A Mulher que Vendeu a Alma

A few years ago I had the opportunity to see the two versions back to back on a big(ish) screen. It was a little film festival at Scandanvia House in NYC. They showed the original Swedish film first followed by the Hollywood monstrosity. There is just no comparison. Bergman is subtle and intense while Crawford is just Crawford. Don't get me wrong, JC was an amazing animal, but I would never call her a disciplined actor. She's all instinct and big, bold strokes. She's like an impressionist painting. You have to step back to see it. Up close it's just an ugly mess. Bergman, on the other hand, is like that Fragonard painting of the girl on the swing, with all the detail, depth and color. Each time you look at it, you see something different that you missed the last time.