I must say it's haunting me today. It is also undeniably a masterpiece. The film itself was graciously sent to me from England by Weaverman whose truly valuable discussion of the film I urge you to read by clicking here. Like Weaverman, I found myself also strongly identifying with the lead character pastor Tomas (I agree that it's a brilliant portrayal by Gunnar Björnstrand). Pastor Tomas not only has a raging case of the flu but also a major crisis of faith. His beloved wife died several years before and it really took the heart out of him. Since then, he has been carrying on a two year affair with schoolmarm Marta (the also excellent Ingrid Thulin -- Marianne in Bergman's WILD STRAWBERRIES) who rather desperately loves him. The film opens on Tomas giving the Sunday service to a mostly empty church. Tomas' flu coupled with Marta's runny nose, the winter coat-and-scarf bundled parishoners and the bleak, snowy Swedish landscape (beautifully photographed by Sven Nykvist) all contribute mightily to the feel of the film. The heavy woolen-looking coats show a group of people bundled against the cold and possibly against the "cold, cruel world" which each may feel. The are looking to the church for comfort and solace. While Tomas' sermons may give some of his listeners something like solace, they are ringing empty and trite in his own ears.
Tomas reveals that he is most disturbed by "god's silence". God is mentioned in 
another scene by Tomas as being "remote". We human beings reach out but never seem to connect to the loving God we are told about. Some stoically continue to live their lives while others, like Marta (who was raised "non-Christian") declares boldly to Tomas that God does not exist. Tomas, however, is still wrestling with that. At different points of the film Tomas seems to accept that there is no God; in one cathartic yet devastating moment he declares himself "free at last". And yet at other moments we're not so sure (and neither is Tomas) whether he really believes that or not. That's probably the greatest strength of the film in that Bergman never concretely declares Tomas one way or the other. This is the major reason why the ending of the film can be read in two different and contradictory ways; it all depends, I think, upon the viewer. Either Tomas has given up faith in God completely OR he has still held onto his faith. I like, however, the position Weaverman takes in that Tomas just isn't that sure either way so he "keeps all channels open" so to speak.
another scene by Tomas as being "remote". We human beings reach out but never seem to connect to the loving God we are told about. Some stoically continue to live their lives while others, like Marta (who was raised "non-Christian") declares boldly to Tomas that God does not exist. Tomas, however, is still wrestling with that. At different points of the film Tomas seems to accept that there is no God; in one cathartic yet devastating moment he declares himself "free at last". And yet at other moments we're not so sure (and neither is Tomas) whether he really believes that or not. That's probably the greatest strength of the film in that Bergman never concretely declares Tomas one way or the other. This is the major reason why the ending of the film can be read in two different and contradictory ways; it all depends, I think, upon the viewer. Either Tomas has given up faith in God completely OR he has still held onto his faith. I like, however, the position Weaverman takes in that Tomas just isn't that sure either way so he "keeps all channels open" so to speak. 
In that way, I think Tomas is like a lot of us. The truth is we'll never "know" for sure in this life one way or the other. The truth is nobody knows; except those who have left this life . . . and they aren't telling. In this way, I think the film makes it's most powerful connection. There are no sugar-coated, pat statements to make us all feel better. These are questions we've wrestled with throughout time and we're no closer to an answer now. And how could we be? Anyone (or any institution) that declares emphatically that they know the answer is simply engaging in wishful thinking. Nobody can know. There are no facts involved. If something is "known" than it's not faith; it requires no "belief" since the knowledge is plain to be seen. Belief requires that one make the proverbial "leap of faith" between what you can prove factually and what you "believe". 
There is a lot of despair in this film but of an obviously deeper nature than "I don't have a date on prom night" variety. Tomas' despair(s) pile on top of him; the loss of his wife, the loss of his faith (presumably he had faith once), the feeling he must have that his life's work has been a waste and a lie. Marta almost frantically loves Tomas but feels it's not reciprocated. This probably results in the strange afflictions Marta suffers: odd stigmata-like rashes on her hands. Marta's overly-fawning devotion to Tomas causes the pastor annoyance rather than love. A parishioner named Mr. Persson (the always superb Max Von Sydow) finds himself beaten down by the bleak horrendousness of the modern world and is filled with suicidal thoughts. 
When the man comes to Tomas for spiritual comfort, the pastor first delivers the expected trite platitudes before admitting that Persson's probably correct to feel that way. What sane person (Persson) wouldn't feel just that way? The manner in which all the various characters in the film deal with this depair echoes how all of us have to do the same day in and day out. One can either move past it (Marta), let it defeat them (Persson) or take some middle course (as Tomas may resign himself to by the end of the film). 
The very definition of a masterpiece would seem to fit Bergman's film. It faces truthfully and squarely the existential tortures each of us must face in our lives. It shows us several different roads toward wrestling with these very intimate crises but takes no stance on which road is the better taken. Bergman forces us to confront them, to think about them, to turn them over in our minds. As in real life, there are no easy answers. But as someone once said: the unexamined life life is not worth living. Unfortunately, for examining life they made him drink hemlock. Fortunately, Bergman was able to examine life in a film. In a career of such films. Are we going to ignore these themes or face them? The tendency nowadays is to ignore them. Bergman (himself the son of a Lutheran minister) urges us to think about them. It's for these reasons that WINTER LIGHT is such an intensely emotional, thought-provoking, sometimes frightening and intimate masterwork; as well as being a quietly powerful experience. The director himself seems to have felt the same way about the film. As quoted in John Simon's book "Ingmar Bergman Directs", here is what the maestro himself had to say about it:"I think I have made just one picture that I really like, and that is WINTER LIGHT. That is my only picture about which I feel that I have started here and ended there and that everything along the way has obeyed me. Everything is exactly as I wanted to have it, in every second of this picture."
6 comments:
Oh yeah, but through it all I still didn't find it depressing in the least!!!
Those wacky Swedes!!!
At last! Now we share the experience of a film that, each time I see it, claws its way further up my list of favourites.
I actually find this an easier film to experience than to discuss because the feelings in the film are so real to me. At times (and you know why) I feel the silence of God inexplicable (of course He is not silent - I'm just shouting and can't hear him) yet each week I go through the same ritual, sometimes on auto-pilot and I still feel myself gasping at the meaning it still holds for me. A wise old priest described his faith for me once thus : I did not become a Christian because I decided suddenly to believe in a series of very unlikely events that somebody told me happened in the middle-east 20000 years ago but I believe it likely that those events happened because of the way I am affected by them all this time later. But I still understand why people find it hard to believe." Back to the film - Did you go along with the theory that the crippled churchwarden who tries to throw doubt on the suffering of Christ is Satan ? It's a fascinating theory and one I tend to subscribe to - yet if he is Satan that presupposes that there is a God. That is the ambiguity I love in Bergman's work.
He claimed to be an Atheist but I think this is the greatest of Christian films.
It is definitely easier to experience than discuss; as evidence I direct you to my rambling, incoherent blog about it. What you said about the old priest not deciding "suddenly to believe in a series of very unlikely events" is exactly what I was trying to get at in that whole "faith" versus "proof" section. I'm glad you mentioned it because it makes clearer what I was fumbling towards saying. The crippled churchwarden is a definite intriguing possibility I admit never occurred to me as I watched the film. You know I'm gonna have to watch it again with that in mind and see how it comes across a second time. Looking back, I think there's a lot to be said about it; the odd, idiosyncratic way the actor played it can lead to just such a conclusion. It was sort of a "passive-aggressive" performance. And that would go a long way towards the opinion that Tomas may have regained some faith or at least is keeping an open mind about it all at the end of the film. Maybe Tomas realized exactly what the crippled churchwarden was trying to do (and who he may have really been) and, as you say, if there's a Satan than there has to be a God. What a great film; immediately among my all-time favourites. I'm having to restrain myself from buying that "Bergman trilogy" DVD set with THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY, WINTER LIGHT and THE SILENCE even as we speak!
I forgot to mention that there is a tradition of showing Satanic figures as somehow "imperfect", hence the club foot. And please don't forget there is actually a novel about Bergman writing and directin WINTER LIGHT, it's called THE DIRECTOR (without checking I can't recall the author's name) which I managed to pick up on Amazon.
THE SILENCE is a disturbing film which I first experienced one reel at a time with a gap between each reel because one of the projectors broke down. I watched it again last year and still found it disturbing - perhaps the bleakest of Bergman's masterpieces. THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY is more problematic for me as it is about a person who loves somebody who is deteriorating mentally. I found it impossible to watch. I will, I will but not yet.
P.S. I didn't think your review was rambling at all - it was easily one of the better reviews of the film that I've read.
You are much too kind! But yes, I probably will break down and buy that trilogy DVD online before the day is out. Weakness thy name is DVD! Or is it "the DVD's spinning so the flesh is weak"?!? Anyway, I remember how you were so far unable to watch THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY and that's understandable considering the direct, nothing-held-back way Bergman makes these films. They connect so strongly and personally that it's not surprising. I think that's why a lot of people (unlike us) don't like watching Bergman films. I will let you know however if I break down and buy that DVD (those Criterions ARE pricey, ain't they?) But again, you are too kind as far as my little review is concerned. It may be apparent that I simply started writing my reactions to the film and wasn't looking to do massive preparation; my goal was simply to put down what I felt without analyzing it overmuch. At least until my SECOND viewing.
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