It's a movie about lying to oneself, about holding up fictions about ones life and trying to live precisely by those lies. And yet, the movie isn't as against the idea as the quick summation may imply.
Andreas lives alone on a remote island in Sweden. He's consumed by trying to maintain that isolation, especially at an emotional level. As we learn over the course of the film, he's been scarred deeply by a failed marriage, so he has embraced the idea that he deserves nothing. One day, as he's trying to fix his roof, Anna comes and asks to use his telephone. He eavesdrops on the first part of the conversation, a plea for money, until Anna begins to break down and cry when he silently edges away. She leaves, forgetting her purse, which Andreas promptly rifles through where he finds a letter from Anna's deceased husband that describes the inherent violence in their relationship.
Anna is staying with Eva and Elis, a married, occasionally unfaithful couple who invite Andreas to dinner. In a apparently improvised scene, the four each have moments to highlight their characters. Eva ends up wide-eyed and desperate for something to believe in, while Elis is a cynical man who believes in literally nothing. Each outlook has something to do with their reactions to a failed pregnancy from years before.
So, out of the four characters, three are desperate for some kind of higher truth or lie to help mask the problems in their lives, and the fourth, Elis, looks at the world through as clear a glass as possible. But, that clear vision isn't as true as he makes it out to be. He's an architect (who believes in nothing of the buildings he helps design) and amateur photography (who insists that he can't see the truth in anyone else, even as he searches intently through his photography).
As with most Bergman movies, we have clearly defined personalities that slam up against each other. Andreas and Eva begin a light affair that Andreas casts off as soon as he and Anna begin living together. Eva takes the rejection without emotion. Andreas becomes Elis' employee, typing up notes Elis makes for his architectural work. In the background, there are a string of violent actions taken against animals, including a Dachshund hung by a very precisely tied noose and nearly a dozen sheep slaughtered for no reason. The brutal acts are never explained (though a local hermit is accused, beaten, and then commits suicide because of the suspicion around him), but I think it's eminently obvious that it was Elis. He admits to a fascination in violence, pointing out boxes of photos that show violent acts, but without a solid belief system other than some thin nihilism, he seems like the perfect culprit to decide that torturing animals is a path to finding truth.
All of this is highly intellectual, an exploration of fantasy overriding reality in different forms, but how does it play as a movie? The answer is very well, of course. Bergman was, among other things, a great filmmaker in general. His relationships with actors allowed to extra very raw performances. His knowledge of what to film, whether extremely tight closeups of his actors' faces or subtle combinations of images to create the illusion of multiple suns in the sky is fantastic. Bergman uses all of his skill to tell this intellectual story intimately and on very human terms.
Andreas lives alone on a remote island in Sweden. He's consumed by trying to maintain that isolation, especially at an emotional level. As we learn over the course of the film, he's been scarred deeply by a failed marriage, so he has embraced the idea that he deserves nothing. One day, as he's trying to fix his roof, Anna comes and asks to use his telephone. He eavesdrops on the first part of the conversation, a plea for money, until Anna begins to break down and cry when he silently edges away. She leaves, forgetting her purse, which Andreas promptly rifles through where he finds a letter from Anna's deceased husband that describes the inherent violence in their relationship.
Anna is staying with Eva and Elis, a married, occasionally unfaithful couple who invite Andreas to dinner. In a apparently improvised scene, the four each have moments to highlight their characters. Eva ends up wide-eyed and desperate for something to believe in, while Elis is a cynical man who believes in literally nothing. Each outlook has something to do with their reactions to a failed pregnancy from years before.
So, out of the four characters, three are desperate for some kind of higher truth or lie to help mask the problems in their lives, and the fourth, Elis, looks at the world through as clear a glass as possible. But, that clear vision isn't as true as he makes it out to be. He's an architect (who believes in nothing of the buildings he helps design) and amateur photography (who insists that he can't see the truth in anyone else, even as he searches intently through his photography).
As with most Bergman movies, we have clearly defined personalities that slam up against each other. Andreas and Eva begin a light affair that Andreas casts off as soon as he and Anna begin living together. Eva takes the rejection without emotion. Andreas becomes Elis' employee, typing up notes Elis makes for his architectural work. In the background, there are a string of violent actions taken against animals, including a Dachshund hung by a very precisely tied noose and nearly a dozen sheep slaughtered for no reason. The brutal acts are never explained (though a local hermit is accused, beaten, and then commits suicide because of the suspicion around him), but I think it's eminently obvious that it was Elis. He admits to a fascination in violence, pointing out boxes of photos that show violent acts, but without a solid belief system other than some thin nihilism, he seems like the perfect culprit to decide that torturing animals is a path to finding truth.
All of this is highly intellectual, an exploration of fantasy overriding reality in different forms, but how does it play as a movie? The answer is very well, of course. Bergman was, among other things, a great filmmaker in general. His relationships with actors allowed to extra very raw performances. His knowledge of what to film, whether extremely tight closeups of his actors' faces or subtle combinations of images to create the illusion of multiple suns in the sky is fantastic. Bergman uses all of his skill to tell this intellectual story intimately and on very human terms.