My review was written in February 1987 after a Midtown Manhattan museum screening.
Ingmar Bergman returns powerfully to several of his key themes: man's loss of faith, God's silence and the resulting despair in the modern world, in the 1986 Swedish tv production "The Blessed Ones", preemed Stateside at New York's Museum of Broadcasting.
The program reunites the master filmmaker with writer Ulla Isaksson, who collaborated on "The Virgin Spring" and "Brink of Life", and is of special note as a show shot on videotape, something of a departure for the filmmaker.
Harriet Andersson toplines as Viveka Burman, an art teacher turning 50 who has unresolved hate for her late parents and sister Annika (Christina Schollin) while clinging to the love and solidarity of he4r husband Sune (Per Myrberg) for solace. In brief opening scenes set in a cathedral in Uppsala and on a train, we learn of Viveka's still-vivid childhood traumas (such as her fright at being given a pillow with an all-seeing eye embroidered on it, which she still sleeps with) as well as Sune's bitter memory of failing to make the priesthood, becoming a crafts teacher instead.
Seven years later, on Viveka's 50th birthday, Sune's proposed vacation trip back to Uppsala is scorned as are well wishes by sister Annika. Viveka is consumed by self-loathing, claiming she is evil and was destined from childhood to turn out bad. As evidence of this, she recalls how, as a child, she wanted to kill God and even kill Santga Claus when mama took her to sit on his lap.
With Sune trying his damnedest to comfort her and support her, Viveka's growing paranoia gradually infects him and they both spiral downward towards suicide. It's a desperately bleak picture as only Bergman could capture to the fullest. He uses some inspired black humor to keep it watchable, peaking in a wild sequence where Viveka hangs an umbrella upside down over the kitchen table to keep the arsenic she imagines some terrifying, unnamed "they" are pouring through the ceiling off the food.
Of course, there's no sugarcoating of the piece's message or tacked-on happy ending from the maestro. It is only in Sune's incredible loyalty and self-sacrifice to his mate that any hope is offered in this microcosm of alienated modern man. The casual viewer may shrug the whole thing off as a particularized horror story, as do the Burmans' neighbors, who ironically call the couple "the blessed ones", meaning they're a couple of loonies. Bergman buffs will easily find the universal messages, however.
Andersson, whose dozen appearances for Bergman date back 35 years to their international breakthrough films "Monika" and "The Naked Night", is chilling in the central role. It is amazing how such a vivacious and beautiful actress is transformed here (as she was in "Cries & Whispers") into a grotesque shell, a triumph of acting as well as clever techniques, such as a low-angle, distorted bathroom mirror shot which amplifies her angular facial features. Myrberg underpalys beautifully as her sounding board and, although the piece is written as basically a two-hander, Schollin makes a telling support appearance.
Though on videotape, Bergman lenses the show in the style of a film, with reverse-shot cutting in the dialog scenes and even some evocative exterior transitions shot on location. Of special note is his editing, executed by Sylvia Ingemarsson, which crisply moves swiftly from the climax of a scene to the next setup while being seamless during a scene.
The many shock effects, including amplified sound and sudden movement in the frame, are suitably harrowing.
Ingmar Bergman returns powerfully to several of his key themes: man's loss of faith, God's silence and the resulting despair in the modern world, in the 1986 Swedish tv production "The Blessed Ones", preemed Stateside at New York's Museum of Broadcasting.
The program reunites the master filmmaker with writer Ulla Isaksson, who collaborated on "The Virgin Spring" and "Brink of Life", and is of special note as a show shot on videotape, something of a departure for the filmmaker.
Harriet Andersson toplines as Viveka Burman, an art teacher turning 50 who has unresolved hate for her late parents and sister Annika (Christina Schollin) while clinging to the love and solidarity of he4r husband Sune (Per Myrberg) for solace. In brief opening scenes set in a cathedral in Uppsala and on a train, we learn of Viveka's still-vivid childhood traumas (such as her fright at being given a pillow with an all-seeing eye embroidered on it, which she still sleeps with) as well as Sune's bitter memory of failing to make the priesthood, becoming a crafts teacher instead.
Seven years later, on Viveka's 50th birthday, Sune's proposed vacation trip back to Uppsala is scorned as are well wishes by sister Annika. Viveka is consumed by self-loathing, claiming she is evil and was destined from childhood to turn out bad. As evidence of this, she recalls how, as a child, she wanted to kill God and even kill Santga Claus when mama took her to sit on his lap.
With Sune trying his damnedest to comfort her and support her, Viveka's growing paranoia gradually infects him and they both spiral downward towards suicide. It's a desperately bleak picture as only Bergman could capture to the fullest. He uses some inspired black humor to keep it watchable, peaking in a wild sequence where Viveka hangs an umbrella upside down over the kitchen table to keep the arsenic she imagines some terrifying, unnamed "they" are pouring through the ceiling off the food.
Of course, there's no sugarcoating of the piece's message or tacked-on happy ending from the maestro. It is only in Sune's incredible loyalty and self-sacrifice to his mate that any hope is offered in this microcosm of alienated modern man. The casual viewer may shrug the whole thing off as a particularized horror story, as do the Burmans' neighbors, who ironically call the couple "the blessed ones", meaning they're a couple of loonies. Bergman buffs will easily find the universal messages, however.
Andersson, whose dozen appearances for Bergman date back 35 years to their international breakthrough films "Monika" and "The Naked Night", is chilling in the central role. It is amazing how such a vivacious and beautiful actress is transformed here (as she was in "Cries & Whispers") into a grotesque shell, a triumph of acting as well as clever techniques, such as a low-angle, distorted bathroom mirror shot which amplifies her angular facial features. Myrberg underpalys beautifully as her sounding board and, although the piece is written as basically a two-hander, Schollin makes a telling support appearance.
Though on videotape, Bergman lenses the show in the style of a film, with reverse-shot cutting in the dialog scenes and even some evocative exterior transitions shot on location. Of special note is his editing, executed by Sylvia Ingemarsson, which crisply moves swiftly from the climax of a scene to the next setup while being seamless during a scene.
The many shock effects, including amplified sound and sudden movement in the frame, are suitably harrowing.