User reviews

There are few directors whose films have sparked as much rumination and analysis as Ingmar Bergman. His cinematic creations, utterly unique in style and tone, have been and shall continue to be debated and critiqued for decades. Many consider him the master of minimalism, whose work subtly exposes the truth of the human condition, while others hail his films as unnecessarily abstruse and pretentious. Whatever one's feelings on Bergman, it must be said that his films are certainly intriguing; and perhaps none more so than 'Persona.'

'Persona' follows Alma, a nurse, who is put in charge of Elisabet, an actress who has been inexplicably rendered mute. It is determined that Elisabet may better recover in an environment other than the hospital, and she and Alma travel to a cottage on a remote island for respite. While there, a strange metamorphosis occurs, and the identities of Alma and Elisabet become blurred in relation to one another; as repressed memories are brought to light and motivations questioned.

'Persona' tells this story in a manner most abstract, relying heavily on Sven Nykvist's powerful cinematography and the expressionistic talents of Liv Ullmann and Bibi Andersson to forward the narrative as much as Bergman's screenplay and dialogue. It is a strange, sinister film seeped in a mysterious aura of despondency that challenges and offers the viewer no quarter. Through its' examinations of jealously, sex and identity, the film holds a mirror up to the human condition; the reflection of which is most affecting and raises many questions.

Just what is the film about? Is it some kind of Scandinavian Jekyll and Hyde story about doubling and the duality of man? Does it fit in with Jung's notion of persona, or could it be a psychological interrogation of female sexuality? Is it a critique of theatre and the notion of performance in itself? The film is open to interpretation, and many readings can be given as to its' meaning. Whether or not this appeals to the viewer is entirely subjective; though those who enjoy stories of abstraction will certainly find it an interesting, unique experience.

As mentioned above, much of the film's impact is due to Sven Nykvist's cinematography, which is spellbinding. The film begins with a bizarre montage of distorted images, ever-increasing in strangeness and emotional intensity from there. Under Bergman's direction, Nykvist captures what Herzog refers to as the drama of the landscape masterfully, as well as making excellent use of the close-up; adding immeasurable power to scenes. Nykvist's collaboration with Bergman was one of the most fruitful in cinematic history; as the striking images in 'Persona' prove yet again.

'Persona' stars Liv Ullmann and Bibi Andersson, both delivering fascinatingly impassioned performances as Elisabet and Alma, respectively. Ullmann does the bulk of her acting silently, utilizing her impressive expressionistic talents to convey the emotion and feelings of her character, which she does in a manner most efficacious and affecting. Andersson displays remarkable versatility, intensity and emotional perspicuity, creating in Alma a remarkably multi-faceted character that one does not easily forget. The two of them work together wonderfully, showcasing a chemistry both electric and genuine.

Having said all that, it's easy to see why many viewers feel the film isn't worthy of its' reputation as a motion picture magnum opus. It is an intentionally difficult film, one which forces the viewer to think and doesn't offer much entertainment value in the traditional sense. The story and its themes are Delphic and the characters are hard to warm to, and- though undeniably powerful- the irregularity of the cinematography can be occasionally confounding. It is not unjust to say that some may feel the film underwhelming and incomprehensible; though many more may find its obscurities intoxicating.

Ingmar Bergman's 'Persona' is a captivating film, one which continues to perplex and puzzle. Strongly acted and beautifully shot by Sven Nykvist, the film is somewhat recherché, and its meaning and value will likely be hotly contested by film buffs for years to come. Intriguing, abstract and unique, it is not exactly a movie one will say they enjoyed; it is too calculated and cold a film for that. Rather, it is a film one experiences; and 'Persona' makes for a very memorable experience.

'Persona' is one of the most enigmatic movies in the history of cinema. Those who read the chronicles written right after the 1966 release of the film or the articles dedicated to it in the books of cinema history will encounter as many interpretations as authors. The same happens if we read the opinions written by film lovers on sites like IMDB, or we discuss the film between us. Ingmar Bergman had the inspiration not only of not talking a lot about this film (even less than about his other films) but he also avoided sharing too much of his personal thoughts or ideas even with the actresses or the other members of the production team. The result is an enigma. Each of us who sees or sees again this movie has his own Persona'.

The ambitions are clear from the way the film is 'packaged' using the classic projection room effects. Short sequences from classical films emphasize the effect of declaring 'here we have a work of cinema'. The prelude sets up an atmosphere that could be defined as a dream, we are clearly in a world that resembles the real world but which exists only in the eyes and souls of the spectators, built with materials put together by the creator of the film from his own thoughts and dreams about the world. The 'story' could be told in few words, even if it is not a banal story. This is where the interpretations begin. What do we actually see on the screen? An ambiguous relationship between two women, evolving from a patient-care relationship to an attraction that starts to look as a melding of one into the other? Are the two characters the symbols of the two facets of the human personality - the soul and the character - as interpreted by some experts in the psychoanalysis theories? Is there a hint (or more) to a lesbian relationship? Maybe there is an element of class struggle, between the actress active on the intellectual level and the country girl whose strongest emotions are on the erotic plane? Are we dealing with a horror story, a thriller in which there is a physical threat and a struggle between the two women to gain control one over the other? Why did the actress stop talking - personal traumas, maternity failure? What is the connection between the horrors of the outside world (wars, the Holocaust) and the inner storms concealed by the Scandinavian calm? These are just a few of the questions that can be asked and of the possible interpretations.

Comprehensive and ambitious cinematographic constructions involve risks. More than 50 years after the film, the Vietnam War is no longer actuality but history, closer to the Holocaust which is also quoted by the famous photograph of the terrorized little boy in the Warsaw ghetto. The black and white image also gains aesthetic significance, not necessarily obvious and intentional at the time the film was made. Acting is gorgeous, Bergman's two preferred actresses (and lovers), Bibi Andersson and Liv Ullmann are building on the screen two versions of femininity that at some point merge one into the other, two variants of the director's fascination with women for which he created the most generous roles in his films. Seen for the first time or seen again today, 'Persona' is a cinematic art concentrate and an intellectual challenge that continues to attract and fascinate through its open character and enigmas.

Ingmar Bergman's 'Persona (1966)' opens with a bewildering montage of sounds and images, a frenzied newsreel of sex, death, cinema and comedy. The sequence is so far removed from my previous experience with the director that its effect is jarring, shocking; I momentarily wondered if I'd hit a wrong button and started playing Buñuel's 'Un chien andalou (1929)' by mistake. I question Bergman's motives for including such an uncharacteristic opening, for it appears to have very little to do with the narrative that follows. Is this montage - an account of the sickening and concealed horrors and desires of society - a possible explanation for Elisabeth's continued silence? Even so, it all seems somewhat exploitative, as though Bergman was simply going for shock-value, obliterating any notions of subtlety with which I had begun to associate him {though I'll admit that the strength of 'The Seventh Seal (1957)' arose from its not-so-subtle representation of Death}. The opening scene concludes with a young boy awakening in the morgue, his hand outstretched towards the vague image of a woman's face. Elisabeth's unloved child? Alma's aborted fetus?

An endless line of critics, it seems, have celebrated 'Persona' as a masterpiece, and among the greatest films ever made. I'd hate to be the lone voice of dissent, but the film is certainly the lesser of the three Bergmans I've hitherto seen, if only due to the noticeable absence of the good-natured humour to be found in both 'The Seventh Seal (1957)' and 'Wild Strawberries (1957)'. If, indeed, I were to describe 'Persona' as a masterpiece, it would be in regards to the visuals, which, photographed by long-time Bergman collaborator Sven Nykvist, are beyond description in their detail and intimacy. The film takes particular interest in the human face, and entire conversations of words and emotions are played out through the communication of the eyes, and the glimmering hint of a smile on the lips. There is one immortal moment in the film when Bergman juxtaposes the faces of each woman onto the screen, merging Elisabeth (Liv Ullmann) and Alma (Bibi Andersson) into a single entity.

Persona also includes one of the most vivid depictions of sex that I've ever seen. Though the film shows us nothing, Alma's whispered description of an intimate encounter on the beach is staggering in its effectiveness; her words allow the viewer to formulate their own visuals, every emotion and nuance perfectly incorporated from the rich story we are being told. Though I may exhaust hours spouting the merits of Ingmar Bergman's film, I can't escape the fact that watching 'Persona' felt very much like a chore. The film boasts a relatively short running time, but it never seems to attain any comfortable sense of rhythm, and, by the film's end, I was left wondering just what the film was trying to get at. Bergman includes various allusions to Bertolt Brecht's "Verfremdungseffekt" effect – highlighting the inherent artificiality of the cinematic medium – with the film at one point appearing to burn; but, unlike in Fellini's '8½ (1963),' these self-referential flourishes seem to serve little foreseeable purpose. Am I looking too far into this film for meaning? Or am I not looking far enough? Even just hours afterwards, another layer of meaning has unfurled itself. Maybe it'll get better.

PERSONA may well be Ingmar Bergman's most complex film--yet, like many Bergman films, the story it tells is superficially simple. Actress Elizabeth Volger has suddenly stopped speaking in what appears to be an effort to cease all communication with the external world. She is taken to a hospital, where nurse Alma is assigned to care for her. After some time, Elisabeth's doctor feels the hospital is of little use to her; the doctor accordingly lends her seaside home to Elisabeth, who goes there with Alma in attendance. Although Elisabeth remains silent, the relationship between the women is a pleasant one--until a rainy day, too much alcohol, and Elisabeth's silence drives Alma into a series of highly charged personal revelations.

It is at this point that the film, which has already be super-saturated with complex visual imagery, begins to create an unnerving and deeply existential portrait of how we interpret others, how others interpret us, and the impact that these interpretations have upon both us and them. What at first seemed fond glances and friendly gestures from the silent Elisabeth are now suddenly open to different interpretations, and Alma--feeling increasingly trapped by the silence--enters into a series of confrontations with her patient... but these confrontations have a dreamlike quality, and it becomes impossible to know if they are real or imagined--and if imagined, in which of the women's minds the fantasy occurs.

Ultimately, Bergman seems to be creating a situation in which we are forced to acknowledge that a great deal of what we believe we know about others rests largely upon what we ourselves project upon them. Elisabeth's face and its expressions become akin to a blank screen on which we see our own hopes, dreams, torments, and tragedies projected--while the person behind the face constantly eludes our understanding. In this respect, the theme is remarkably well-suited to its medium: the blankness of the cinema screen with its flickering, endless shifting images that can be interpreted in infinite ways.

Bergman is exceptionally fortunate in his actresses here: both Liv Ullman as the silent Elisabeth and Bibi Anderson as the increasingly distraught Alma offer incredible performances that seem to encompass both what we know from the obvious surface and what we can never know that exists behind their individual masks. Ullman has been justly praised for the power of her silence in this film, and it is difficult to imagine another actress who could carry off a role that must be performed entirely by ambiguous implications. Anderson is likewise remarkable, her increasing levels of emotional distress resounding like the waves upon the rocks at their seaside retreat. And Bergman and his celebrated cinematographer Sven Nykvist fill the screen with a dreamlike quality that is constantly interrupted by unexpected images ranging from glimpses of silent films to a moment at which the celluloid appears to burn to images that merge Ullman and Anderson's faces into one.

As in many of his films, Bergman seems to be stating that we cannot know another person, and that our inability to do is our greatest tragedy. But however the film is interpreted, it is a stunning and powerful achievement, one that will resonate with the viewer long after the film ends.

Gary F. Taylor, aka GFT, Amazon Reviewer

The scars take some time to reveal, our wounds forever birthed and re-peeled, there are phases you will find, time to re-mask and re-blind, but you'll never get the chance to fully heal.

Who are we and why? Do we really know for sure? An electro-chemical cocktail that will never deliver a cure, or are we slaves to our surroundings, inadvertently fine tuning ourselves as a result, none more so than when we're children growing up.

The outstanding and spectacular pairing of Bibi Andersson and Liv Ullmann provide Ingmar Bergman with his most cryptic, ambiguous and perplexing performance puzzle to date, that you can conjure a myriad of meanings to but, ultimately, will probably leave you not that much wiser to what he really had in mind.

It is apparent that this strange and enigmatic film has inspired many movies since it has been released decades ago. Although I loved the idea of the story (the outline, so to speak,) I felt that too many details were left out for it to truly enthrall me. Ambiguity in a story can be powerful and intriguing. But I found some of the situations in PERSONA too obscure to hold my interest, Actually I couldn'tt watch it straight through, I kept going back to it over the course of several days and it seems much longer than its 85 minutes. Still, there are some very striking, memorable moments and I could think of at least 10 films that have some basis of inspiration from this classic (even if they went on to explore the themes better) and for that it deserves its status in movie history.

There's a point about 4 minutes in to watching Persona that you begin to wonder what exactly you decided to spend 80 minutes experiencing. And even after the runtime, it's not exactly easy to interpret the message behind Bergman's psychological thriller. I almost feel like Bergman's films are films you experience and not necessarily ones you understand, am I right? He was essentially David Lynch before Lynch existed. And I can see how he inspired dozens of filmmakers to this day, but I'm not sure how effective his films may be on a viewer like me.

6.6/10

I was hesitant to write anything about this film at first because I wasn't sure if my negative reaction was from moodiness or the result of disappointed expectations. I haven't seen too many Bergman films, but most of the ones I've seen present interesting ideas, but as though they were the most earth-shattering profound concepts ever conceived. It can be a bit much.

Okay, so here we have a movie that deals with similar themes as his later, better film, "Hour of the Wolf". Liv Ullman plays a popular actress who goes mute in the middle of a stage performance. A nurse, played by Bibi Andersson, is assigned to care for her. Eventually the two take a vacation to a cottage out on the beach (a typical Swedish method of recovery?) where a series of interactions begins to take their toll on their personalities. Here the film seems to investigate the line that is blurred between people's identities who are in close proximity over long periods of time.

It seems the characters are established exclusively in order to explore Bergman's philosophical meanderings and musings, which involve the significance of the interior and exterior views of the self. Elizabeth (Ullman) seems to be someone who recognizes her lack of a strong internal identity. Alma (Andersson) is the opposite and manifests a strong internal sense of self but a weak external influence. Maybe Bergman is also saying something about the role of the artist -- that their persona is stolen by so much giving, so much internal conjuration and performance. That over time, society consumes the artist's inner world by making their gifts into novelties and taking the inner spirit for granted.

But I don't really know and that's the problem. Many people say this movie is open to interpretation and that's what makes it so deep. But I think such an explanation only proves that this film is too broad or vague and relies too much on hind-sight and art-house praise. On some level it becomes too self-indulgent to really be enjoyable. I really suspect that many individuals like this movie because they view it with the same self-impressed state of mind as Bergman did when he made it.

I can certainly credit Bergman with having a knack for writing decent dialog and for being inspired in his film-making. He really is empowered to make films. But he also seems obsessed with his own perceptions, making complicated and fractured works about feelings and ideas that could be presented more concretely. But then again, many people like him for that, or his aesthetic, or a variety of other reasons that I haven't mentioned here. I enjoy some of his works, but this one didn't interest me too much.

From its opening, seemingly random B&W images, Ingmar Bergman's "Persona" screams intellectualism. The film is cold, clinical, and abstract. It induces deep, philosophical questions that lack answers, or questions that provide for a multiplicity of emotionally unsatisfying answers.

About eight minutes into the film, the story begins. In a hospital, young Nurse Alma (Bibi Andersson) is assigned to care for Elisabeth Vogler (Liv Ullmann), an actress who, for no apparent reason, has ceased speaking. Concluding that there is nothing physically or mentally wrong with Elisabeth, the hospital exports her to a seaside cottage, where she is to be cared for by Nurse Alma. Most of the rest of the film is set at the cottage, where the two women get to know each other. But throughout, Elisabeth does not speak. She communicates only with facial expressions and body gestures.

For all of Elisabeth's silence, the film's script is remarkably talky. Nurse Alma talks in long monologues: asking, probing, recalling. She tries to build a relationship with Elisabeth, by vocalizing her own memories and emotional pains in life. Certainly, the film's curious narrative has a lot to "say" about the art, or rather the artificiality, of human communication.

The best element of the film is the artistic, B&W cinematography by Sven Nykvist. Lighting trends toward high contrast, with stark boundaries between light and darkness, a feature that contributes to the film's cold, intellectual tone. There are lots of close-up shots, even extreme close-ups, of the two women. The film's production design is ascetic, unadorned, austere. And this, too, enhances the analytic, abstract feel of the film.

Bergman conceived "Persona" while he was confined to a hospital. And I am inclined to think that the film is a cinematic expression of his own inward psychological struggles during that period of his life.

In other words, "Persona" communicates to us as much about Bergman's mindset, and his ideas of suffering and reality, as it does about any deep, universal questions in a post-modern world, although to some extent, the two dimensions intersect and overlap. Bergman is telling us that, ultimately, the film is not real. It is "nothing". It is an artificial human construct. That is, it is art, a perception that approximates, but does not replace, what we experience as reality.

I can understand the viewpoints of those who loved and were moved by Persona and those who were confused or frustrated by it. I personally love it, but I was underwhelmed by it first time. Persona is definitely not the most accessible of Ingmar Bergman's films, Wild Strawberries and The Magic Flute were much more in that regard, and it is also not an easy film to talk about or review. I have seen those who didn't like Persona finding that the story structure is disjointed. In a way it is, but what also made it fascinating in my view was how it explored the nature of art and reality in an ever thought-provoking(by Bergman standards) manner. Sven Nykvist's cinematography is fantastic, the melting frame was an interesting and well-done technique here, as is the scenery, and it is not a Bergman film with a memorable image or two. Persona definitely has those, with the disturbing and somewhat daring images at the start, the immortal image of the two main characters' faces becoming an entity and the more retrospective one with Alma reminiscing with the sexual encounter. The score is hauntingly beautiful, and the way it's written Persona comes across(like Cries and Whispers) as emotionally complex, somewhat disturbing and very moving, and as ever thoughtful also. The inclusion of off-screen voices are well-incorporated. Bergman's direction I cannot fault, and it's the same with the two leading ladies. Liv Ullman proves that a performance where actions and gestures speak louder than words can still move you, and she does that splendidly. But for me it is Bibbi Andersson's film, she is just heart-breaking in her loyalty and compassion. Overall, a brilliant film but understandably not the easiest of films to watch or review. 10/10 Bethany Cox

This is one of the most studied and challenging films in history, inviting analysis from historians, critics and psychiatrists. I find it not dramatically different from other Ingmar Bergman films. The internal dialogue, frank discussions on sex, confusion about one's place in the universe, brutally harsh judgements of the artist - these were present before Persona, and after. When asked about the film, Bergman said he trusted audiences to form their own conclusions. An answer I found refreshing. I don't think Bergman, who also wrote the screenplay, was out to create a puzzle that must be "solved". There's no gamesmanship.

I admire the film's aesthetic, the impeccable chemistry between Liv Ullmann and Bibi Andersson, and its humanity. There's warmth and comfort in the writing. I go back to the bedroom confessional: Liv Ullmann's Elisabet, the actress who mysteriously stopped speaking, sitting on the bed; Andersson's Alma, the nurse charged with Elisabet's care, at the other end of the room. Alma vividly recalls a sexual experience on the beach, with a couple of voyeurs, salaciously detailing everything, subverting the image Elisabet may have had of her, as a prude. In that scene, the patient, Elisabet, transforms to therapist, and Alma becomes the patient. A rich irony.

Profound studie of the human psyche. Honest story about nooks of existence and vain hopes. Anatomy of helplessness and deep solitude. Life as convention, mask for feelings and expectations.

Another room of Bergman's universe. Same cruel instruments, game of flash-backs and dream sequences, visions and memories. Fight between two women as screen for interior struggle. Impact of consciences and lights of sin. Illness like armour against fake images and empty future. Confesions like way to be yourself. Like cries suffocates by silence of the other.

Story about refuse and cages. About dreams and disillusions. About chaotic values and flavour of extinction. People as rabbits for experiments. The other like sign of salvation. And the question of soul.

"Persona" is an act of confrontation between Ingmar Bergman and God. The silence, the cruelty of letters, the cries and the confessions of Alma are only guns in a strange and ambiguous war. So, any film of this great director is a religious personal answer to permanent subtle fear. In this case, the shadow of divine presence is the Liv Ulmann smile.

What can I say? It is an absolute masterpiece in some aspects bringing reminiscences of antic tragedies (in terms of gestures mostly - vide Maria Callas in Pasolini's Medea). But most of all this movie, as almost all Bergman's movies, touches humanity of a man and asks us questions that hardly none of directors was able to present in such a clear manner. The story can be read in many ways, but for me the symbolic one is probably the most fruitful. Persona, the face, mask, in a physical meaning as used in Greek tragedies, the way to become someone else, depict and reenact myths. On higher level, symbolic meaning of persona in Jung's psychology together with all his theories about ego. Simply, a 100% must see for every thinking man.

Excellent usage of monochromatic imageries, along with a spectacular set of performances, made this strange yet alluring exertion all the more impressive and contemplative! However, I am still inclined to keep a few reservations about the script, largely owing to Bergman's decision to go with an erratic edit rather than a regular, straightforward one.

Now, I do get it that he was required to depict both the 'personalities' in a related fashion and the inner turmoil of our protagonist that needed to come out through some form of visual indication. Still, I believe the exhibition of those two varied 'personas' could have been shown more orthodoxly. Something along the lines of 'Autumn Sonata', which is like one of my favourite films from Ingmar Bergman ever!

If I were to repeat that summary again and what you're reading now, merely changing the order of the words, so that you had to read it over and over again for 15 minutes, you'd understand one of the significant failures of this film.

For it's time, it was somewhat new and shocking, and because of its setting, it doesn't obviously date itself other than in the black & white film technology and clothing.

The film really would work far better as a short in a collection of shorts about society and women's changing roles in society. The most significant parts of it can easily be reduced to 15-30 minutes.

Sadly, it appears to be shown to a small audience of art/film history students who have very little film viewing experience and the feeling they must rate it highly for a teacher equally sheltered from film reality. We can see that by the number of reviews/rankings alone. If this were shown regularly on cable like some more popular movies, it would be ranked for what it is: an interesting artistic experiment, but far from one of the greatest films ever.