A bitter but finally moving story about lost love, hatred between generations and a curious kind of liberation, “Saraband” officially closes one of the most prestigious and influential careers in the history of cinema. TV movie is the final film both written and directed by Ingmar Bergman, who at 85 has stated it’s time for him to step back and let others do the work. It’s effectively a sequel to his classic 1973 TV series “Scenes From a Marriage” (also released at the time in a shorter cinema version), following the two main characters 30 years after their divorce. Though that production was more emotionally engaging, “Saraband” still makes for fascinating viewing, with Bergman regulars Erland Josephson and Liv Ullmann encoring their roles and in top form.
Item airs on Swedish Television Dec. 1. Pic was shot on hi-def video and, despite considerable interest from fests this year (including an open invitation from Cannes), Bergman has refused all offers to screen it theatrically. (Sources at STV, however, hint that he still may be persuaded to change his mind.) Helmer is reportedly unhappy with the visual quality in 35mm blowup. At STV press screening caught, film was shown on hi-def, and picture, color and sound were clear and fine, with none of the usual sickly hues traditionally associated with video.
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Dedicated to Bergman’s late wife, Ingrid, pic takes its title from the South American dance form that came to Europe in the 17th century (and was promptly deemed indecent by the Spanish Court). Film is divided into a prologue, 10 chapters and an epilogue, in each of which only two characters are present. Though each seg is in the form of a conversation, one always talks more than the other, turning each section into something close to a monologue.
In the prologue, Marianne (Ullmann) sits in front of a table full of photographs, talking straight to camera. She says that Johan, her ex-husband, became a millionaire thanks to an inheritance and bought a secluded house in the northern county of Dalarna; the two of them haven’t had any contact with each other for years. As she speaks, the camera moves closer and closer to her face through an abrupt series of cuts.
Marianne adds that she also never sees her and Johan’s two daughters anymore: One moved to Australia and the other is in a mental hospital. She’s started to wonder whether she should pay a visit to her ex-husband. And so she does, as the film proper starts.
The old Johan (Josephson) turns out to be full of bitterness and hatred, and it’s clear that Marianne’s visit isn’t welcome. Contemptuously, he tells her that Henrik (Borje Ahlstedt), his son from his previous marriage, and Henrik’s 19-year-old daughter, Karin (Julia Dufvenius), are living in his guest house. Karin’s a highly talented cellist, and Henrik, who’s also a musician, has devoted his life to tutoring her since her mother, Anna, died two years ago.
Johan’s manner of speaking is mean and aggressive (“My life is shit; it’s hell,” etc.) but he grudgingly lets Marianne stay over in a guest room. When Karin comes to the main house, she tells Marianne how she and Johan have fought over a piece of music he wants her to play. In rapid flashback, their argument — shot through with a sense of unease and sexual tension — is shown, plus Karin’s subsequent escape into the surrounding woods.
“Never again,” Karin tells Marianne. “Now someone else will have to take care of him.” Later, it is revealed that Karin and her own father sleep in the same bed in the guest house. A week later, Henrik visits Johan to ask for a loan to buy Karin an antique cello. During the talk, Johan mocks his son (“If you weren’t Karin’s father, you wouldn’t exist”), and both his eyes and voice are full of hatred and contempt. Henrik feels the same about his dad, telling Marianne when they meet in a church that “I hate him in every possible way; I want to see him die from a painful disease.” After Henrik has left, Marianne prays in front of a crucifix on the wall.
Later, Johan tells Karin he’s had an offer from an old friend to continue her musical education in Helsinki. In a stunning coup de cinema, as she leaves her grandfather, Karin imagines herself playing her cello alone, in total whiteness.
When Karin finds a letter that Anna, her mother, wrote to Henrik a week before she died, she reads it to Marianne. It’s about Karin’s own relationship with her father, one of extreme closeness on Henrik’s side (“You love her, but you bind her,” wrote Anna). Emotionally, Karin tells Marianne there’s no way she could move to Helsinki, as it would kill her dad. The stage is thus set for a final confrontation between Henrik and Karin, and a reconciliation of sorts between Johan and Marianne.
Apart from a couple of exterior shots, whole film is made up of interiors and feels very stagebound, more like classic TV-theater than a movie. There’s no real attempt to hide the fact that interiors were all shot in a studio, with backdrops seen through windows looking more like paintings than real sky and trees. The dialogue is also theatrical, in an old-fashioned way; nobody talks like this today.
Yet “Saraband” still works. Though the main focus starts out as Johan and Marianne meeting again, the film’s central protags in fact turn out to be Henrik and Karin. Pic is their story, with the father’s way-too-intimate devotion to his daughter providing the film’s dramatic backbone.
Marianne’s prolonged stay at the house is the catalyst to the tensions in Henrik and Karin’s relationship being forced into the open, with devastating results. As a result, the film’s emotional clout is mostly during the final half-hour.
Bergman uses long, often static, takes, giving his thesps the freedom to act out their emotions without cutaways. In the hands of a lesser director, this approach could have become tedious, but both the story and the players keep the picture alive and give it a sense of forward motion. Among the cast of five, the biggest pleasure is provided by Josephson, relishing the hatred and bitterness that drives Johan. Though the 80-year-old thesp now suffers from Parkinson’s disease, it’s not visible in the film, apart from some trembling of his hands; he can still deliver lines as venomously and convincingly as he did 30 years ago.
“Saraband” won’t be the film that Bergman will be remembered for, as it’s certainly outclassed by pics like “Cries and Whispers” and “Fanny and Alexander.” But it’s more than worthy of the veteran director, and deserves platforming at a major fest.
