In the 1970s, Ingmar Bergman firmly established his control over his trademark chamber drama. This shows with Autumn Sonata, which I actually preferred over his more celebrated Scenes from a Marriage. In a way, this film is some sort of rebirth for Bergman after a series of disappointments (The Magic Flute and Face to Face) and downright embarrassments (The Serpent’s Egg). As Bergman unites with the other Bergman in their sole collaboration, the director returns to form and comes in full command of the medium once again.

The film follows world-renowned concert pianist Charlotte (Ingrid Bergman) as she tries to reunite with her estranged daughter, Eva (Liv Ullmann). Little did she know that her other daughter, the mentally impaired and physically challenged Helena (Lena Nyman) is now being taken care of by Eva. Charlotte had previously checked Helena in an institution.

Tension immediately builds as years of unspoken and unexpressed emotions start to unravel. Bergman’s static shots (reminiscent of Ozu’s) are perfect in capturing and distilling of all these. In one early but very delicate scene, Eva plays her interpretation of a Chopin prelude with her mother. But instead of a reconciliation that one would expect (or hope) to happen, this actually builds the vengeful repression of our characters. The film’s climax is a painful sequence to behold. Set in the middle of the night, it is full of harsh words unleashed and full of ugly feelings exposed. All of which are very genuine, proving that this film does not have archetype protagonists and antagonists but real people with real emotions and real demons.

Considered minor Bergman by its critics and detractors, I consider this one of his major achievements. Aside from being a career renaissance, Autumn Sonata touches my very core – my inner sentimentality – with such power. It shows the complexity of the human being, one that cannot be easily simplified. It also proves that ultimately we all need love from (or some sort of connection with) others. However, love is not rational. Trying to love can be calculated like playing the piano but the act of loving itself is as complex as creating music. Bergman’s filmic language allows us to ponder about this and about how we make a difference in other people’s lives.