell are counted by the centuries, but are not for eternity. This explains Satan's proposition to Don Juan, which includes promises of both an early release from his damnation and a metaphorical "release", since his punishment consists of a never-ending interruption to consummating his lovemaking.
After a spot of infernal mischief results in the vicar inviting these devilish visitors into his home, they each go to work on an individual member of the family, attempting to replace their virtues with vice. Don Juan approaches the young Britt-Marie as she is refurbishing the house that is to be the abode of her and her fiance, Jonas (Axel Düberg), who is conveniently away for business. Don Juan begins his seduction via calculated maneuvering, probing for flaws in their relationship to exploit. But Don Juan is surprised to discover that his quarry isn't entirely without sin; for example, she considers a little dishonesty the spice that gives life its flavor. Though she blanches at his innuendo, she doesn't discourage a surprisingly introspective and revealing dialogue with this relative stranger. He hints at melancholy, and she alludes to a profound understanding of men's inherent need to believe they possess some psychological dominion over women. Don Juan fails to lure her into amorous embraces, but continues his hunt by sharing stories of his mortal downfall three hundred years prior, hoping to prey on her sympathies. This seems like it might show the most promise, including after sneaks his way into her room at night, a scene deliberately framed to resemble the climax from F. W. Murnau's Nosferatu. (After Don Juan returns to Hell, Satan tortures him with the help of an "ear demon" who resembles Count Orlok from Nosferatu, played here by Allan Edwall.) Britt-Marie confides to her would-be ravisher that even though she might give him her body, she does so out of pity, hoping that it will bring him peace, and that her heart will always belong to Jonas. Her merciful offer and dedication to love warms the cynical libertine's soul. Though he begs for her affections, this act turns him into the kind of helpless, lovestruck fool he victimized throughout his life before being cast into the fiery pit.
Although Pablo has been warned against fornication, his eye is drawn to the bashful Renata, and he almost immediately tries to seduce her. His first attempts are overt and all but annoy the vicar's wife, including getting into her bed and refusing to leave. But Renata does not run to her husband; instead, she entertains the chase despite her protests that it will produce a "scandal", as if putting on a show of indignation for appearance's sake. Like with Don Juan, it isn't until Pablo supplicates himself that she opens her own heart to the condemned page. Perhaps the most surprising interactions are between the vicar and the demon; the latter tries to compel the former to abandon his faith in the wake of Pablo and Don Juan's seductions. The vicar is childlike in his innocence; his only apparent vice is that he keeps a bottle of gin hidden inside a cabinet reputed to have once imprisoned a devil, trapped there by his grandfather, with its scorched interior purported to be the evidence. The demon tries to pervert the vicar's guilelessness, mistaking it for foolishness. The vicar seems to be shielded as if by the armor of God, protecting him from the rage and sorrow that might follow his wife's betrayal of the marriage covenant. But when confronted with the knowledge that he has invited not just his wife's seducer into their home, but his daughter's, it seems as though his corruption is at hand. Yet something Renata shares with him--about how in spite of her infidelity, she was always thinking of him--refreshes his perspective on love and goodness. This nuanced wisdom about the complexities of the human heart is the underlying message of The Devil's Eye. In this way, the film could even be seen as a metaphor for the divisiveness of hot-button topics, like politics and religion. Despite the machinations of powerful forces to convert people to their way of thinking, only everyday people like Britt-Marie and her family can ever truly appreciate the needs that weigh on their own individual hearts.
Recommended for: Fans of a delightful romantic comedy that explores the inner workings of love and fidelity through fantasy and metaphor. Filled with witty dialogue, charmingly deep yet natural characters, and a theatrical sensibility, The Devil's Eye fits neatly into Bergman's body of work, both as an introduction to the filmmaker's style, and as a film that expands on some of his most familiar themes.
After a spot of infernal mischief results in the vicar inviting these devilish visitors into his home, they each go to work on an individual member of the family, attempting to replace their virtues with vice. Don Juan approaches the young Britt-Marie as she is refurbishing the house that is to be the abode of her and her fiance, Jonas (Axel Düberg), who is conveniently away for business. Don Juan begins his seduction via calculated maneuvering, probing for flaws in their relationship to exploit. But Don Juan is surprised to discover that his quarry isn't entirely without sin; for example, she considers a little dishonesty the spice that gives life its flavor. Though she blanches at his innuendo, she doesn't discourage a surprisingly introspective and revealing dialogue with this relative stranger. He hints at melancholy, and she alludes to a profound understanding of men's inherent need to believe they possess some psychological dominion over women. Don Juan fails to lure her into amorous embraces, but continues his hunt by sharing stories of his mortal downfall three hundred years prior, hoping to prey on her sympathies. This seems like it might show the most promise, including after sneaks his way into her room at night, a scene deliberately framed to resemble the climax from F. W. Murnau's Nosferatu. (After Don Juan returns to Hell, Satan tortures him with the help of an "ear demon" who resembles Count Orlok from Nosferatu, played here by Allan Edwall.) Britt-Marie confides to her would-be ravisher that even though she might give him her body, she does so out of pity, hoping that it will bring him peace, and that her heart will always belong to Jonas. Her merciful offer and dedication to love warms the cynical libertine's soul. Though he begs for her affections, this act turns him into the kind of helpless, lovestruck fool he victimized throughout his life before being cast into the fiery pit.
Although Pablo has been warned against fornication, his eye is drawn to the bashful Renata, and he almost immediately tries to seduce her. His first attempts are overt and all but annoy the vicar's wife, including getting into her bed and refusing to leave. But Renata does not run to her husband; instead, she entertains the chase despite her protests that it will produce a "scandal", as if putting on a show of indignation for appearance's sake. Like with Don Juan, it isn't until Pablo supplicates himself that she opens her own heart to the condemned page. Perhaps the most surprising interactions are between the vicar and the demon; the latter tries to compel the former to abandon his faith in the wake of Pablo and Don Juan's seductions. The vicar is childlike in his innocence; his only apparent vice is that he keeps a bottle of gin hidden inside a cabinet reputed to have once imprisoned a devil, trapped there by his grandfather, with its scorched interior purported to be the evidence. The demon tries to pervert the vicar's guilelessness, mistaking it for foolishness. The vicar seems to be shielded as if by the armor of God, protecting him from the rage and sorrow that might follow his wife's betrayal of the marriage covenant. But when confronted with the knowledge that he has invited not just his wife's seducer into their home, but his daughter's, it seems as though his corruption is at hand. Yet something Renata shares with him--about how in spite of her infidelity, she was always thinking of him--refreshes his perspective on love and goodness. This nuanced wisdom about the complexities of the human heart is the underlying message of The Devil's Eye. In this way, the film could even be seen as a metaphor for the divisiveness of hot-button topics, like politics and religion. Despite the machinations of powerful forces to convert people to their way of thinking, only everyday people like Britt-Marie and her family can ever truly appreciate the needs that weigh on their own individual hearts.
Recommended for: Fans of a delightful romantic comedy that explores the inner workings of love and fidelity through fantasy and metaphor. Filled with witty dialogue, charmingly deep yet natural characters, and a theatrical sensibility, The Devil's Eye fits neatly into Bergman's body of work, both as an introduction to the filmmaker's style, and as a film that expands on some of his most familiar themes.