Ernst Ingmar Bergman was a nine-time Academy Award-nominated Swedish film, stage, and opera director. He depicted bleakness and despair as well as comedy and hope in his explorations of the human condition. He is recognized as one of the greatest and most influential filmmakers in cinematic history.
He directed 62 films, most of which he wrote, and directed over 170 plays. Some of his internationally known favorite actors were Liv Ullmann, Bibi Andersson, and Max von Sydow. Most of his films were set in the stark landscape of his native Sweden, and major themes were often bleak, dealing with death, illness, betrayal, and insanity.
Bergman was active for more than 60 years, but his career was seriously threatened in 1976 when he suspended a number of pending productions, closed his studios, and went into self-imposed exile in Germany for eight years following a botched criminal investigation for alleged income tax evasion.
Laterna Magica = The Magic Lantern: an autobiography鈥� of Ingmar Bergman, Ingmar Bergman
Ingmar Bergman (July 14, 1918, Uppsala, Sweden, July 30, 2007, F氓r枚, Sweden) creator of such films as Wild Strawberries, Scenes from a Marriage and Fanny and Alexander turns his perceptive filmmaker's eye on himself for a revealing portrait of his life and obsessions.
It is an excellent book of memories (more self-analysis than an autobiography; nothing is chronological, but everything has logic, and everything is reflected). Ingmar Bergman has never been able to speak to his mother. Then, in the last chapter, listening to Bach's Christmas oratorio (the chorale walked confidently through the darker and darker space: Bach's piety soothes the pain inflicted on us by our ungodliness.) A church inspires him with a final imaginary encounter with his mother, who died long before, by entering the church's clergy, which takes him back to his childhood. He knows now is not the right time. "- I know that I disturb, that this is the moment when the mother wants to be alone, I know it. Before dinner, father rests, and mother reads or writes in her journal; I come from the church where I have listened to Bach's Christmas oratorio, it was so beautiful, the light was beautiful, I said to myself all the time: today I will try again, and this time it will be successful. " Try to ask the questions that undermine him: Why was my brother made a disabled person? Why was my sister reduced to a cry? Why did I live with a wound that was still infected and never healed and went right through me? All I want to know is why, behind this fragile facade of social prestige, we have experienced such appalling misery. And her mother tells her that she is so tired. He answers his childish whys: "What I see with certainty is that my family was made up of beings of goodwill who bent under a catastrophic heritage of too high demands, of bad conscience and guilt. " Her mother also responds finally, and this response constitutes the last sentences of this tormented and brilliant book: In her diary, the month of the birth of her son Ernst Ingmar, she wrote: "I pray to God, without confidence. It will undoubtedly be necessary to fend for yourself, as best we can." How as we can. And the three children did as well as they could, each in their own way: "I think I was the one who did the best, with the least damage, by lying to myself. I created a character for myself that had very little to do with my real self- as I didn't know how to separate. My creation and my person, the damage that resulted from it had long consequences both in my adult life and on my creativity. Sometimes I console myself by telling myself that he who has lived in a lie loves truth." Laterna Magica is a thick book to read at a slow pace. Otherwise, you will get lost in this flood of personal and professional memories. I have a lot of obscure references, especially in terms of theatrical direction. But we never get bored at any time as the writing is brilliant, the story of failures and faults honest: "I want to be embarrassing, irritating and hard to locate .." But also about his work: "In his old age, Euripides, the builder of coins, is exiled to Macedonia. He writes The Bacchantes. Stone after stone furiously assembles: contradictions collide with contradictions, adoration with blasphemy, daily life with ritual. He has had enough lecturing; he realizes that the part with the gods is offside. Commentators have spoken of the tiredness of the old poet. It is the opposite. Euripides represents men, gods, and the world caught in a relentless and absurd movement under an empty sky. The Bacchantes is a testament to the courage involved in breaking molds. " Brilliant "mold-breaker," subtle and very often ironic analyst of his life - and his life and work intertwined at home - which again becomes a helpless child when the memories and mysteries of misfortunes never cleared up, and many others spring back. This misfortune seems to me after reading this. Ingmar Bergman is one of the rare filmmakers to have made me cry. The problem with the books I love is that I would like to copy many excerpts that moved me or made me smile because it's often funny! The meeting with Karajan, for example, offers him the opportunity to direct Turandot. Come on, just a little bit, like a quote. And also, the shooting of Autumn's Sonata started badly.
Laterna Magica shows how difficult it is to define that odd word, "autobiography". Bergman isn't very interested in telling you what happened, though you absolutely don't get the feeling that he's trying to hide anything from you either. He isn't interested in defending himself from the numerous charges that have been filed against him (sex addict, irresponsible father, tax evader, etc). What he wants to do is show you how he experienced his life from the inside, and turned that raw material into some of the 20th century's most remarkable films.
So don't read this book if you hope to find out the truth about his fight with the Swedish tax authorities, or who was to blame when his numerous marriages and amorous liaisons broke down, or to what extent he was a Nazi sympathizer. (If you really have to know what his own take was: not guilty, guilty, guilty). But if you've been wondering for ages about the origin of the hand in Persona
or the character of Desir茅e Armfeldt in Midsommarnattens Leenden
then you won't be able to put it down.
I suppose Bergman is a monster, but after a while you simply accept him on his own terms. That isn't the relevant question. He comes home unexpectedly in the middle of the night, his wife greets him with pleasure and surprise, and he tells her, without even removing this coat, that he's leaving her for someone else; then he uses it in Scener ur ett 脛ktenskap. His father beats and humiliates him, and he become the Bishop in Fanny och Alexander. Very few artists are willing to take you backstage like this and demonstrate how it all works. In the end, you see he's just the uncertain, neurotic, mythomaniac kid who receives a magic lantern and figures out how he's going to get the most out of his fantastic new Christmas present. We should all be so lucky. I loved this book.
惫辞迟别路丑补谤惫别蝉迟颈苍驳 (惫艒迟路鈥瞙盲谤路惫蓹路蝉迟颈艐) v. 1. writing brief, generally worthless 欧宝娱乐 reviews, usually of one's back-catalogue, in order to increase one's (net) vote yield; 2. producing many (usually short, irrelevant) reviews with little regard for quality. n. 1. the act of 惫辞迟别路丑补谤惫别蝉迟颈苍驳. See also vote harvest; e.g., He can expect to see a large cumulative vote harvest from his one-sentence reviews of all those Little Golden Books.
Although my specific recollections of this book are as spotty as a poorly-secured maxi pad on a light flow day, I can say that it didn't leave me with a very favorable impression of Ingmar Bergman, the man. He never bothered to discuss the stuff I really wanted to read about (like behind-the-scenes gossip -- duh), but instead dwelt on his continuing problems with nervous diarrhea and his total lack of interest in his own children. He was apparently immensely inconvenienced by the manifold (nine) fetuses that resulted from his serial-fucking. He wrote about his kids as if they were dental appointments. For root canals even. (But maybe that's just my distorted residual impression.)
Did I mention the diarrhea? He talks about being enslaved to the porcelain throne during the periods leading up to the debuts of his stage productions. Normally, I'd like this kind of detail -- it's right up my (heh) alley -- but in this case I'm resentful because I imagine these bowel-related reveries taking the place of fun stuff. Like GOSSIP! There's really none of it. You may want to hear about Gunnar Bj枚rnstrand's sex-with-midget fetish or Gunnel Lindblom's tantrum at the craft services table or Sven Nykvist's addiction to speedballing and IKEA meatballs... but no. Aside from the diarrhea, this is one of those proper, dignified affairs. There's not even much insight into his films.
If you were doing a Q&A with the Berg (premortem, natch), you'd probably be all, like, 'The beginning to Persona: WTF, right?' But he's not interested in satisfying your banal curiosities. He'd rather tell you about his childhood fondness for magic lanterns... which is 'interesting' but also very kinda *yawn*.
Ingmar Bergman鈥檚 autobiography, The Magic Lantern, may not be the 鈥渂est鈥� book that I read this year (that word carries so much weight with it), but is quite probably my favorite book of the year. It has everything one often hopes for when reading an autobiography. In it Bergman not only provides readers with a discussion of his life and work, but he also is incredibly open 鈥� removing the curtain that typically separates the front and back stage, the work is very well-written and it is very easy for readers of this work familiar with Bergman鈥檚 films to draw parallels between his life and art.
While it is said that Fanny and Alexander is Bergman鈥檚 most personal film, my margins were also crammed full of notes linking passages about Bergman鈥檚 life to his other films, like The Seventh Seal, Wild Strawberries, Hour of the Wolf, Smiles of a Summer Night, Sawdust and Tinsel, The Magician and Cries and Whispers. And in it Bergman discusses not only his relationships with actors with whom he has collaborated (Harriet Andersson, Liv Ullmann, Bibi Andersson, Victor Sj枚str枚m, Ingrid Bergman, etc.), but also with such giant figures of the cinema (and stage) as Charlie Chaplin, Greta Garbo and Laurence Olivier. However, it is odd (in retrospect) that there was really no mention of the great male actors who are in so many Bergman films, such as Max von Sydow and Gunnar Bj枚rnstrand (though Bergman does include a chapter explaining that he does not wish to discuss any of his living friends 鈥� dead ones are a different matter).
I also found it interesting the parallels between Bergman (one of my favorite filmmakers) and one of my favorite writers, Marcel Proust. Both of their collected works are really very personal. Both this book and Proust's In Search of Lost Time show us the path from boyhood to the realization of the artist鈥檚 true potential (filmmaking/stage direction and writing, respectively).
The title of Bergman鈥檚 book is The Magic Lantern, which is a very familiar object to readers of Swann鈥檚 Way. The narrative begins with Bergman鈥檚 grandmother feeding him sponge cake soaked in water. Though this plays no role in Bergman鈥檚 involuntary memory later on, it does call to mind the narrator in Proust鈥檚 work eating a madeleine soaked in a spoonful of tea. Also, Bergman, like the narrator in 脌 la recherche du temps perdu, travels with his grandmother and experiences his first young romantic encounter on this journey. Both also reveal certain neuroses over the course of their works, which are very similar to some of my own personal demons 鈥� my mother, who is one of the most ardent believers in astrology, would probably link this to the fact that we are all born under the sign of Cancer.
The parallels between the lives of Proust and Bergman were so close that I thought one could very well devise a fun party game out of the two texts. One would read a passage from Proust (or rather Proust by way of C.K. Scott Moncrieff) and from Bergman (as translated from the Swedish by Joan Tate) and have participants guess who wrote it. I think it would be a very fun and interesting game, but then again I鈥檓 a bit odd like that.
What I found most fascinating is that nowhere in the text does Bergman give any indication of having read Proust. He cites as his greatest influence the great Swedish playwright August Strindberg, and also mentions Ibsen and (to a lesser extent) Shakespeare. He also professes a love and lifelong fascination with cinema, and particularly American films.
This is a great companion piece to Bergman鈥檚 films and to Marie Nyrer枚d鈥檚 documentary Bergman Island. Originally Bergman Island was a three-part documentary that dealt with three different aspects of the famous director鈥檚 life: his filmmaking, his life on the island of F氓r枚 and his career in the theatre. The last aspect was included at Bergman鈥檚 insistence, as he was proudest of his theatrical career, something that really shines through in this text. Of course, to many modern viewers of the documentary, it is his filmmaking career that is of greatest interest. So, when the documentary started being shown in various places the aspects dealing with his theatrical career were often excluded (and they played a minimal role in the version of the film that was edited by Bergman and Nyrer枚d). This book contains a much deeper look into that part of Bergman鈥檚 life and career. Aware of his lifelong interest in theatre and his work as a stage director, but unfamiliar with his theatrical works themselves, I found these discussions the less interesting part of the work. But, at the same time, they are very important as they seemed to have contributed the most to Bergman鈥檚 sense of self and self-worth.
As far as memoirs go this is one of the best of the last 50 years, about a very fascinating artist and the path that he traveled, the failures he encountered and the self-doubts that he suffered with on his path to great artistry. A must-read for any fans of Bergman鈥檚 work, lovers of cinema or even for any with a passion for good books, as I don鈥檛 think one need be a Bergman fan or even be familiar with his work in order to appreciate the merits of the book itself.
Ah yes, the old myth of the tortured male genius and all that. And an autobiography containing everything from stories on how his dad used to beat him, about discovering masturbation and girls (in roughly that order), multiple marriages and families sacrificed to his "demons" and the drive to create ART, the torment from which great ideas are born, "truthlessness" as an excuse for rambling on at length...
So sue me. Bergman was a genius film maker, and what I love about his autobiography is that everything he tells us about himself goes back to exactly that: how his life, his ideas, his experiences go back to his movies and plays. Anyone who reads this because they're interested in details of, say, his relationships with Liv Ullmann and Bibi Andersson will be disappointed; but for a well-written life story that works as a commentary track on his work at large, with some specifics on individual works, Laterna Magica is kind of brilliant. Bergman hardly uses the opportunity to paint himself in a very positive light, going on at length about his various neuroses, his failures at relationships and his initial admiration for nazism, but once again he always brings it back to the "Ah, so that's where that scene in Persona comes from" angle.
Most of our education was based around concepts like sin, confession, punishment, forgiveness and grace, concrete factors in the children's and the parents' relationships to each other and to god. (...) I think I got off easiest by turning myself into a liar. I created an outer persona who had very little to do with my real self. Since I was unable to separate my creation and my person, the damage had consequences well into my life and creativity as an adult. Sometimes I must console myself with the knowledge that he who lives a lie loves the truth.
Bergman, herregud vad ska man s盲ga. Sk枚nt f枚r honom att han slapp vara med i v氓r moderna tid, metoo hade inte varit honom n氓dig. Att l盲sa den h盲r boken 盲r att f枚rvandlas till psykolog p氓 symptomjakt. Hans 鈥漝盲moner鈥�, aggressivitet, sexualitet, 氓ngest och s枚mnl枚shet - att det aldrig slog honom att det var hans etiska kompass som f枚rs枚kte larma om att han handlade fel. Han betedde sig som en skitst枚vel, milt sagt. Hans ego visste inga gr盲nser. Fr氓gan 盲r om han inte led av personlighetsst枚rning? Kanske var det d盲rf枚r film och teater lockade honom. D盲r 盲r distinktionen mellan verklighet och saga till氓ten, d盲r kunde han skapa en verklighet som han 枚nskade och fly sin egen. Han lj枚g konstant, var notoriskt otrogen, megalomanisk, refererade till sig sj盲lv som Bergman, han menade att Greta Garbo hade ful mun, han f枚rnekade inte bara gudstro utan tron p氓 godhet. Han ville bli ih氓gkommen, hade inget att f枚rlora och ville f枚rst氓s v盲cka uppm盲rksamhet. Han tycktes vara immun mot utveckling eller s氓 var han en extremt late bloomer. I en 氓lder av 68 氓r anklagade han sin mor f枚r sin trasiga personlighet. Han fr氓gade (henne): 鈥滷ick vi masker ist盲llet f枚r ansikte, fick vi hysteri ist盲llet f枚r k盲nslor, fick vi skam och skuld ist盲llet f枚r 枚mhet och f枚rl氓telse?鈥�
Laterna magica handlar om Bergman sj盲lv, hans bromance med Strindberg, teater och kvinnor. D枚ttrarna n盲mns inte ens med namn. Man kan verkligen inte anklaga honom f枚r f枚rsk枚ning av n氓got, inte heller sig sj盲lv. Men med en s氓dan sjuk personlighet och skruvad sexualitet borde han sk盲mmas, att han inte gjorde det 盲r bekymmersamt och nog ytterligare ett symptom. Han proklamerar att k盲rleken 盲r det viktigaste i livet, men tycktes tyv盲rr sakna f枚rm氓gan eller viljan att odla k盲rleken till andra och inte enkom till sig sj盲lv. Eftersom han misslyckades med allt annat antar jag att han satsade allt p氓 att lyckas inom sitt arbete.
Boken 盲r till viss del underh氓llande och njutbar att l盲sa trots sin brutalitet. Man f氓r ju hoppas och tro att inte allt 盲r sant. Jag f枚redrar bitarna fr氓n barndomen.
Quem diria que um dos maiores cineastas de todos os tempos estaria totalmente rendido ao teatro em sua autobiografia? Sua vida foi o teatro, 茅 nele que reside as maiores descri莽玫es t茅cnicas e sentimentais sobre os of铆cios que exercia, gosto de como Bergman mescla essa labuta di谩ria com r谩pidos lampejos do cinema e a forma como estrutura o livro entre cap铆tulos que narram a inf芒ncia alternadamente com a fase adulta, na medida que atingem um ponto comum ao final. Ali谩s, j谩 estava completamente inquieta e indignada que Bergman n茫o havia citado o Gunnar Bj枚rnstrand uma 煤nica vez no livro todo, o ator com quem mais trabalhara e pelo qual sou apaixonad铆ssima, at茅 ler o cap铆tulo que ele disse que n茫o falaria dos amigos nesse livro e fiquei mais aliviada. Um livro relevante para conhecer a intimidade que Bergman nos deixa ver, nem com tantos detalhes, mas com detalhes suficientes para delinearmos uma persona que foi humana e errou muito, mas que nos deixou um legado em pel铆cula maior do que si.
I have no recollection of the moment I started watching and liking (that came in time, though) Bergman, since none of my friends and acquaintances had any taste in his films whatsoever. There must have been different listopias with his films, like '100 films to watch in a lifetime' or stuff like that. Anyway, what struck me in Bergman鈥檚 several films I鈥檝e seen so far ('Persona' being by far my favorite) was the deep sense of simplicity, the austere and grave atmosphere. Most of them being B/W, the films I鈥檝e seen seem rather gloomy than enjoyable (in the broad sense most people refer to a film when they use the term), somber and cold but tense and with a strong (sometimes 鈥� most of the times?- weird and twisted) relation between the characters. In the book I found a man totally different from what I imagined; an inconvenient and undesirable person, like a bull in a china shop, fighting depression and IRS (or whatever the Swedish Fiscal authority is called), permanently struggling to support his numerous family members (he was married 5 times). I sort of admire his courage to speak freely about intimate and uncomfortable issues like his relationship with his parents, God鈥檚 absence or his infidelities. I was quite surprised to find that he was not only successful with his films, but also a prominent theater director. And I praise his decision to use childhood memories or real-life facts in his films.
***
Cel mai mult duc dorul colaborarii cu Sven Nykvist. Aceasta se datoreaza, probabil, faptului ca amindoi sintem captivati cu totul de problema luminii: lumina blinda, periculoasa, lumina ca de vis, lumina vie, moarta, clara, cetoasa, fierbinte, rece, puternica, brusca, intunecata, primavarateca, dreapta, oblica, senzuala, supusa, limitata, otravitoare, linistitoare, lumina luminoasa. Lumina.
***
Unul din motivele pentru care-mi place Bergman. Pentru ca ilustreaza (in carte, ca si in filme) atit de fain conceptul de sunshine and silent rooms, pe care l-am descoperit (si de care m-am amorezat fara scapare) in picturile lui Hammersh酶i, Ilsted si Hols酶e.
Iarna era pe sfirsite si lumina soarelui aparea si disparea cu miscari rapide si silentioase pe deasupra draperiilor si a tablourilor. In dreptul capului meu se inalta imensa masa din sufragerie. Mi-am sprijinit spatele de unul din picioarele arcuite ale mesei. Scaunele din jurul mesei precum si peretii aveau o tapiterie de piele aurie, innegrita de timp, emanind un miros de ceva vechi. In spatele meu, o servanta se inalta ca un castel, carafele de sticla si cupele de cristal sclipeau in lumina miscatoare. Pe perete, in partea stinga, atirna un tablou mare cu case galbene, rosii si albe. Case rasareau din apa albastra plina de barci mari.
Orologiul din sufragerie, care ajungea aproape pina la plafonul de stucatura, vorbea cu el insusi, morocanos si nepasator. De acolo de unde stateam puteam privi in salonul in care totul era verde: pereti, covoare, mobile, draperii chiar si ferigi si palmieri crescind acolo tot in vase verzi. O cunosteam pe doamna alba si goala, cu bratele taiate. Statea putin aplecata in fata, privindu-ma cu un suris vag. Pe comoda pintecoasa cu feronerii si picioare aurii ticaia un ceas aurit, sub un clopot de sticla. Un tinar cintind la flaut se sprijinea de cadran. Aproape lipita de el se afla o doamna micuta, cu o palarie mare si o rochie scurta si infoiata, ambele figurine erau aurite. Cind batea ora douasprezece, tinarul cinta la flaut iar fata dansa.
Lumina soarelui stralucea puternic, facind sa scinteie prismele in candelabrele de cristal, alunecind peste picturile cu casele ce cresteau din apa, dezmierdind albul statuii. Si din nou bateau clopotele, si din nou fata de aur dansa iar baiatul cinta, doamna cea goala intorcea capul sa-mi faca un semn. Moartea isi tira coasa pe linoleumul de pe coridorul intunecat, o presimteam, ii vedeam craniul galben si surisul, silueta neagra, desirata, conturindu-se de cealalta parte a geamurilor de la usa exterioara.
I don't know if I was upset at myself or Bergman for being so disappointed with this memoir. I expected to read more about his actual artistic output, a la Tarkovsky's . What's most infuriating I realise now after having finished the book: he wants to seem very honest and open in his writing, making reference to this childhood ordeal or that crumbling personal relationship, but I perceive no such openness as a reader, only an attempt at it. It could be the translation. Then again, it might just be that I have to forget most of what I've read about his personal life and get on with it, watch his films without the background that I never really wanted.
I'm not against neurotic people who have been deprived of parental love. But Bergman's failures in life might have been from living his true life in film, and that's where you ought to go looking for his memoirs. He was a bastard to lots of people in his life, swinging between his own issues: self-loathing and self-congratulating. But he was wonderful to audiences everywhere. But what you capture with light cannot, for the most part, be done with a pen (Tarkovsky somehow managed both).
The good parts in the book are when he doesn't focus on himself: the bit about his girlfriend's piano teacher, and her terrible wartime experience; also one of the last chapters, revolving around his father. I'd have been better off re-reading Sculpting in Time.
La autobiografia del m铆tic director 茅s irregular per貌 plena de talent i risc; collons, si 茅s que si s'hi hagu茅s posat tamb茅 hauria estat un bon escriptor. L'inici 茅s molt anguni贸s, amb frases curtes i fredes sense cap empatia amb els traumes aliens - com en la vida real, 茅s la seva manera de presentar-se, de protegir-se. Poc a poc el llibre es desbrida i va barrejant, fins i tot en el mateix cap铆tol, fets i temps sense soluci贸 de continu茂tat, confiant en la intel路lig猫ncia del lector. A cops canvia el nom de la parella sense explicar si 茅s anterior, un amant... tot 茅s com un torrent. El final 茅s emotiu: alterna tro莽os del dietari sobre la mort del pare amb un llarg record d'infantesa amb ell. En el cas de la mare, far脿 un resum emotiu de la seva vida mitjan莽ant la seva aparen莽a a les fotos: "Sigo hojeando. Mi madre va desapareciendo en el hormigueante colectivo de las fotos de familia. [...] vestida con un elegante traje claro, la sonrisa ya no le llega a los ojos."
Berman's movies are a passion for me, so I absolutely devoured this book - however, it does not contain that much insights into his methods. Hence the three stars.
A mesmerizing memoir by a film director that I have admired my entire life. The time line is staggered with reminiscences from childhood, early student days and his marriages as well as numerous affairs. I realized that I had never understood how turbulent his life was even though his films should have been strong clues to such issues. In particular I enjoyed his memories from childhood which are colorful, psychological and memorable. His description of the politics of the theater in Sweden (and later the IRS tax litigations) are quite a rollercoaster with plenty of sarcasm and barbs. The memoir feels honest and inspiring. I very much appreciate that Bergman was willing to publish this material. After all, he was one of Sweden's (and the world's) greatest film makers. Time to revisit his films!
Jag f枚rst氓r att han var en s氓n tjejtjusare tbh鈥� helt besatt av Uppsalaskildringen, hans vidriga pr盲stuppv盲xt och intima teaterliv som slutligen ledde honom till att bli ett cineastiskt geni. 脛lskade beefen med Olof Lagercrantz och om hur sj盲lvkritisk och medveten han 盲r f枚r sin tid (f枚r det mesta!) Bergman bekr盲ftar 盲ven min tes om att de mest sansl枚sa skaparna lider av kroniska magbesv盲r!!