All language subtitles for 3_Engder5sglish

This is Ingmar Bergman,
a 38-year-old film director.

The year is 1957,
and he suffers terrible stomach pains.

When he can't sleep, he writes.

This January, he writes the following
to his friend, Sture Helander, a doctor:

"I never sleep longer than until 4:30".

"That's when my stomach turns inside out
and my angst fires up a blowtorch".

"I don't know what it's about,
but it's beyond description".

"Maybe I'm afraid
of not being good enough".

With these insanely high expectations

and these impossible demands,

not only here in Sweden,
but around the world, generally,

it amounts to a lot of pressure.

So one just has to try and forget
these demands on one's person.

Ernst Ingmar Bergman
suffers constant and persistent angst.

1957 is completely pivotal for him.

Right now, he has an active stomach ulcer,
but no time to deal with it.

Because he's got
six productions opening this year.

The year of 1957...

When it comes to Bergman's tremendous
productivity, all I can do is ask:

"How was it possible?"

It's January 1957,

and in a few weeks,
The Seventh Seal will be released.

Bergman shot it the previous summer.

He's been making films for 13 years,

and this is the first time he's
allowed to do exactly as he wishes.

Who are you?

I'm Death.

- Is that your ride back there?
- Yes.

A bit antiquated, eh?

This film will be named
Wild Strawberries.

In January 1957, Bergman has neither
conceived of it, nor filmed it yet.

But before the year is over,
it, too, will premiere.

How this is possible
is beyond comprehension.

It's impossible to imagine

how he could cope
with such an enormous workload.

This year, Bergman also
makes a film for television,

and a feature film in a hospital setting,
and four theatre productions...

Directed by Ingmar Bergman.

...two of which are simply huge.

When I try to date something,

I date it according to films and plays.

I don't remember much
of my private life.

I can't remember
when my children were born.

I can't tell their ages. Only roughly.

But I can't remember
which years they were born.

This summer, Bergman will turn 39.

Already, he has six children
with three different women.

And this is the year
when he finally understands

that if his films are to be great,
they have to be about him.

He is, after all, Ingmar Bergman
- and the year is 1957.

A YEAR IN A LIFE

Well, shall we get started?

Right, let's start.
Let's ask them to turn off the lights.

Ingmar Bergman is a mystery.

He is the world's
most famous film director

surrounded by a monumental myth.

Mainly because he wrote
a number of books about himself,

filled with contradictory information.

When Bergman writes about himself,
nobody knows what's true or false.

If you look for Bergman,
the only place you find him is in his films.

In his films,
Ingmar Bergman is completely honest.

He starts this practise in 1957.

Every artist who creates intense depictions

of his own problems,

which he believes not only to be
important to him, but also to others,

needs to use himself.

And then, the issue of egocentricity
will always pop up.

It's inevitable, actually.

Uncle Isaac is a selfish old man.

Totally ruthless
and refusing to listen to other people.

He got a lot of
inspiration from his own life,

and dressed himself up
as all those different characters.

That's how I've seen it.

I would like to be warm,
tender and alive...

That's all Ingmar's
own shitty life, as he'd describe it.

He told me: My life is piss-awful.
All I have is my work...

- But your marriages, and your kids...?
- My life's still piss-awful.

Why the angry look?
Are your nerves playing up?

Are you feeling tormented?

Shut up! Shut up!

I think this is obvious in many of his films.

Take Autumn Sonata, in which a pianist

lives for her art,
but neglects her children.

Help me!

All these films,
which people think are about someone else

are always, without fail,
about Bergman himself.

The path Bergman chooses in 1957,

to explore the human soul
by making films about himself,

leads to immeasurable success
all over the world.

By the 1970s,
when this interview takes place,

there's a name for the craze:
Bergmania.

Sitting next to me is one of the most admired
and even worshipped men

in the movie world, and the entire
entertainment and theatrical industry:

Ingmar Bergman has directed
an astonishing number of masterpieces.

The Magician, The Virgin Spring...
The list goes on.

Through a Glass Darkly
and The Passion of Anna.

I've left out a great number of them...

I'd had a desire to interview
Bergman for some years,

but I was told it'd never happen.

I even thought: Maybe he won't show up.
Who knows how weird he is?

First, I must compliment you
on being exactly on time today.

I know that you like punctuality.
We met last night, and...

World-famous, Dick Cavett,
moves his entire studio to Stockholm

to be granted an interview
with Bergman, at last.

During this interview,
Cavett is the one who is nervous.

My image of what Ingmar Bergman
would be like when we met

was that he'd emerge from a cave
with cobwebs and low lighting

dressed as Count Dracula.

Cavett gets a film title wrong:

Masterpieces like Wild Strawberries,
Smiles of A Summer Night,

and The Seventh Veil... Seal.

You said The Seventh Veil
instead of The Seventh Seal.

I know! God...

I think I'd repressed that,
and I've just remembered it.

There was at least one more.

I said "Ingrid Bergman"
instead of "Ingmar Bergman".

Almost anyone
should be able to tell them apart.

- You, too, were a little bit nervous.
- Yes, I was.

Dick Cavett,
who has interviewed countless dignitaries,

is so nervous that he stutters
and bows before a poorly-dressed Swede

with a very unusual accent.

What was it that Bergman did?

How did he become
such an enormous icon?

...the Swedish Film Society Plaque

to Ingmar Bergman and Viktor Sjöström.

INGMAR BERGMAN'S NEW FILM

Do you like wild strawberries?

I know where they grow. Shall we go?

In the early 1950s,
Bergman finds a recipe for success:

Young, nude bodies in a romantic
Swedish archipelago setting.

This is a huge hit abroad,

and sex-starved people all over the world
flock to see Summer with Monika.

We can do it. We can go where we want!

After Summer with Monika,
his international breakthrough,

Bergman gets more interested in
people's inner lives.

THE SEVENTH SEAL
- BEST SWEDISH FILM THIS YEAR

No Swedish dramatist
has narrated about medieval Sweden

with such passion
since Strindberg's The Folkunga Saga,

and it's all the more amazing
we have the resources to do it on film...

February 7th is the opening night
of The Seventh Seal.

This is the first big event
for Bergman in 1957.

I see - the camera's over there.

When I got there, people whispered:
Ingmar is over there. Better be quiet.

That kind of thing. Ingmar was there,
like the mast in the middle of the ship.

BERGMAN After that success,

no one has ever meddled with
what I wanted to do.

I've been allowed to do what I wanted.

One of the best-known living Swedes
and one of the greatest film directors,

Ingmar Bergman, has portrayed,
in one of his films a fragment of this

dark, brutal, plague-ridden Sweden
of 600 years ago.

- Okay, I got it! Ready?
- Yes.

When I first saw The Seventh Seal,
I was struck by its black-and-whiteness.

It's stark difference to some of
the Hollywood musicals of the same time.

With The Seventh Seal,
of course, one sees a kind of

panorama of medieval Sweden, or 14th
century Sweden, hit by the Black Plague.

"Digerdöden",
I think it's called in Swedish.

- The plague!
- Stay on that side of the trunk!

I'm afraid of dying!
I don't want to die!

I remember the scene
where Erik Strandmark gets so scared

of the approaching Death
in his black robes

so he climbs a tree
and settles on a branch.

And Death gets closer and closer...

Damn, is it my tree he is sawing down?

Drat you, you scoundrel!
What's with my tree?

That guy's up in the tree
and Death is chopping it down.

He says "Why are you doing that?"
"Well, your time is up."

- No! I haven't got the time.
- No time, eh?

Then, the fool says:

Is there no escape?
No exceptions for actors?

Nope. Not in this case.

"No exceptions for actors?"
Such a wonderful line.

With The Seventh Seal,
Bergman is given complete artistic freedom

but very little time
and a tiny, tiny budget.

He was careful where the camera went

to avoid filming the blocks of flats.

They were there, not far from
what we called the forest.

Bergman searches
for the perfect beach

together with actress, Bibi Andersson,
and cinematographer, Gunnar Fischer.

They finally find it:
Hovs Hallar in Skåne.

Bergman shoots
his most iconic scene ever, here.

- Who are you?
- I'm Death.

- Have you come for me?
- I've been by your side a while now.

- I know that.
- Are you ready?

I had never seen and couldn't have
conceived a film where Death is visible.

Death in a clown face, who opens
his cape and the screen goes black.

- One moment!
- You all say that. I give no respite.

But you do play chess?

"Who are you?"
And the man in black replies: "I'm Death."

Then, either you accept that he is Death

or you think:
"No way, that's Bengt Ekerot."

"His face has been whitened
and he's wearing a robe."

But that's the amazing
power of suggestion.

That's the amazing excitement
when you do things

and make people believe it all.

The Seventh Seal
mirrors Bergman's inner world.

All his life he's had an enormous fear
of death,

and this is what the film is about.

This film was an attempt

at ridding myself of my fear of death.

And to a certain extent, it worked.

I grew up in a rectory family.

I'm the son of a priest, and as such,
you live quite close to death.

Ingmar Bergman grows up
in Stockholm in the 1920s.

He has an older brother, Dag,
and a younger sister, Margareta.

His mother's name is Karin
and his father, Eric, is a clergyman.

Alexander, my dear boy...

Before these witnesses, you've accused me
of murdering my wife and children.

What?

There are many priests
in Bergman's films.

The most well-known one is
Bishop Vergérus in Fanny and Alexander.

This character is based on
Ingmar Bergman's own father.

There. He walks...

That's it.

Portraying that cold,
cold character was great fun.

He was...

A character made up
of so many unsound beliefs.

I don't understand...
Do you think a person can go unpunished

after dishonouring another person?

It was a horrific scene, that whipping scene.

And Bergman said: "Goddammit,
you really remind me of my father."

Yes, I resembled his dad.

What form of punishment would you like?

Cane, castor oil or dark cupboard?

- How many strikes with the cane?
- Ten.

The cane.

I dealt with
my upbringing by lying and pretending.

And by assuming an identity which...

...my parents could view as acceptable.

I lied unreservedly and with ease.

Every now and then,
one was found out and heavily punished.

Stand up, Alexander!

- What would you like to say?
- Nothing.

You should apologise to me.

Bergman describes the abuse
in his autobiography Laterna Magica.

"The Magic Lantern."

However, this book
isn't always a reliable source.

Like so much else
in Bergman's life,

he projects some of the things that
his brother experienced on himself.

It's very odd.
It could be beatings, for example.

Ingmar wasn't the one
who was beaten, it was Dag.

Dag Bergman
is four years older than Ingmar.

The two brothers are always fighting,
and Dag, being older, often wins.

I remember one summer
at our country place.

I was ten years old and he, five or six.

He was coming fishing with me.

I didn't want his company.
He babbled and scared the fish.

I said he could come on the condition
he kept the worms in his mouth.

He agreed, and I can see him
with worms sticking out of his mouth.

Half-crying, he was.
He probably swallowed a few.

- I'll put the coin here.
- What do you want me to do?

- You're going to eat this worm.
- What?!

- Shut your gob and stop looking silly.
- Alright, give me the bloody worm.

As they grow up,
Dag keeps trying to ruin Ingmar's life.

Dag's version of the film Torment,

is diametrically opposed
to the general interpretation of the film.

Let me tell you:
Ingmar was the favourite pupil.

We had the same teacher in some cases.

One day in front of the entire class,
this teacher said to me:

"This morning, I taught your brother,"

"Master Bergman in whose
knowledge there are no gaps".

"Looking at you, you're master Bergman
in whose gaps there's no knowledge".

Open your book. The homework for today.

Faster! Faster!

"The battle lasted
for three days".

Torment depicts
a Swedish high school in the 1940s.

It's the first film set
that Bergman attends.

He has written the screen play
and works as a script boy on the film,

but dreams of directing.

But haven't Swedish critics believed

that Ingmar was referring to himself
as a kind of self-portrait?

Well, it can't have been, as Ingmar was
a little angel at school, loved by all.

That was the case until he graduated.

That's cheating, Sir. Cheating!

When this interview with Dag
was to be broadcast

on Swedish national TV in the 1980s,

Ingmar Bergman protested violently,

finally getting the last say
in their life-long argument.

The interview, which was scrapped,
can now be shown for the first time.

Well, Ingmar was,
without doubt, our father's favourite child.

I was Dad's whipping boy.

Dad hit me more or less
whenever he saw me.

Ingmar didn't really suffer,
and was happy to spend time with Father.

He soon realised
that if he asked clever questions

on the life of angels
and what little Jesus and Heaven were like,

he was often rewarded
with hot cocoa and biscuits.

Holy, holy, holy
is the Lord God Almighty.

Heaven and earth are full of His glory.

My brother was in many ways

a human being who...

was totally and irreparably damaged

because of the way he was brought up.

And in some way,
I had a similar upbringing.

You could almost say I was brought up
in the same way as my brother.

The damage was long-lasting.

And I have...

spent most of my life
sorting myself out after that upbringing.

There's no getting rid of me.

Bergman's films Torment
and Fanny and Alexander are autobiographical.

He went to that school.
He had that father.

But maybe he isn't the main character.

Maybe Ingmar Bergman
is actually the girl, Fanny,

daring to admit that he stood by
in silence; a witness to the abuse.

What are you reading, Alexander?!

Good night, my boy.

Around this time,
young Bergman begins his escape

to the illusory world of film.

It's a less violent place.
He likes it there.

I think I was six years old
when I saw my first picture.

It was about a horse -
Black Beauty or something.

Then, you know, I was a passionate
cinema goer from that moment.

As much as my parents allowed me to go.

There was only a very small film in it.

A round one, about three metres long.

A young lady sitting on a meadow.

She was asleep, she woke up,
she was dancing around and out to the left.

And then you started again and again...

That is my most...

tremendous, enormous cinematic experience.

I could make her move!

If I made it slow,
she moved very, very slowly,

and if I made it fast,
she was dancing very fast and out.

And even today,

when I sit at the editing table,
you know,

I can sit and find it extremely
fascinating, extremely...

Just the magic of the movements.
The shadow on my little screen.

It's still exactly the same
very childish fascination.

Often, Bergman tells one story
about episodes in his life,

while the archives and reality
tell another.

Bergman has said
he was sent to Nazi Germany

as an exchange student as a small boy.

In reality, he is 18 years old -
almost a man.

In the 1930s,
it was very common to send

middle-class and upper-class children
to Germany to learn German.

In those days, Germany was the great
cultural nation we admired and loved.

Even bigger than the US is today.

"After church,
we had coffee in the parish hall".

"Many were in uniform, and there was
ample opportunity to say 'Heil Hitler'."

Ingmar Bergman,
himself, has described that stay in Germany

as life-changing.

He came from a rather grey and dull life

into a world where people believed
in something and could die for something.

He admired this
fantastic speaker called Hitler.

He was on Germany's side
throughout the war.

"We came to Weimar at noon".

"And the parade and Hitler's speech
were on for 2:30".

"The city was already
buzzing in anticipation".

"I had never seen anything that came close
to this massive display of power".

"I shouted like the others.
I raised my hand like them".

"I bellowed like them -
and I loved like them".

In Laterna Magica,

Bergman writes that he rejoiced
in Hitler's success

and grieved his defeats.

Upon seeing the photos
from the concentration camps,

he thinks they have been staged
for propaganda purposes.

Not until 1946, at the age of 28,
does Bergman reject Hitler.

He's ashamed of his support
and swears never again

to get politically engaged,
not even in his films.

I just could not
understand that he still, after the war,

when the concentration camps
were opened up...

That still, after the war,
he maintained that he supported Hitler.

And...

...that he still, even then,
defended him!

That is horrific.

At the same time
that Bergman supported Hitler,

he is close to a young Jewish refugee
from Germany, Dieter Winter,

who is staying in the Bergman home.

My father
didn't really take this too seriously.

On the contrary, he was quite angry
with Bergman's way of describing that.

I'm pretty sure my dad
regarded that side of Bergman

as little more than posing.

As if he somehow wanted to show off with
feigned Nazi sympathies in his youth.

Some people are hesitant

and find it difficult to believe Bergman
when he says he was a Nazi.

I can somehow understand that.

Ingmar Bergman is a master of mythicism.

He weaved stories,
including around his own life.

You might think he was trying to make
himself - this famous man - look ugly.

There are such syndromes...

But after having spoken to him in depth,

I'm convinced that
he really did have such sympathies.

Sometimes,
my reality is completely distorted.

I manage to contrive of a reality

which is completely... ludicrous,
to tell the truth.

What are your views on psychiatry?

- What did you say?
- Psychiatry?

- I know what it is. What do you mean?
- I mean...

- My views? My views of psychiatry?
- You're often analysed in your work.

I have been to a psychiatrist
once in my life.

It is now about 15 years ago.
I've got restless legs, you know?

- When you lie down, your legs start...
- You get that, too?

- I get that all the time.
- It's terrible! Have you had that...

Ingmar Bergman often
gets his facts mixed up.

To this interview, he brings along
actress Bibi Andersson for support.

Maybe he shouldn't have...

There was something you
mis-remembered with the psychiatrist.

I was around and know the psychiatrist
didn't say he was extremely healthy.

- He did not?
- He said he was so full of neurosis...

so if he took them away,
he'd probably stop making films.

- That came out extremely...
- I can't remember that. I'd forgotten.

In 1957, Bergman sees a psychologist

for the first and last time

to seek help for his restless legs.

That's also the year
his films become his therapy.

There's no shortage of material:
he fears the dark, has stomach pains,

he is jealous, claustrophobic,

and has problems with food,
germs and animals.

Bergman happily distorts the truth
and he's plainly a workaholic.

In retrospect, I've often thought...
I hardly dare voice it, but...

Today, we talk a lot about diagnoses...

I suppose today, he'd be said to have
an untreated diagnosis of some kind.

After a painful childhood,
Bergman's teenage years offer no relief.

I was tall, hunched up
and terribly, terribly thin.

Like a scratch in a photographic negative.

On top of that, I had terrible acne.

And I was most unhappy with my body.

And besides,
the girls used to think that I...

that I looked incredibly funny.

He didn't socialise
much with other youngsters.

He didn't know how to dance,
play tennis or fiddle with motorboats.

Nor could he dive head first
off the jetty.

He mainly sat in his room,
performing plays with his puppets.

From very early on,
the world of women

was a separate country to me.

Unknown territory, and I eagerly
decided to start mapping it out.

Of Bergman's early girlfriends,
Karin Lannby is probably most influential.

She's an actress, a poet and a spy.

They set up a theatre together
in Stockholm.

Karin Lannby and Ingmar Bergman

met in an Old Town collective.

This was a dramatic period,

when we'd seen Denmark and Norway
being occupied by Nazi Germany.

One of the first things
he said to her was supposedly:

"We're just as mad, both of us".

There's every indication
that it was a stormy relationship.

Bergman was very jealous.

This was confirmed
by many who worked with him.

Karin Lannby is the role model
for Ruth in Woman Without a Face

which Bergman wrote the script for.

- Are you already jealous?
- I can't take you being unfaithful.

- Will you come home and kill me then?
- Indeed.

Well - do it!

And Karin did have a secret life.

She was signed up
by Swedish intelligence.

She was to spy on people in restaurants.

On foreigners that were suspected of
various things.

But Bergman didn't know this.

A jealous man dating a secret spy
is not a perfect match.

In an early draft of Laterna Magica
which Bergman later scrapped,

he writes about a fight
that goes on for days

and culminates when Lannby,
naked and battered, tried to stab him.

Bergman lashes out with a stool
and hits her.

Her face discolours;
her movements are jerky.

Bergman writes:

"I realise I am strangling her".

"I'm beating her head against the floor
and I've entered her".

"She wants me to kill her,
and I'm ready to oblige".

Why did Bergman
edit this section out of his book?

Why wouldn't it be true?

The first draft he wrote
was for his autobiography,

and at the same time,
in the same autobiography he wrote

that Karin Lannby
meant a great deal to him,

also on a sexual level.

He puts it like this:
"She opened the bars and let out a lunatic."

In his films,
Bergman often returns

to the mad jealousy
he experienced together with Lannby,

including the destruction
such jealousy can cause.

But the warped tension between them
is crucial to his artistry.

One's writings can
sometimes have a therapeutic quality.

Karin Lannby kept saying to him:

"You have to produce something".

"You can't just go on dreaming
about projects and ideas".

And what happened was
that once their relationship was over,

then he started
to produce masses of stuff.

It was a bit like a battery
that had been left to charge

throughout their relationship,
and suddenly, the sparks start flying.

After Lannby,
Bergman starts making films.

He is inexperienced
and many people interfere.

He directs other people's bad scripts.

When he finally gets to direct
his own material

he's too novice,
too alone, too nervous.

- Did you call it The Prison?
- Yes, The Prison.

My first film on my own script.

What should we know about that?
Most people probably haven't seen it.

It's a very bad picture.

The critics were rather nasty.

However, some recognised his talent
but knew he still had to get there.

He was accused
of being a juvenile joker.

Seeing his early films
often makes Bergman cringe.

There's one film
Bergman is so ashamed of

that he has banned it
from screening for evermore.

Neither stills nor the poster
may be displayed - not even today.

The film is called
This Can't Happen Here.

INGMAR BERGMAN

My first film, Crisis,
was made at the Swedish Film Studio premises.

I was unmanageable
and generally loathed by everyone.

And I was incredibly insecure.

He was shouting
and ranting throughout the shooting of Crisis

because of his own insecurity
and his ambitions, probably.

This was his chance to make films.

I think he wanted to exude:

"I'm Ingmar Bergman,
up-and-coming director!"

But I think Ingmar was more nervous
than anyone else.

He was worried
and suffered from stomach aches.

And he didn't utter a directive word!

But he kept harassing our very kind
cinematographer, Gösta Rosling.

He obviously wasn't well.

He was forever having stomach pains.

He was always tormented,
he wouldn't be up to scratch.

I'm not a therapist or psychoanalyst.

I have the greatest of understandings
for his anxiety.

Anxiety is part of that European way
of making art.

I can't. I just can't!
I have so much angst.

With time, though, he improves.

Back to 1957 -

Bergman's most productive year.

After The Seventh Seal
opens in February,

the opening of the mega production
Peer Gynt at Malmö City Theatre

is only three weeks away.

THE BIGGEST DRAMATIC PRODUCTION EVER

It wasn't a rehearsal, it was worship.

The atmosphere was palpable.
The air vibrated...

There was structure, a system and rules.

He worked and directed
according to a rhythm.

The practical work...
Everything had a rhythm.

Ingmar was obviously
talented as hell and very good,

and he'd decided to get
what he wanted, at any cost.

There is something odd
about the fact that I constantly produce

and I am always on the verge of starting
a new film, a new play or something.

That means that
the now is all that exists.

If I've finished a film, it's gone.
The same goes for a play...

He may not have been world-famous,

but he was the one in the theatre world.

And then, there's the two of you.

You're meant to be over here.

Let's put you over here. Right...

While Bergman worked there,

there was a huge sign over the entrance
into the main theatre.

It read, in several languages:

- Håll käften!
- Halten Sie den Mund! Shut up!

People didn't even dare sneeze!

What's that bloody speaker?

How the hell can you put it there?

Quiet!

Move that bloody microphone.

Can you just shut up in the corner!

In my headphones,
I hear a constant hissing.

Silence! Hey!

By all means destroy my play.

His eyes were always half shut.

And sometimes,
he'd do this and turn around...

He'd turn to his side,
look out through the window,

and say something
very clever and very profound.

And then, he'd look back at us.
We'd sit there with our mouths open.

He was always talking about demons,
but he was quite demonic himself.

Peer Gynt
is considered impossible to stage.

Bergman is pushed to the brink.

His version of the play
is over five hours long.

He has a huge cast, but no one
to confide in apart from his diary.

"At least today's Sunday.
It's been a never-ending rehearsing week".

"You just can't get through it,
no matter what".

"I don't think this will be a good play".

"Sadly, it's because of me.
I wasn't prepared".

"Nor have I kept it together."

Then, when you got to see
the dress rehearsal of Peer Gynt...

The play was five hours long.

It was so amazing that after those
five hours, my only thought was:

"I need to get a ticket to see it again.
Now!" That's how brilliant it was.

How does he do it? How did he do it?

The dynamics were unparalleled.
It was unbelievable.

It's hard to put one's finger on.

Sometimes, you can't specify it.

You just feel something come over you.

This is all adventure movies rolled into one.

The next day,
Sweden's leading paper Dagens Nyheter writes:

"All that remains is to urge every
person for whom it is possible..."

"...to travel to Malmö, fast".

"This is currently Sweden's dramatic centre,
and probably that of all Europe."

- That's better!
- Right.

There... Okay.

Quiet everywhere.

Silence.

Camera!

146-171, first.

As a director, he was exciting.

He was curiously enthusiastic himself.

He'd often look at the settings
through the camera.

He'd say: "Stop there.
Advance! Yes, bloody good!"

He'd build the whole experience
in an enthusiastic way.

Like this...
Then, see, there's the other one.

And then it's down again.

He's totally convincing.

Look at her.

I think that's because

he mostly has well thought-through ideas

and he proposes things for a reason.

He was unique,
because he gave the actors such scope

to use their own ideas

and also their own intuition.

He watched them with excitement.

He couldn't stand when an actor

would only act
on the director's instructions.

He wanted to see
the actors' own inspiration.

I always felt that
Ingmar was very sensual.

A sensual person
in relation to the artistic work itself.

And he was very physical.

When he worked,
he was an anti-intellectual.

Then, he let go
of any thoughts of the result.

He was 100 per cent present

and had a beautiful way
of touching the actors.

He was totally present. Seductive.

He was sensitive and incredibly caring.

What do you want done differently?

Maybe it's my own...

He'd put his arm around you and say:

"She walks over, turns,
and there he is... and Goddammit!"

He almost created a kind of...

Instead of wasting too many words,
he'd make some emotional gesture.

If you were attentive,
that would give you a lot.

Great! Bloody good!

"You're closing your eyes."

He said: "I will never mislead you.
I cannot mislead you.

I need your eyes to be open,
because even if there's nothing there,

that's what the scene is about...

That's the most profound direction
I could ever get.

When I visited Elliott who was
making a picture for Ingmar Bergman,

I was fascinated
and watched for several days,

thinking how lucky Elliott was.

There was Ingmar Bergman
on his knees below Elliott.

The camera was on Elliott's close-up

and Ingmar was talking him
through a scene.

Because I was such an admirer,
I remember feeling...

jealous of Elliott, that he was having
such a brilliant director guide him.

There is no limit to what Bergman
will do to get the best out of his actors.

During the filming of Winter Light,

Bergman feels the main character,
Gunnar Björnstrand, is too happy.

The way he dealt with that

was to ask his doctor and friend

tell Gunnar that the disease
he was suffering from was quite serious.

Gunnar was put on medication,
and actually became depressed.

Then, he was perfect as a doubting priest
lacking faith in God.

And that, you might feel,
is going a bit far.

I'm tired of your concern.

Your mother-henning.

Your good advice.

Your pretty candleholders
and tablecloths...

I'm sick of your short-sightedness...

your fumbling hands...

and your anxious way
of showing you care.

You force me to concern myself
with your physical condition,

your troublesome stomach,
your eczema...

and your days.

When looking at the footage afterwards,

I notice that the camera
has seen a lot more than I did.

It is such a phenomenal tool

when it comes to
registering the human soul.

The way it reflects in a person's face.

The more familiar I become with film
as my chosen medium of expression,

the more I perceive every film I make

as a way of expressing
memories, experiences, tensions,

situations and forces.

Thanks!

It is now April 1957.

Only a month after the opening of
Peer Gynt, it's time for another premiere.

Television has only been in Sweden
for one year,

but Bergman has already made his first
TV production, Mr Sleeman Is Coming.

Do you feel you lose out

because of the more limited scope
of television?

On the contrary.
The fascinating thing with television

is that I can produce close-ups.

One day after Mr Sleeman Is Coming,
it's time again: yet another premiere.

Radio Sweden presents
The Prisoner by Bridget Boland,

directed by Bergman.

We were working ceaselessly,

either because we were rehearsing,

or there was another opening night.

Or we might have been preparing
for some performance.

It was almost a neurosis of his.

I think that was it. He obsessed
about not being able to stop,

to put his pen down or to stop filming.

His time
must have been used extremely carefully,

like something very precious.

I can't get the equation to work.

But he paid a price, of course.

Looking at Bergman's tempo
and focus in 1957,

you wonder if he's on drugs.

The question has been raised.

Have you been curious to see if drugs
make you see things differently?

You are so interested in visual things.

No, I... I don't use sleeping pills.

And drugs even less,
because it would scare me to death.

He supposedly tried alcohol in his youth,

but that didn't
strike a chord with Bergman.

Apparently, he behaved
very strangely and violently.

He only ever ate Swedish yoghurt.

When others had lunch, he had yoghurt.

After three hours,
he took a break and went up to his room...

where he had his Swedish yoghurt.

But Swedish yoghurt
isn't Bergman's only addiction.

He had his special diet
and his dry Marie biscuits.

He had a special table
where he had his script,

and the Marie biscuits he kept eating
on account of his irritable stomach.

When he'd gone outside,

it was tempting to take a biscuit
to see if he noticed.

DO NOT TOUCH

He was a control freak
and knew what was what.

Not many people dared
to take one of his biscuits.

Once, an actor showed off by taking
a biscuit and Bergman never noticed.

So, someone from the team went
to take one, too, but he put it back.

"Shit, there may be consequences
if I pinch this biscuit."

We all waited until he'd had a biscuit.

He didn't have the top one,
in case someone had touched it.

Instead, he'd fiddle out
one from underneath.

It wasn't Max who took that biscuit.
Stig Järrel, perhaps? No, no names...

To think he wasn't undernourished,

and that he had such stamina.

I don't think he ever ate vegetables.
He spoke very negatively about veg.

Kind of as if vegetables
were something of a threat.

Something to watch out for.

It was... I think he
must have had an eating disorder.

Before anyone knew of the concept
of eating disorders, he had one.

Time for a coffee break.

- Coffee break!
- Okay.

Coffee!

I had stomach
and intestinal ulcers all the time.

I was admitted to hospital,
was patched up and sat there and wrote.

"Sofiahemmet Hospital.
Tired on the verge of lunacy".

"But it's peaceful here, and I'm grateful
to Sture who's fitted me in".

"This is the only way of finding
harmony and a structure..."

"...and being able to produce
something decent".

Ingmar could produce a film...

He almost wrote one
at the end of the shooting of the film

when his stomach problems
got him into hospital

and I had to run back and forth
with scripts for typing.

At the same time, he was preparing for
a repeat performance of Peer Gynt,

which had been on, the previous spring,

and he was also preparing a new play, Faust,
which was opening that autumn.

But as I understand it, while Ingmar
was ill enough to be hospitalised,

he nevertheless managed
to write a new film script.

In May 1957,
over-stressed and hospitalised,

Bergman, in a matter of weeks,
writes the masterpiece Wild Strawberries:

"I'm Professor Isak Borg".

"I'm still alive, both
spiritually and physically".

"It's half past three a.m."

...Isak Borg, and I'm 78 years old.

Tomorrow, I'll be awarded the title of
Doctor Jubilaris in Lund Cathedral.

Only one month later,
the film shoot begins.

Bergman says he constantly
revisits his childhood,

just as the old man in the film does.

This is Victor Sjöström, the first
Swedish name in cinematic history.

In some way, Sjöström is
an old version of Bergman,

and his character
has Bergman's initials:

Eberhart Isak Borg -
Ernst Ingmar Bergman.

Sara?

Sara? This is your cousin Isak.

I've grown a bit old, though...

This is when it happens.

Bergman takes a huge leap
and lets someone else play himself,

a leap that seals the fate
of his artistic production.

In Wild Strawberries,
Bergman looks critically at himself,

doesn't hide his shortcomings,
and asks:

"What happens to people who, like him,
neglect everything but their work?"

...and sadness came over me,

but I soon surfaced from my dreaming.

In his work book, Bergman writes
the following about his script:

"I can't say why this film materialised".

"But I know that the important thing is
to use myself both as tree and axe".

"In the end, that's all I have".

He wasn't even 40
when he had the old Victor Sjöström

in Wild Strawberries, returning to
his childhood, his family and all that.

He more or less revises his whole life,

as if he was standing at death's door.

I dreamt that I, on my morning walk,

had got to a part of town I didn't know

where the streets were empty
and the houses derelict.

What most strikes viewers,
initially, are the nightmare scenes.

Then, of course,
all the logic of a nightmare is that

the top opens
and you see a hand reach out...

Nightmares don't get more grisly.
Like a Stephen King type of terror.

And as I've got older, it's occurred to me
that what's being told to us,

but not yet to him,

is that perhaps he is dead,
and perhaps he has been dead all along.

And that's the grim, grisly
unbearable news of the film.

We were forever arguing.

I had a latent stomach ulcer,

which started to play up then,
of course.

I was wondering what would happen

if Victor was to say
he was too old and couldn't cope.

But hell, did he cope!

I remember it as a nice summer.

Young actresses
were sunbathing off scene.

There were common denominators.

You knew that in this hen house,
that hen hadn't always been over there,

and that cockerel hasn't
always had so many feathers...

Sometimes, I even think to myself

a significant reason
why I chose the theatre

was to be able to meet girls naturally.

However, that's a somewhat awkward
theory and only a speculation of mine...

Bergman invites his first wife,
Else, to the shoot of Wild Strawberries.

That's her, on that blanket.
And his first daughter, Lena.

He's also included his lover, Bibi.

Bergman doesn't always
make it easy for himself.

I have to say that Ingmar
always went for interesting women.

I think these women
have also had a major influence

on the way he looked at film and art.

That involves mutual giving and taking.

Bergman almost always
had relationships

with women who worked beneath him somehow.

His first wife, Else Fisher,
was his choreographer,

as was his second wife,
Ellen Strömholm.

Ingmar Bergman's love life is a mess,
to say the least.

And in 1957, it gets messier still.

Yes, but I thought Harriet came...

First Harriet, then Bibi.

Yes, but Gun Grut first,
and then Harriet, wasn't it?

I can't remember
who he was with at that time.

Maybe it was Bibi? I don't know!

Ingmar Bergman is seeing
Bibi Andersson in 1957.

Harriet Andersson
was the year before that.

This year, '57, he will also meet
his wife-to-be, Käbi Laretei,

and will also start seeing Ingrid von Rosen,
who'll be his wife after that.

All the while
being married to Gun Grut.

I was in Stockholm
and I'd fallen in love with a girl.

Her name was Gun.

- Here she is.
- Yes...

When I saw her
the first time with Ingmar,

I was reminded of his words
at the Råsunda Film Studios:

She was Battleship Femininity.

He kind of fell for her
hook, line and sinker.

Gun Grut inspired
more Bergman characters than anyone else,

maybe because she is the most deceived.

Maybe Bergman's films
are confessional?

And I'm making art out of your art,

your immortality, your boastfulness
and your stupid, intolerable virility.

So there!

- My young wife said you were around 50.
- The little witch!

- You're creating an opera overture.
- Have you been unfaithful?

Indeed.

Bergman remembers Gun Grut years later.

He writes Faithless, about how
Bergman and Grut betray their families

and escape to Paris together
in the late 1940s.

And about their violent
and unhappy love story.

David asks funny, kind of informed questions.

And we laugh...

That night, after our meal...
We had drunk more than normal...

That evening, all hell breaks loose.

What are you doing?
Have you gone mad? Let me go! David!

What the... Stop it, David!

I told you to stop!

You're bloody insane!
Let go of me! Stop!

I knew about the story with Gun
and found it horrible.

So I asked if we couldn't
change it so he was forgiven,

or have him ask for forgiveness,

but he refused and said that nothing
could be changed - nothing at all.

I had a flat, you know,
with some bits of furniture in it.

And I got married quite a lot,

and then, that was meant to be
some kind of home.

I was never really that interested in
how it was furnished and that...

Spontaneously, I see it
as a wonderful world to inhabit.

Out of the real world.
We're now talking Fassbinder's pace.

Fassbinder was on amphetamine.
Maybe Bergman was on sexuality?

For large parts of my life,

this unfaithfulness has been a trauma.

I've been notoriously unfaithful,
both in my love life and in friendships.

And also, my best friends were his...

wives, mistresses or his women
or whatever they were.

Talk about erotomaniac.

He must have lived in
a testosterone-filled hubris bubble.

The summer of 1957
is drawing to an end.

At the end of August,
the shoot of Wild Strawberries is over.

Bergman ought to be near a breakdown:

The women, the theatre,
the films, his stomach...

Instead, he takes a break
in Stockholm

and records yet another film,
Brink of Life, set in a delivery ward.

Mother... I'm having a baby.

That's why I've been unwell.

I've wanted to get rid of it,
but I can't.

"I recall
the film's medical adviser allowing me..."

"...to be present at a birth".

"It was a shocking,
character-building experience".

"Despite having five children myself,
I'd never witnessed a delivery".

Bergman is wrong.
He has six children at the time.

But now when his career is taking off,
he has no time for his family.

These women
in their various stages

were probably all current in Bergman's life.

Either losing a foetus, developing one
or on the way to deliver a baby.

That somewhat bloody situation

was probably very close
to Ingmar's own balls.

Or to his heart.
It all depends on one's angle.

I felt very guilty until...

I realised that this
bad conscience thing

for something so fundamentally serious
as leaving one's children,

that's sheer coquetry.

It's showing the world
a scrap of suffering

which can never, ever be compared with
the suffering these people must endure.

I've been lazy around my families.

I haven't made any effort whatsoever
around my families.

Mother actually once
made a comment on Ingmar

that she couldn't see why he needed
to marry all the girls he slept with.

A statement from a long-standing pillar
of the church.

I was deeply in love with my mother.

She was very beautiful
and in many ways unattainable.

She changed between
being very cold and very warm,

and she would
reject us children on and off.

You never quite knew what she would do.

But I was very certain of one thing:
I loved her passionately.

That's one of my earliest
childhood memories.

That I had such
strong ties to my mother.

Bergman's mother has had
a huge presence in his films.

In several major productions
in the 1990s,

Bergman continues to expand
his filmic autobiography

by exploring his parents' relationship
and above all, his mother.

I've been planning on taking
the children and leaving you for a while.

You don't like my family.
You want to humiliate my mother!

You want to get even
in a sophisticated way.

You might as well admit it!

I think that because
one's first relationship with women

was one's mother

and other people's mothers
and missis this and aunty that...

That gave you a very odd idea of women.

We lived with the Victorian ideal
of the woman being the mother

who was unimpeachable
and complete.

And there was also
this total hostility towards sexuality.

That's how I was raised, anyway.

Go and wait in the room.

We're taking a nap.

That made women
into something mysterious and risky

having to be studied

and being regarded with enormous
fascination and massive dread.

Both theatre and film
are undeniably activities

with a very erotic charge.

In those circumstances, it's very easy
for sensual sparks to start flying.

He was a researcher into something

which he was very curious about.

He wanted to understand
and allowed it to take up his time.

You can see this in his scripts

as well as in his way of making the most
of actresses and telling their story.

Bergman's advanced portrait
of women, The Silence

includes elements that
are still challenging today.

The film is censored and much debated
from the very start.

In my experience,
he had a lot of the female in him.

I felt that he really,
really understood women.

We had huge spectra
and endless colours to play with.

OSTEN They are very powerful,
but also very full of aggression.

Like in Cries and Whispers,
where she cuts her vagina to shreds.

Still, I'd defend those scenes, because
there's other stuff in there as well.

These women are strong,
intrepid or tender.

He was ambivalent to women, I think,

but what male creator
doesn't feel ambivalent to women?

It's been argued that
in some sense his women characters

became the sounding board
or the screen

on which he could project an imagined
human feeling. Human sensibilities.

I didn't take any roles
from my female friends and actresses.

No, I took roles from Max von Sydow
and Erland Josephson.

Because otherwise, he'd have written
a film that was about a man,

and not about a woman.

He had something to tell
about this thing: being human.

I'm still happy about Persona,

but today I might have made it differently.

But if you always knew what you
were doing, you probably wouldn't do it.

Persona sprang from
a kind of crisis around truth.

I had to decide what the truth was,
and when we speak the truth.

In the end, it got so difficult that
I felt the only truth was being silent.

But then, taking that one step further,

it became clear that
that was playing a role, too.

It's just another mask,
so I had to find one more level.

Even Persona is about Bergman himself.

The women in Persona
are two sides of the director:

One is silent to avoid lying,
the other one babbles on.

The water is cold
after the storm. Too cold to swim.

Let's not part as enemies.

We're not very far from what's
happening in a film like Persona,

where the artist is the person
who makes use of others.

Studies them and makes use of them.

I think in some sense,
Bergman is using his actors

to make visible to us,
to externalise for us,

things he has to know first-hand,
inside himself.

You've used me.

I don't know for what, but now
I'm not needed so you throw me away.

I actually had the idea for this film

when I saw a photo of the girls.

They were sitting
next to one another, sunbathing.

I thought it was terribly interesting
and would make a good film.

Persona and Cries and Whispers
are the two films I single out.

I can't go any further than that.

During the filming of Persona,
Bergman was married to Käbi Laretei,

but he and Liv Ullmann become a couple.

When Ingmar was just
Ingmar in his everyday life,

he was the most normal, everyday man
you could possibly live with.

Only when he was Ingmar Bergman
did he have his rules.

"Don't come into my office
when I'm creating".

"When the door is closed, it's closed".

"I need to have breakfast alone.
I'm creating".

He loved things like television,

like The Forsythe Saga
and different series, which he loved.

We went for walks.

We took the ferry to the mainland
and bought the evening papers.

We did simple things.

We talked a lot in our bed,
which looked out onto the sea.

Everything we'd ever dreamed about
and hadn't dared tell anyone else,

that's what we talked about
and fantasized about.

Silly, childish things like there'd be
pirates coming over from Russia

to attack us.

And ghost stories!

We told those in bed.
He was a master of ghost stories.

He was the best...

The very best friend I've ever had.

He's never, ever done...

anything to me. Ever.

That's one thing I know.

If you have made a picture
and some million people have seen it,

and one or two people feel better,

or get a new light over the landscape
of their souls, it is not useless.

I have always seen
filmmaking as an amazing opportunity

to go beyond the limits.

To stick my hand
through the membrane of reality,

to reach other worlds,

to concentrate events and tensions.

What, in my view, makes film
so mysterious and extraordinary

is the fact that it bypasses
the intellect and speaks directly,

which also makes it dangerous.

It speaks directly to your consciousness
and subconsciousness.

- Should we do it now?
- No, let's move on.

Exactly there. And forwards...

There! Now reverse.

And forwards... Yes! That's it!

During the autumn of 1957
Bergman edits Wild Strawberries.

Film is something
totally based on rhythm.

It's all a matter
of breathing and rhythm.

On November 16th, the radio
production of Gogol's The Gamblers premieres.

Radio Sweden performed Falskspelaren,

directed by Ingmar Bergman.

One month later,
Moliere's The Misanthrope

opens at Malmö City Theatre.

That was the best time
of my life from a theatrical point of view,

because no one interfered in my work

and I had one of Sweden's best casts.

It was an absolutely amazing time.

When Bergman stages The Misanthrope
in 1957, it is all smooth and easy.

He works with his favourite actors
and fills the house.

When Bergman wants to revisit
the positive atmosphere 40 years later,

by staging the same play in Stockholm,
things are not the same.

Times are different,
the actors are young,

Bergman is old
and has become inexplicably powerful.

...tax raid in Stockholm,

possibly the biggest ever made...

...against a director and a few actors.

In the 1970s,
Bergman is accused of tax fraud.

He has an offshore company
in Switzerland

but the investigation is closed down.

Nevertheless, Bergman feels publicly
humiliated and leaves Sweden, enraged.

Can I talk about the day
you were taken in to be questioned?

I was completely confused.

Two days after,
the depression was a fact.

They insulted you
and treated you like a criminal?

He settles in Germany,

but is still angry
with the Swedish authorities.

You see, I cannot work,
nor consequently live,

in a country where
the bureaucratic representatives

have publicly and groundlessly insulted
me and called my honour into question.

The experience is traumatic,
both for Bergman and Sweden.

We miss you here.

Your natural workplace is Sweden:
Fårö and Stockholm.

We would love you to come back.

When Bergman returns to Sweden
in the early 1980s,

a lot of people are feeling guilty.

Bergman can do as he pleases.

Things are looking very promising.

There's a wave of well-schooled,
capable, very promising young actors.

I'm really looking forward
to working with them.

Can you already single out some

that may become Bergman actors?

They are always around. Definitely.

- You have your favourites?
- Yes, I permit myself that.

Ingmar Bergman was the king.
The emperor.

Anyone who wanted to act at the best
theatre in the world needed his consent.

He had to like you.

Sit down!

The overall atmosphere
was tense because Bergman was there.

When Bergman rehearsed,
you didn't make a noise. You tip-toed.

When you acted in his play,
you knew if he was in the audience.

It was like being put on a silver tray.

Nothing was allowed to disturb things.
The floor had to be scrubbed.

Everything had to be perfect so we could
sit in awe about what was about to come.

Everyone was basically afraid.

Afraid of forgetting the right props,
or if a piece of music came in late.

Then you knew that his wrath
would be almost annihilating.

- You just stay here, Ingmar...
- Damn right I will!

Yes. Yes! Fucking hell...

- Ingmar...?
- Yes!

Every morning before
he entered the rehearsal hall

the floors were washed, windows opened,

and his director's desk
had to be in place.

There had to be silence.
Ventilation systems were shut down.

Not one noise. And all that made
you think he was immensely serious.

But it was also a neurotic power game.

Bergman makes some incredible
stage productions, and his power grows.

He now decides
who gets the leading positions

at the Swedish Film Institute,

Swedish National Television
and the Royal Dramatic Theatre.

And if you dare criticise Bergman,
you will have a major problem.

The worst thing of all
was the call from the Dramatic Theatre:

Now Ingmar Bergman had taken ill
on top of everything else.

That's your fault.

Imagine... Imagine if he dies!

Then, you would be the cause of it.

Ingmar is like
Santa Claus, handing out the presents.

By opposing some,
rejecting some, allowing some.

Because he's always manipulated
and had a finger in every pie.

No one came or went
unless he was in charge.

- Or maybe I should stand by...
- Yes. Yes, exactly.

- Yes... Ouch!
- Oh dear.

What? Something seized up. Fuck.

Everyone was fussing around him.

This blatant lack of moral courage
built him up as a monument.

The arse-licking
that went on was stupendous -

totally unparalleled.

Classic schoolyard bullying.
Unsavoury games...

And everyone knew

that acting in a Bergman film opened
doors to a career abroad and everything.

I felt that he's a fucking predator.

He's a carnivore, Ingmar.

So I decided to take no shit.

I was dead scared of
not knowing my lines.

I didn't want to give him that.

And when I got to my monologue,
he said:

"Hey, Dickey-Micky,
I shortened this bloody thing a bit".

"There was a hell of a lot of nonsense".

- "What do you want me to do?"
- "Come forth, do your slur and leave".

"Slur? You mean my monologue?"

- "Yes. Do you mind?"
- "No, not in the least."

"Did you all hear?
Mikael doesn't mind my directing".

If Bergman has problems
working with people,

it gets worse
when he's not working with people.

You quickly learn that
animals are not easy to shoot,

but it looks nice with a few animals.

Bergman didn't often include animals,
apart from the odd cat.

But cats never do what you want them to,
even if your name's Ingmar Bergman.

We fed them and tired them out,

or drugged them lightly,
but they still ran off.

Maybe he was too boisterous for them.

No! Bloody pussycat!

It might have been in Sawdust and Tinsel

they wanted a bear.

They'd managed to get a bear
from a zoo or something,

and at some point, Bergman got really annoyed
at the whole thing

and said something condescending like:
"Get rid of that bloody bear".

And the owner of the bear took offence,

and he was a really
stubborn man, that owner.

He felt his bear
had been unfairly treated.

And he said that for them to continue,
Bergman had to apologise to the bear.

Imagine! There's the proud
and self-centred Ingmar Bergman

having to apologise to a bear
in order to continue.

Many have known Bergman's fury.

He has ruled
the Royal Dramatic Theatre for years.

And now, it's time for The Misanthrope
for the first time since 1957.

The lead goes to star actor
and director, Thorsten Flinck.

What's this strange world we live in?

Where openness and talking
is considered misplaced.

Where anyone
can call anyone their friend.

Thorsten Flinck was
the next major up-and-coming director genius.

And Ingmar Bergman
was at the end of his career.

And Thorsten was... hot as anything.

There won't be a realistic setting.

We won't be playing
in a classroom with a blackboard.

Nope. We'll be playing behind bars.
In a cage.

Thorsten Flinck definitely had

an aura of someone
who'll make a difference

and who's exceptionally talented.

Both as an actor and a director.

If someone feels
threatened by someone else's talent,

they like to...

to form their own judgement.

It was like Ingmar wanted to
sweep the yard clean.

When we rehearsed The Misanthrope,

Ingmar's wife was very ill.

He knew she wouldn't make it.

It was a distinctive phase in his life.

Ingrid von Rosen,
Bergman's fifth wife,

is the big love of his life.

They have been married 25 years
and Bergman is devastated.

For the first time in his long career,
Bergman is unable to focus completely.

He wasn't quite there.

He was on strong medication
and was extremely unhappy.

The Misanthrope opens and runs,
sold out, for a year,

but Bergman doesn't check on his play.

He is sad and stays at home.

He really washed his hands
of that performance.

This much later, I can't say
how much it had slid off target

but I'm sure Thorsten experimented
with the scenery and things.

Bergman hasn't seen his play
for a while,

but comes to see the last performance
before the play is due for New York.

I actually think
that Ingmar had a shock.

It suddenly became obvious to him
that he, himself,

was guilty of an effort
that left a lot to be desired.

And he was clearly unable
to accept that responsibility.

People entered and someone
asked Bergman if he was coming too.

"No, not me.
Come and sit down. Are you all here?"

Everyone was sitting
around the large oak table,

and it happened to be my birthday.

Virtually every seat was taken
by actors and technical assistants.

The only free seat was the one opposite
the grand master, so I sat there.

Everyone thought it would be

the usual dry biscuits
and juice with soda water.

And then, in the weird silence
which I remember

although it's 25 years ago...

everything suddenly turns,

paving the way for something
extremely unpleasant.

And then, Ingmar speaks:

"Hey everyone, let's gather round
like one large bloody family".

"What I have to say
is not much bloody fun".

"We're not going to New York!"

Ingmar went into a total rage.

"The scenery is off.
There will be no tour".

"And that's one person's fault.
If you all look... I said look!"

He was disappointed in everyone,
but most of all in Thorsten.

That was his view of things -
that this was all Thorsten's fault.

He was criticised as a person.
In every way.

This was among the worst
I've ever experienced

in terms of psychological torture.

People were totally dumbstruck.

Something happened that no one
in that room had been expecting.

Then, we were told to get out.

"But not you. You're staying."
He pointed at me.

And I also had to stay, so we sat there.

"You repulsive bastard.
You're so..."

No, seriously, don't tell me you're
having one more go? But he does.

I remember sitting there
feeling nauseous with a churning stomach.

"I had to ask Antonia
to go outside and fetch a bucket".

"My vomiting reflex kicked in
because he's so fucking ugly".

"Can't you see? And it's all his fault".

"You've ruined my play".

It was like the last scene
in a Shakespeare play.

This was the king's power struggle
with the prince, the next director genius.

This was not a case of...

He wasn't trying to make him see
he'd spoilt a play.

He wanted to crush him.

It did affect me. Very much.

Bergman starts to disengage himself
from the Royal Dramatic Theatre,

staging only five more productions.

He escapes the world to Fårö.

Truth be told,
he's always escaped the world.

He has escaped wives, escaped children,
escaped his country and competition,

escaped responsibility,
escaped reality.

In his films,
he has created a world of his own.

One where he tells us what it's like
to be the human being Ingmar Bergman.

I can never tell whether
my wife is crying for real or affecting it.

But now, I wonder if it is for real.
Yes, I think so.

- Yes, that's what seeing death is like.
- Just shut up.

There's a limit
to how bad you can behave

and how heavily you can tread on others.

But history shows repeatedly
that we forgive the great artists

a lot when the result is so beautiful
and the films and plays so magnificent.

Maybe it's even...
But not at the cost of trauma to others.

But it probably can't be achieved
without that dark, twisted streak.

It is now December 1957.

Wild Strawberries opens on Boxing Day.

Right now, Bergman is soaring -
but this is only the beginning.

The artistry that he begins with here
puts Sweden on the map as a country

and resonates all over the world.

The unfathomable tempo,
the extreme quality...

All this starts in 1957.

Bergman - second take.

Bergman films The Magician,

The Virgin Spring...

Through a Glass Darkly,

Winter Light, The Silence, Persona...

And then, he is unstoppable.

I'll never be like you. Never.
I change all the time.

INGMAR BERGMAN'S
THE SILENCE

In Cannes, you were
awarded five first prizes in the 1950s.

You've had two first prizes in Venice
and the Golden Bear in Berlin.

And you've had two Oscars.
All this in the 1950s.

And in the 1960s,
awards and medals have kept pouring in.

You are doubtlessly the most richly
awarded man in the entire film history.

Ingmar Bergman
has won the coveted Oscar film award

two years running.

- Did you expect that?
- No, not this time.

I thought once would be it.

There's no one like Ingmar Bergman.
An artist. A craftsman.

A master.

Bergman is a great mapmaker.

We talk of the 16th and 17th centuries
when people discovered new continents.

I think he has that kind of role
as an explorer and a filmmaker.

He has that kind of
almost colonising ambition.

To take arenas that have otherwise been
off-limits to us or not available to us.

Not known to us.

To bring them to visibility.
Again, that's the project of film.

BERGMAN ...that search to find
the journey of a soul

and try to illustrate that.

You were determined
you had neglected me,

and you were going to make it up to me.

I defended myself as best I could,
but I was helpless.

At the end of the 1960s,
Bergman starts to shoot in colour,

and keeps making brilliant films
about his life and relationships.

There!

Look like you cared for one another.

Yes, exactly. Freeze that! Great!

- Thanks, that's me done.
- Are you on for some more?

His new assignment
is a great honour, even if he jokes about it.

He's very successful. Forever. Amen.

What if we keep focusing on him?

Then, it's the 1980s,
and he makes his most famous film ever,

the film about his childhood.

Playback and music! And the chatter.

Playback, please! Ready?

You're on!

Fanny and Alexander
can rightly be seen as his magnum opus.

His grandest film.

And then, we'll position the puppet.

That's the greatest magic there is...

One, two, three!

I think this is one of
my happier films.

I think I have somehow always
put this film in an up-beat category.

He tried dodging again,
making an extra lap in an anonymous taxi,

but was seen and followed.

He had to get to work, and this time,
no secret doors could help him.

First question: How are you feeling?

I'm feeling good.
I have a lot to do.

- What's it like to have won four Oscars?
- I didn't win them. The winners were...

Sven Nykvist, Anna Asp,
Marik Vos and the film itself.

It's great. I'm very glad.

- Do you think...?
- Isn't it tricky, walking backwards?

Hello?

Hi, Ingmar. How are you doing?

I've been down in the Valley of Death.

- Have you?
- Yes, I've been very bad.

- Have you?
- Yes.

BERGMAN
These days, I basically live on my own.

All on my own, which suits me very well.

I could see his naked loneliness.

There was never a lonelier person.

It felt as if he was
walking around, bleeding.

Can you give me some human warmth?

Then he wanted you to stand behind him,
once he'd finished eating,

and massage his shoulders
for a few minutes or so.

It was quite touching.

Then, he'd say after a while,
maybe four minutes or so:

That's enough human warmth.
You can go now.

Thanks!

Yes, I think you're completely right.

He was lonely to the soul.

There's no alternative to being alone

if you're to accomplish
as much as Ingmar did.

There's no time
for a normal family life.

Nor for a normal circle of friends.

In Cannes 1998, Ingmar Bergman
is awarded the Palm of the Palms.

The jury consists of
the world's greatest directors.

Today, over 20 years later,
he keeps inspiring.

He means everything to me,
that stupid shit.

But I do love him dearly.

It's extraordinary for an individual
to have that kind of legacy.

He may have been a schmuck!
Who knows? But... Man!

He's left this body of work.
And that's forever!

He was just so unafraid.

So unafraid...

He was putting the camera
at the most intimate angle...

His time, and all that his
world was facing, created his genius.

His masterpieces affected all humanity.

It had to be that way.

I want Ingmar Bergman to be remembered

as a contributor to film and theatre
of enormous significance.

He's one of the masters of filmmaking.

We'll... We will never again
see an artist as great as that in Sweden.

Bergman has meant more than Strindberg.

My father has asked me to ask you

to forgive an old man
for not being here tonight.

He said: After years and years,

of playing with
the images of life and death,

life itself has finally
caught up with me

and made me shy and silent.

So far, Bergman is the only one
to have received this award.

But if I get my ears
into the hat...

- Doctor Bergman...
- Eh...?

Ingmar Bergman dies
on July 30th, 2007 at the age of 89.

This year,
he would have been 100 years old.

One of the most beautiful close-ups
I have got in my life

is from the end of this picture.

He thinks back, suddenly,
on his early youth

and his first love and his parents,
and there, I have a long close-up.

That is one of the most beautiful
close-ups I have got in my life.

1957 is at its end.

Two film openings, two film shoots,

one film for television
and four plays in one year.

An inexplicable private life
with four relationships and six children.

And a narrative approach
that is a new and crucial turn,

paving the way for a life
full of unprecedented magic in films.

It makes you wonder: What does
Bergman think about his mad year?

Imagine if 1957 was your greatest year.

- Why would it be?
- Well... What do you think?

- Two of your greatest films...
- No.

No, that's not how I see it.

I don't grade...
That's not how I think about it.

You see...

You see, I have a film...

Did I just shift your camera setting?

- Don't worry.
- My bum started getting numb.

Translation: Katharina Lyckow
www.undertext.se