Persona (1966)
Ingmar Berman
Sweden
83 mins, black and white, Swedish (English subtitles)
What is it about? Good question. After falling asleep once at the very beginning (it wasn't the movie, I was dead tired) and having my girlfriend pester me about it, I sat down to see the alleged masterpiece with a fierce determination to understand it and an abject resultion to fail. Now that it's over, I think the people that comment on it miss the point of the film completely, so here's my take.
First of all, there is only ONE person in the movie. There's most definitely TWO personalities, but there is only one physical person. The basic idea is that what we project to the outside world and what we feel inside are two different, and sometimes difficult to reconcile, realities. Both have the same "right" to exist, but only if they co-exist can the person be declared sane. The idea that neither the external nor the internal is dominant translates neatly into a phislophical statement on cinema and the reality of the silver screen.
The story is (deceptively) simple. Brief synopsis follows. Elisabeth Volger, an actress, falls suddenly silent during a performance. She refuses to speak, abandons her husband and son, and gets herself hospitalized. The Doctor, who does not believe she is mentally ill, assigns the nurse Alma to look after her, or at least that's what the assignment appears to be. Elisabeth and Alma go to the Doctor's villa where they spend all their time together. Alma constantly talks, slowly revealing past indiscretions (an orgy when her boyfriend was away), and her misgivings about her future with her fiancee. Elisabeth listens on with seemingly sympathetic expression. Alma slowly falls in love with her and begins to think that she can hear Elisabeth talk to her. However, when she opens one of the letters Elisabeth writes (to some unknown addressee), she discovers that the actress is only amused at Alma's pain and torment. Alma begins to alternate between hate and remorse, she leaves a broken piece of glass deliberately in the garden and the actress cuts her foot, she slaps Elisabeth and almost hurles a pan with boiling water at here (which causes the first verbal response). But then the nurse is apologetic again. Mr. Volger comes to visit his wife and treats Alma as if she is her. Alma discovers Elisabeth's secret, which is the hatred of her son. She finally gets Elisabeth to say one word. The movie ends with Alma's departure from the villa, with a cut to the cameraman shooting the scene.
Although some have claimed that the film is about the nurse taking on the personality of the actress, I think such an interpretation is ludicrous. Another view is that the movie is a statement about cinema (exactly what the statement is, remains a mystery). In some ways, this is so, as I mentioned above. But the movie is prfoundly about what constitutes a person. When people force themselves to conform to social expectations, such as prudential sexuality or love for the offspring, when their feelings drag them the other way, there is inevitably internal conflict. The external persona, the one we project, as a movie, to others behaves properly until the internal (id, perhaps) takes over and makes us do things that we normally would not. Alma's behavior on the beach startles even her and she does not know how to fit it with her notions of proper behavior. The only thing she knows for sure is that it felt extremely satisfying. Although no contrast is drawn with her love-life with her boyfriend, the implication is that the liberating sex on the beach is a far cry from her dull cohabitation with him. She makes it clear that she is not in love with him when she discusses her affair with a married man. It is also clear that she is forcing herself into a life of safety and utter spiritual deprivation when she contemplates her impending marriage. She speaks to the audience, trying to convince it that this marriage is right and good for her, but comes off even less convincing to herself.
Symbolically, her inner person, Elisabeth, is as extrovert as possible. She is an actress---performing (lying?) is her mode of existence. That is, until one day she suddenly falls silent in the middle of a performance. The thin veneer of propriety disintegrates and she finds herself unable to speak because whatever she can say would only be another lie. She is the "pure" one and even though in the end it appears that she hates her son, it is really Alma that is going through the motions. The story then is about Alma trying to reconcile with her mask, trying to get back onto the healthy track of everyday lies; in other words, she is desperately trying to get Elisabeth to speak again.
Alma goes through denial (persuades herself that the life she's chosen is good), self-pity (confesses that her only love was a married man), self-analysis and desperation (cries because she cannot understand what her sexual urges mean and why she is having them), anger (when she comes to believe her agony is pitiful and pathetic), revenge (when she tries to inflict pain on her other persona), and remorse (when she wants to apologize). When her husband comes to visit her, she sleeps with him only to be terrified again at the lack of warmth and feelings inside her. That experience, however, has a cathartic effect because it forces her to face up to her real problem---hatred for her son. She is utterly unable to bring herself to love him, which constitutes a break of the strictest taboo in society. She is disgusted by him and that revelation produces a reconciliation with her external persona, who finally mutters a word (was it "Nothin"?). Elisabeth drinks symbolically Alma's blood which gives her life (as per Christian mythology, which is alluded to several times, especially with the nailing scene) and then disappeares---that is, becomes integrated back into Alma. When Alma leaves the villa, she is alone.
Bergman has purposefully made the film to disorient the audience. Until the very end we are not sure who the real (physical) person is. The reason for this is obvious: neither Alma nor Elisabeth is any more real than the other. Only in unity can they exist. Thus, cinematography, which is the art of projecting an artificial reality, is both lie and truth at the same time. The images are deceptive yet they carry with them the hidden force of the concealed alternate reality and it is up to the audience to uncover it. I felt like the boy in the morgue that vainly tried to grasp the changing images before him.
February 2, 2001. BLS