TRILOGY SEASON
Ingmar Bergman's Faith Trilogy
Rev Tomas (Gunnar Bjornstrand) is not a well man. He has dutifully run his two rural parishes for years. But since his wife's death four years ago, his faith and determination to continue have deteriorated, as have numbers in his congregations. We meet Rev Tomas on a day when heavy with the flu, he is holding communion services, with a dead lifeless look in his eyes. Two parishioners, a disillusioned depressive fisherman Jonas Persson ( Max Von Sydow) and his wife Karin ( Gunnel Lindblom) approach Tomas for help with Jonas's suicidal feelings. Jonas returns later to talk alone with Tomas. Tomas proceeds to confess to him a litany of his own doubts in the existence of God, how he feels forsaken and why God's silence he finds so unbearable. Jonas leaves without saying a word, to be found dead later, having shot himself.
Tomas is numb to any guilt he may feel about his role in Jonas's death. Marta (Ingrid Thulin) is a local schoolmistress and has been Tomas's live in lover. Marta is deeply in love with Tomas, even though this is not reciprocated. She has decided to devote her life to help and support him, despite the cutting rebuffs. Though an atheist, she finds a form of faith in serving Tomas. Whilst Tomas cruelly tells her exactly how repulsed he is by her body, her affections, and that he will never love her. She nevertheless accompanies him to inform Karin of Jonas's death. He lies to her, saying he was unable to change Jonas's intention to take his life. Then on to the church in the second parish, where no one turns up for the service bar the caretaker and the drunken organist. The latter tells Marta to get out before the dust and death of the villages gets to her. But instead she stays, desperately praying for divine help, as Tomas presents the communion service to ranks of empty pews.
Winter Light cranks up the religious angst on his previous film in the trilogy Through A Glass Darkly from 1962. Winter light, is a metaphor here. The light it emits, highlights contrasts, creates harsher edges accompanied by a penetrating deathly coldness. Though it brings a deceptive clarity to ones perceptions, it is essentially brutal and unfeeling in the pared back bleakness of its view of reality. Tomas, in the depths of his turbulent faithlessness, has lost all ability to be sensitive or empathise. He can only think of his own suffering. Everything he says causes further pain to anyone who loves him or comes to him for spiritual comfort. There are indications, even the decline in the congregations has its origins in the burnt out nature of Tomas's spiritual crisis.
Following on after Bergman's Oscar win with Through A Glass Darkly, Winter Light is shot through out with an austere palette of white outs and grey tones. The church interiors are sparse and unloved, with all their religious statuary damaged, dusty or worn away. There are frequent framings of parralel side heads, turned away from each other and from the camera. Visually, as well as psychologically, cut off in their own world of grief and suffering. Bergman's script does lay out his jaundiced view of religious faith, and does so with a trowel. Though this makes it all the more punchier, it is not subtle. All is corrupted in this particular parish.
Tulin's monologue straight to camera speaking the letter Marta has written to Tomas, is a master class in the heartfelt portrayal of her character, so independently minded and yet not a free spirit emotionally. She is as much trapped here as Tomas. Continuing to hold out a forlorn hope that one day he will love her. In the same manner Tomas hopes, if he just carries on doing his religious duties, his faith in God will return. Bergman makes it patently clear neither of these things will ever occur. For they are both deluded in what they are placing their faith on. And so we see the immense tragedy at the core of this film made plain.
CARROT REVIEW - 5/8
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