RG-5

Deceptively simple on the surface, "Persona" may be one of cinema's most complex expressions. Critic John Simon has gone so far as to say that "'Persona' is to film what 'Ullysses' is to the novel." The comparison is apt. In capsule reviews Bergman's masterpiece is often reduced to something like... a story about an actress who stops talking and is sent to recuperate at a beach house with a talkative nurse at which time the two women's personalities mesh. (The self-referential elements, like the projector starting up, the film appearing to catch and burn, and the soundstage shot at the end, are usually not dealt with in these reviews.) But I think Bergman's working title for the film--"Cinematography"--gives a clue to what the film is REALLY about--or at least one of the things. "Persona" is about film; it is about the duplicity of film (tricking the eye into seeing motion; creating an illusion of reality, etc.) And it is about the mind's willingness--even eagerness--to accept the duplicity. It is about the duplicity of art and the artist (is s/he a humane observor, a voyeur or vampire--sucking the life from those observed?) In fact, it could be said that "Persona" is about duplicity in its broadest sense--the dual nature of things and the western obsession with seeing the world broken down into black and white dualities. But what's black is also white. Who's really the nurse and who's the patient in "Persona"? Who's the actress; who's playing a role? (If ever a film demanded to be made in black and white, this is it.) Yet "Persona" is much more than just a treatise on duality. It is a film that seems to be enriched with each viewing, and the viewer is enriched in the process.

Watching Fellini's "Intervista" is a mixed bag--sadness, frustration because it is not better... coupled with moments of brilliance. I'm not sure there is a more poignant moment in the movies than the scene of a wrinkled Marcello Mastroianni and obese Anita Ekberg wistfully watching their former youthful black & white selves in "La Dolce Vita" being projected on a makeshift screen. That scene alone is a richly-charged commentary on time, memory, regret, self-delusion, love, missed opportunity, life and death--unlike any other I have ever seen.

"A Passion" is one of Ingmar Bergman's underrated classics (inaccurately titled "The Passion of Anna" in the U.S.) and includes one of cinema's great movie endings. "Identity" is one of the primary themes of the film, and the film concludes with Max von Sydow's broken Andreas pacing back and forth in the frame--in an empty, bleak landscape. As the camera pulls back, Bergman (or rather, Nykvist) optically moves in--creating an effect where the image "flattens out" and Andreas literally dissolves into the grain of the film. Brilliant!