Sawdust and Tinsel

Ingmar Bergman has left a reputation as one of the premier cynics of the cinema. A lifelong agnostic, he always held the belief that God did not exist and this life offers little, if any condolences to counter that feeling.

After experimenting with various genres and trying to find his niche in the late 1940s, Bergman slowly began to establish himself as the finest Swedish film director ever known. This film, released in 1953, reminds me in many ways of the great Federico Fellini's 1954 film La Strada, also about a circus troupe and also focusing on the relationship between the aging circus leader and his female companion. Despite this common ground, the two great directors differ in that Fellini turns his attention to the joy and zest of performing and the difficulties that still lie within. With Bergman, troubles always abound and there is no shortage of sadness and sorrow. Indeed, none of these characters are truly happy in the way of the definition. Yet, they continuously search for some sort of satisfaction and happiness. Life is a long, sluggish journey that may never find its ultimate goal.

Despite the downbeat tone, Bergman was a fantastic cameraman and his early films show him finding his footing, foreshadowing the great films he would make later in his career. Here, his collaboration with the great cinematographer Sven Nykvist has its beginnings as we see some fantastic angles, mirror shots and uses of depth of focus and framing. The acting is terrific, particularly by Harriet Andersson, and the script supports the story well. A small gem, but nevertheless a gem from the great Swedish director Ingmar Bergman.

Thanks to Criterion Collection for making a sparkling fresh print of this film available on DVD. Sven Nykvist's cinematography is seen as excellent as ever, especially those brooding cloudy skies. The story moves along nicely, and Bergman's women are clearly their own people (most of the time anyway). The tawdry lives of circus folk is a film cliché, but the characters do live and breathe in this movie rather more completely than we could have hoped. Special attention should be paid to the music of Swedish Modernist composer Karl-Birger Blomdahl. Those punching dissonant chords at the beginning of the film are not unlike much of his music for the outer-space opera he wrote, "Aniara." There is a recording of that work, but it's hard to come by. But you can try to find his Symphony No. 3, "Facetter", and you'll be delighted by how it grows on you. Nevertheless, Bergman pretty much left Blomdahl behind in his subsequent work, and you can see why: Much of it doesn't really fit, which is something you can say about a lot of famous composers who try their hand at film music.

I first, and probably, last saw this wonderful film over 40 years ago. It has not been easy to catch again and then I think that when the time since you have last seen a favourite gets too long you begin to have concerns as to whether it will live up to your memory of it. There was particular concern here because, although in the 60s and 70s I would bore people by going on about this film whenever talk of Bergman's more well thought of films came up, this was never considered to be one of his best. Having just watched it again I am blown away all over again. I cannot believe how much of the fantastic visuals I remembered and the extent to which the power of the film is still so affecting. There is not a wasted frame, this is pure cinema throughout. The acting is stupendous, the cinematography outstanding and the bitter sweet tale so seemingly simple, yet so devastatingly all consuming. I know Bergman has made more poetic films and more profound ones but I still think this one is hard to beat for so eloquently presenting those basic issues that matter to everyone.

It's undoubtedly true, as has been pointed out in a newsgroup review, that the characters in this film are not particularly likable. I have never been able to understand why that should necessarily work against a film's worth or effectiveness, though. Profound darkness seems to me an integral part of Bergman's work, at least the earlier films like this one. If you're looking for action, adventure, or romance, you're certainly barking up the wrong tree here, and the idea of identifying with the characters in this film scares the hell out of me. Maybe it's just not suited to some viewer's personalities.

You're not likely to come across `Sawdust and Tinsel' much these days, unless it's at an art-house, museum or festival screening, or on video. Here in the U.S., Public Television used to show Bergman films in the distant past. That time is long gone, but I can well remember seeing it on TV as a kid, and its imagery lingered in my mind like a vivid nightmare. The black and white cinematography, with wonderful use of darkness and silhouettes, makes it a very beautiful-looking film, but it is unrelentingly dark and gloomy.

Not for everybody, but it is what it is, and Bergman is Bergman. Its dream-like imagery and brutal, primal view of human nature can leave a deep impression, especially on impressionable viewers. This is undoubtedly why having seen it when growing up, I've never forgotten it. Though it doesn't seem to be particularly well-regarded these days, I regard it as great and powerful cinema in the Bergman/Nykvist tradition. At the very least, its cinematography should be well-appreciated by anyone who admires the look of films like `The Virgin Spring, ` or `The Silence.'

This is a fantastic early film made by the master of the psychological, Ingmar Bergman. This film is much easier to understand than say, Persona, Cries and Whispers, or the Seventh Seal, and therefore, I suggest this as a first-time introduction for anyone interested in learning more about his films and/or his filming technique.

This movie is quite simply, a dream. The introduction sequence is a brilliant example of Bergman's work...we see a long shot of 5 horse carriages moving across the plains at dawn, which dissolves into a reflection of a single horse & carriage in the water below a bridge, which dissolves into a series of shots...windmills, foggy paths, the carriage driver and the finally, a fade into the carriage where our protagonist, Albert Johansson, sleeps with his girlfriend Anna. Bergman is the king of the dissolve...a style he no doubt picked up from 1920's German expressionism. Bergman's mise en scene is a blend of sequences which depict a very dreamlike orientation of our immediate surrounding.The result: We are passive observers, watching the all-too-real reality of our modern world subside into something very mysterious and surreal. Bergman's style removes time from the equation of film. Time, as we know it, takes a back-seat to objects, people, and places. Real life becomes more dreamlike than any dream, and the darkest and most mysterious corner of the universe becomes the human mind.

This is a fantastic movie.