Movie Masterworks

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.

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. Sine scientia ars nihil est, “Art without knowledge is nothing.” 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.