The MagicianThe art of magic is in the manifestation of the supernatural; the art of illusion is the ability to make the perceived appear as the supernatural. If perception is reality, then what's the difference? But this is the real mystery here, because who is to say that what we perceive is true, and what we accept as real is false? Ingmar Bergman's The Magician is a tale of art and artifice, of a traveling troupe assisting Dr. Albert Emanuel Vogler (Max von Sydow) in his journey through 19th Century Sweden, displaying his enigmatic talents for healing through magnetics and the like, and his inevitable confrontation with the skeptical Dr. Vergerus (Gunnar Björnstrand).
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In Vogler's retinue is his assistant Mr. Aman (Ingrid Thulin)--a play on words for Vogler's wife, Manda, who disguises herself as a man for reasons which become clear when her identity is revealed. The face of the theater is that of Tubal (Åke Fridell), a suave but cowardly lion, whose silver tongue sings sweet music to the lovelorn cook of the manor, Sofia (Sif Ruud), who is wise to his game. The mysterious grandmother (Naima Wifstrand), a self-proclaimed which, brews love potions and other snake oils, but has a mystical presence, and a prescience which leans toward visions of doom; her gentle side is a kindness to the anxious maid, Sanna (Birgitta Pettersson), who fears the supernatural guests/prisoners of the house. And coachman Simson (Lars Ekborg) puts on airs that he is worldly with women...but when housemaid Sara (Bibi Andersson) proves to be more lustful than the young lad expects, the roles of seducer and seduced are reversed. Each of these little dramas interweave to depict the crossing of these bohemian performers and those of the gentry in this period piece, but one with a deeper conflict of the old world and the modern, of science versus superstition, and of humanity struggling with the inhumane. It's never quite clear whether Vogler was invited so much as he was summoned to the household of Consul Egerman (Erland Josephson) and his bereft wife, Otilla (Gertrud Fridh), but journey across the bleak landscape the party does, encountering a dying actor named Johan (Bengt Ekerot) along the way, one whose alcoholism has finally began to destroy him. Johan tells the presumed mute Vogler about how he had failed as an actor, but that he would be a success in his death, and is more convincing as a ghost. The sad misfortune of Johan appears to affect Vogler, but more than simply the pathos of it--Vogler absorbs Johan's talents into his own repertoire when it is most needed. Vogler may have little to say, but he is clearly astute of the behaviors the gentry, including the piggish chief of police, Starbeck (Toivo Pawlo); he hates their condescension and cruelty, but refrains from indignant protestation. Vogler--and his performers--are actors in their own way, playing parts which are a performance beyond the simple--and not so simple--displays of mesmerism and levitation they offer up on stage. Vogler has an agenda to show his talents in such a way that there can be no disputing his skill, and Vergerus is a perfect subject. He is bullishly devoted to science, his proffered skepticism a mask for his zealotry to the abject refusal to accept anything not empirical; his smarmy conceit makes Vogler's conflict with the fellow "doctor" all the more delightful.
While The Magician's original title (The Face) did not survive the localization to America, the original name carries many connotations for the film. Characters make frequent allusions to the faces of others, and how the face can be interpreted by others in a variety of ways. Vogler's "face" is a disguise (so is Manda's), in part because they claim to be on the run and do not want to be recognized. However, I believe that their personae are not just a part of their performance from the start, but a piece in their multifaceted performance to disprove the adamant, atheistic rejection of doubt in magic by those like Vergerus. This does not mean that Vogler and company even believe in magic, but their efforts are to instill the idea that there is magic in the audience, lest they be out of a job. When Vogler is testing his apparatus on the curtain, the face of a man is projected; as Johan passes he hand over the lens, the face turns into a skull, one of many transformations of the face in the film, and especially one of transforming the living to the dead. When the brutish attendant, Antonsson (Oscar Ljung) describes Vogler's face, he does so with disdain, claiming that he wishes he could crush it. Could even this small element have been a factor in the performance Vogler and company puts on, knowing that the face would provoke Antonsson into violence, setting off the events necessary to give Vergerus his comeuppance? Ingmar Bergman's films have often had an element of metafiction to them, where there is a self-awareness of the idea that the movie is a movie; in The Magician, this is more so about the idea that the actors are playing actors, acting as illusionists. After the performance for the Egerman's, Vogler dons the clothes of Johan, wearing the garb of one who was (albeit briefly) successful at playing the ghost better than ever, having had some "life" experience--Vogler literally assumes the costume of a dead actor to act the part of a ghost, in a performance both unnerving and menacing. Made just after The Seventh Seal, it is even more interesting that the actor who played Death should now find himself plagued by the grim reaper, and ironic that the faithful knight and cynical squire should now be at odds as mystic and humanist. Many great actors from Bergman's own troupe are present in this film, and even at the conclusion, there is a passing of characters--some stay with Vogler and his travelling band of misfits, others stay behind--just as actors sometimes rotate through different productions. And yet the self-reference is never so overt as to be overwhelming; on the contrary, the film is a clever, psychologically thrilling mix of comedy and horror, and a reminder to always be careful of who you autopsy.
Recommended for: Fans of drama and humor surrounding a band of misfits and their confrontation with the 19th Century elite--snobs versus scoundrels, and we're rooting for the scoundrels, and where the illusion of cinema and the magic are one and the same.
While The Magician's original title (The Face) did not survive the localization to America, the original name carries many connotations for the film. Characters make frequent allusions to the faces of others, and how the face can be interpreted by others in a variety of ways. Vogler's "face" is a disguise (so is Manda's), in part because they claim to be on the run and do not want to be recognized. However, I believe that their personae are not just a part of their performance from the start, but a piece in their multifaceted performance to disprove the adamant, atheistic rejection of doubt in magic by those like Vergerus. This does not mean that Vogler and company even believe in magic, but their efforts are to instill the idea that there is magic in the audience, lest they be out of a job. When Vogler is testing his apparatus on the curtain, the face of a man is projected; as Johan passes he hand over the lens, the face turns into a skull, one of many transformations of the face in the film, and especially one of transforming the living to the dead. When the brutish attendant, Antonsson (Oscar Ljung) describes Vogler's face, he does so with disdain, claiming that he wishes he could crush it. Could even this small element have been a factor in the performance Vogler and company puts on, knowing that the face would provoke Antonsson into violence, setting off the events necessary to give Vergerus his comeuppance? Ingmar Bergman's films have often had an element of metafiction to them, where there is a self-awareness of the idea that the movie is a movie; in The Magician, this is more so about the idea that the actors are playing actors, acting as illusionists. After the performance for the Egerman's, Vogler dons the clothes of Johan, wearing the garb of one who was (albeit briefly) successful at playing the ghost better than ever, having had some "life" experience--Vogler literally assumes the costume of a dead actor to act the part of a ghost, in a performance both unnerving and menacing. Made just after The Seventh Seal, it is even more interesting that the actor who played Death should now find himself plagued by the grim reaper, and ironic that the faithful knight and cynical squire should now be at odds as mystic and humanist. Many great actors from Bergman's own troupe are present in this film, and even at the conclusion, there is a passing of characters--some stay with Vogler and his travelling band of misfits, others stay behind--just as actors sometimes rotate through different productions. And yet the self-reference is never so overt as to be overwhelming; on the contrary, the film is a clever, psychologically thrilling mix of comedy and horror, and a reminder to always be careful of who you autopsy.
Recommended for: Fans of drama and humor surrounding a band of misfits and their confrontation with the 19th Century elite--snobs versus scoundrels, and we're rooting for the scoundrels, and where the illusion of cinema and the magic are one and the same.