On July 14th, it will be Ingmar Bergman’s 100th birthday. Usually those who are commemorated for living so long are people who fought on battlefields or signed both obscure and groundbreaking ideas into law, but this time it’s one of the most influential filmmakers of all time. Bergman is not remembered for starting wars or revolutions on earth, but for creating a new world through his films, which ignore constructs of time and remain stunningly profound in their probe of human emotion.
I decided to pay tribute to one of Bergman’s more well-known, albeit baffling, works of art by placing it in the environment of today’s grand, often oversaturated, cinematic jungle. Given the abiding relevance of Berman’s work, it wasn’t difficult.
Ingmar Bergman created art, which to this day, succeeds in unraveling the many mysteries of the human condition. He raised timeless questions of mortality, faith and desire—he made us look inside ourselves. To the man who made black and white films illuminate with enduring human psychology, the man who brought memory, regret, and lust to life on the big screen, who gave previously unseen feelings a picture, a name and a story, happy birthday. Here’s to another hundred years.
Ingmar Bergman during production of Wild Strawberries, 1957
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This year in film has been one of a fish-man trapped in glass orbs, problematic police ganging up on a bereft single mother, and an angsty teen girl with family issues fleeing to the cold arms of New York City. While the masses flocked to these films and studios wooed critics into supporting their search for Oscar glory, one film I checked out last week at the New Beverly Cinema is peacefully at ease with itself. Content with being a sideline attraction as its peers indulge in a unending fist fight at the box office, Wild Strawberries lives on its own terms.
The film, directed by newcomer Ingmar Bergman, is engrossed with introspection. That’s something that’s a bit of a lost art among the rest of this year’s big hits. Strawberries is a modest and thoughtful account of an aging Professor’s past, which we learn is filled with unyielding regrets, haunting memories of former love, and guilt for having inflicted emotional violence on his loved ones. The impetus in this story lurks within the mind. With a furrowed brow, professor Isak Borg and his somewhat-estranged daughter-in-law Marianne slowly travel across Sweden’s woodsy landscape. The wilderness provides little relief from the Professor’s intensifying visions of childhood, instead suffocating his ability to act as he normally would: without remorse.
One of the many traps a film like this often falls into is spending too much time lumbering about on overwrought dialogue and lofty ideas. Strawberries surprisingly manages to avoid this, and much of that is due to its cast. While Professor Borg’s (played by Victor Sjöström) taxing dreams often prelude sea changes in the character’s reality, the film truly thrives on the man’s encounters with various travelers along the route to Lund. As a man who has shuttered out empathy for people, especially within his own inner circle, and encounter Borg with a woman named Sara and her two confidants Anders and Viktor are what begin to turn his heart. The trio of Sara, Anders, and Viktor, who are comedically intertwined in a romantic episode, are for many scenes sitting semi-hidden in the back of Borg’s car, although their presence no doubt energizes what could have very easily been a 45-minute-long snooze. They also make for a great clash of personalities on screen.
Victor Sjöström and Bibi Andersson in Wild Strawberries, 1957
Actress Bibi Andersson (Sara) plays perfectly off Sjöström. The whimsical way in which she circles around the stern Professor, laughing and bantering her way past his cold exterior, is not only highly amusing but also crucial to the plot. Even in the first few moments when Sara and her two friends join Borg on his trip, the young woman blurts out how dreadful it would be to age. Borg’s fear of death makes this situation feel like a trapeze act for Sara, as her young and brash personality is so at odds with Borg’s initially, making the scene at once funny and utterly believable.
Wild Strawberries consistently gives us memorable characters at every turn on Borg’s journey to Lund, despite those turns taking time. With every interaction Borg has; from the humorous trio, to a couple mired in an intensely disintegrating marriage, to the repurposed Judge/Doctor doling out Borg’s crimes reflected in his dream, Bergman cuts the chaff in this film, opting for a few memorable characters instead of forgettable one-scene interactions that would only prolong Borg’s toil.
For those of you that may not feel attracted to a film disarmed of the weaponry of special effects, predictable action sequences, or polished, conclusive final moments, Wild Strawberries may still leave a good impression. In an era of Netflix-binging emotional rollercoasters, Bergman’s quiet film leaves you contemplating your own distant encounter with mortality and possibly your reflections on the past. The movie pays careful attention to not be overly introspective, never delving too murkily down into Borg’s internal struggle with his own personal issues, instead choosing to reflect his worries through other characters.
Wild Strawberries does what it does well, and leaves everything else on the road. If you give it a chance, it will surprise you, and at the very least conjure up your own internal thoughts on how you want to live, if not make you question how you want your memory to endure when you depart.