NoFace for Film

Title: Persona
Year: 1966
Director: Ingmar Bergman
Starring Cast: Bibi Andersson, Liv Ullmann
Rated: unrated in the U.S.
Review by: Mark N.

NoFace Rating: 7 out of 7

Today’s review is by Mark N. of Movie Masterworks. He focuses on films that you may not necessarily find at your local video store. These include independent films, foreign films, art house films- the type that film students would study.

For more of Mark’s film reviews (including Persona), check out his blog.

Well, I finally got the chance to see Persona on the silver screen! The Gene
Siskel Film Center is showing a 14 program series entitled European Art
Cinema. I went along with my father and his friend Paul. They’re
administrators at Prairie State College. The show wasn’t a sellout like
Tokyo Story was last year, so we got great seats. I suspect the lower
attendance was because Persona is far less accessible than Ozu’s film. We
had a wonderful cinema experience. Best of all, after watching Persona, we
went to a coffee shop and discussed the film for a while. There was a lot to
talk about. I’ll do a little synopsis of Persona in the future, for now,
here are…

My thoughts: Directed by Ingmar Bergman, Persona (1966) is a sight to behold
on a big theater screen. Persona starts with a demonstration of how imagery
can have a powerful effect on us. Images of an erect penis, Christ’s hand
being nailed to a cross, a lamb having is throat sliced open flash across
the screen. As we watch the blood pour from the lamb’s neck, we see its eyes
dim in death, and we are horrified. We see a boy in a morgue caressing the
viewer’s face through a camera lens. Our perspective is from the outside
looking in. Perspective shifts, and we notice that the location where we
once stood as viewers, is replaced by interchanging images of Elisabet and
Alma. We are now in the room with the boy, from the inside looking out.

After the opening credits, we cut to a hospital where we meet Alma, a nurse
played by Bibi Andersson. We also meet Elisabet Vogler, an actress played by
Liv Ullmann. We learn that Elisabet has stopped speaking, by personal choice
not illness, during a theater rendition of Elektra. Why has Elisabet stopped
speaking? The doctor describes Elisabet’s state of mind as, “The vertigo and
the constant hunger to be exposed, to be seen through, perhaps even wiped
out. Every inflection and every gesture a lie, every smile a grimace.” Like
Eleanor Rigby, Elisabet keeps her face in a jar by the door. She is a woman
in crises. Not speaking is her defense against the nihilism threatening to
annihilate her. Alma, assigned to care of her, is intimidated by the display
of mental strength such a choice entails.

Soon after the two women are introduced, Elisabet watches news footage of
the Vietnam War in which a man is burned alive. Elisabet’s reaction to the
burning man on television illustrates the power of imagery upon her. She is
as horrified as we were during Persona’s opening series of images. This is
why she is also visibly shaken by the photo of the boy being abducted by the
Nazis, later in the film. Real world images affect Persona’s characters just
as they affect us, the viewers. I think Ingmar Bergman is showing viewers
that influence flows in both directions during the creative process, from
film maker to viewer and from viewer to film maker. In essence, the film’s
identity was influenced by Bergman’s conception of viewer expectations. I am
sure he wanted people to appreciate Persona, his artwork. Conversely, film
as art shapes the viewer. My world view, part of my identity, has certainly
been influenced by the movies I’ve seen. It’s a symbiotic relationship. This
is also reflected in the relationship between Alma and Elisabet. One
influences the identity of the other. Bergman’s use of imagery to express
this idea was radically innovative. He wanted to deconstruct the film medium
and show us, his audience, what movie making truly is. Alma, describes
herself at one point as “All lies and imitation.” Perhaps, this is what
Bergman constantly reminds the viewer of, that Persona is only a film, a
deception, the face in a jar kept by the door.

The rest of Persona takes place at the doctor’s seaside home. It’s here that
Elisabet and Alma develop a close friendly relationship. So close, that Alma
is slowly being dragged into her charge’s existential struggle and losing
herself in the process. For Elisabet, being an actress grants her the
ability to project her identity, her soul, if you will. Conversely,
Elisabet’s audience lives through her vicariously. For instance, we are Liv
Ullmann’s, the actress’s audience, and we identify with the persona she
projects on the screen. Elisabet’s sheer mental strength, coupled with
Alma’s tractability, the intimacy in which the two women live, and the
circumstance of one woman having to speak for the other, result in Elisabet
imprinting her identity onto Alma. Because Alma is taking on Elisabet’s
persona, she too is going through an ontological self examination. However,
she is not as strong as Elisabet. The imprinting is symbolized during a
beautiful dream sequence, shot in a glowing twilight, in which Elisabet
visits a sleeping Alma.

We don’t know for sure if Elisabet’s visit to Alma was a dream or reality.
When asked, Elisabet denies she visited Alma during the night. I’ll take her
word for it because there are are other dream sequences later in the film.
The two actresses each play half of one complete persona. Alma does all the
verbal communication for this persona while Elisabet speaks only through
facial expression and body language. Eventually, we realize the women have
also exchanged roles. Alma, once the care giver, becomes emotionally needful
while Elisabet, once the patient, becomes clinically observant. This
exchange of role is symbolized by the juxtaposition of the actress’s heads
and then the exchange of their positions on the screen, left to right and
right to left.

I think the malleability of Alma’s psyche is alluded to in a confession
about a sexual experience she had on a beach from which she got pregnant and
consequently, had an abortion. I won’t relate the full account here as Alma
does a much better job in the movie. Suffice to say, Alma shares a lover in
the presence of another woman on the beach, as she does later in a dream
with Mr. Vogler. Meaning, Alma is interchangeable with these women, even
during intercourse! The audience is drawn into the scene though verbal
intimacy. When Alma confesses to Elisabet her experience, we are in the room
with them, privy to an erotic secret being unveiled. The beach story becomes
much more vivid because we must imagine the event; it’s not visualized for
us on film.

The story takes a violent turn after Alma discovers, in a letter from
Elisabet to her doctor, that Elisabet is “studying her.” After confessing so
much to Elisabet, Alma feels betrayed and becomes violent. Alma purposefully
leaves a shard of broken glass where Elisabet will step bare footed. After
Elisabet steps on the glass, she gives Alma a look as if to say, “I know you
did this deliberately.” This is the first conflict in Persona between the
two women. Right after this, the film appears to break and burn, as if a
connection is severed, not only between Alma and Elisabet, but between
viewer and film. This is Bergman’s deconstruction of film as art. He is
telling us this is simply a film, “All lies and imitation” As with
Elisabet’s accusing look to Alma, he is telling us deliberately.

When the film resumes, Alma confronts Elisabet about the letter and they get
into a fight. Alma apologizes. Later that night, Alma dreams she is waking
up from a nightmare but she is still dreaming. She dreams Mr. Vogler
mistaking her for Elisabet. She tries to play the role of Elisabet but
cannot continue the deception. “It’s all lies and imitation,” she screams.

The dream continues in another scene where Elisabet is concealing a photo of
her son. Alma notices it and says, “We have to talk about it.” We notice
that the women are dressed like twins, both wearing black. Filmed with two
cameras, this scene is so interesting because it’s repeated twice from
different perspectives. First, we see the scene delivered through Alma’s
vantage point, looking at Elisabet’s face. When Elisabet refuses to speak,
Alma speaks for her. She accuses Elisabet of being repulsed by motherhood,
of thinking of her baby boy as disgusting, and that she wished him
stillborn. The baby was removed and raised by relatives. Elisabet returned
to her work as an actress however, the boy developed a deep love for his
mother which she never returned. By Elisabet’s body language, we know Alma’s
accusations are accurate. The same scene is shown again so that we see it
from Elisabet’s perspective, looking at Alma’s face. From this viewpoint, we
learn from reading Alma’s facial expressions that she is not only speaking
about Elisabet’s coldness and indifference, but about her own feelings
toward her aborted son. With this realization, Alma starts to choke on her
words, to desperately deny she is Elisabet and assert her identity. It’s too
late. To wit, the famous shot of half of Alma’s face and half of Elizabeth’s
face combined to make a single face.

After the dual monologue scene, Alma’s dream continues. Elisabet is still
dressed in black but now Alma is dressed in her nurse’s uniform. Alma again
confronts Elisabet but again Elisabet’s personality is too strong. Alma
pounds the table in frustration and again her sentences become
incomprehensible. She cuts her arm open with her fingernail until blood
flows and presents it to Elisabet. Elisabet drinks her blood, metaphorically
sucking the soul out of Alma. In the last scene of Alma’s dream, Elisabet is
back in the hospital, Alma’s domain. Alma asks Elisabet to speak, to say
“Nothing.” This time it’s Elisabet who acquiesces and she repeats,
“Nothing.” Alma wakes up. We see Elisabet pack a suitcase and Alma also
prepares to return to the hospital. Alma boards a bus and as the camera
tracks to follow, it focuses on a patch of earth which is, I think, the
symbolic burial site for the women’s sons. Indeed, the boy in the morgue
caressing the faces of Alma and Elisabet is the last shot of Persona before
the film projector light goes out.

I wanted to experience Persona on the big screen and I’m glad I got the
chance. Sven Nykvist’s gorgeous cinematography was on full display, with
close-ups of Alma and Elisabet communicating volumes, non-verbally, about
their state of mind. The close ups in the Alma’s second dream allowed me to
see the reaction of each woman. It reminded me of the image of the boy in
the morgue, perhaps Elisabet’s son or Alma’s, caressing the women’s faces
when the film began. Close-ups made viewing an intimate experience and I
haven’t seen any movie with better. They gave me a first person perspective,
the same perspective the actresses have of each other. Bergman once said,
“The human face is the great subject of the cinema. Everything is there.”
Aside from great imagery, both verbal and visual, it’s the nuanced
performances of Bibi Anderson and Liv Ullmann that really make this movie
unforgettable.

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