This is a film that hits nerves for me that I didn't even know were nerves. And I have no idea how Bergman did it. The film is spooky and suspenseful, even though very little happens in a strictly narrative sense. It's erotic, even though the most flesh we get is a play of light on a bare shoulder. It's heartbreaking, even though I couldn't tell you exactly why.
This is just one of those films where there truly are no words. It simply must be experienced.
My friend Jon Curtis did his own "50 Days 50 Films" marathon, and he talked about this film. Like me, he was largely at a loss for words to describe the film's power, but he comes close with this quote:
"No need for words: just light, dark, wind, sound, conflict, eyes, and us, unseen, watching all. It’s like pulling the covers over your head as a child, with no place to be and everywhere to go. Or something thereabouts… By any measure, Ingmar Bergman is one of the greatest filmmakers who ever lived. He’s bold, brilliant, and ever-curious – never dodging giant themes (in "Persona": primal fears, dreams, passions, and follies), but grabs at them with eager and unembarrassed strength. His films are fleshy and erotic, yet cerebral too. You can’t look away. You can’t stop thinking about them. And deep down to your bones, you feel them – sometimes in a series of wild jolts, and other times like fingertips over anxious skin."
That's all very nice, and quite eloquently put. But it somehow just scratches the surface of what this film does to you if you open yourself up to it. It hurts in a way I can't quite wrap my head around. I wouldn't be able to do any better than him, so I think I'll just leave it at that.
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