Ingmar Bergman’s 1957 film, The Seventh Seal, is another work that is reflective of the artist’s crisis with his own spiritual identity. To that point, it has been noted that during the time of the film’s production, Bergman was still wrestling with the sobering rationalism of his adulthood and the lingering piety of his childhood. Despite that, it would be later in 1961 that Bergman would begin to endeavor in production of his ‘spiritual trilogy’ in which, through his art, the artist conquered his misconceptions about spirituality and gained a comforting agnostic rationalism that he would embrace for the rest of his life. In his autobiography, Images: My Life in Film, Bergman speaks about how the characters of Jof and Mia are representative of his ultimate and final conception of spirituality. He explains that the characters were evocative of: “the concept of the holiness of the human being. If you peel off the layers of various theologies, the holy always remains.” (p. 236) He then continues to refer to the first film in his spiritual trilogy to further explain his largely agnostic stance on spirituality through an absolutely marvelous metaphorical analogy that is alluded to/evoked in various films in Bergman’s oeuvre. “In Through a Glass Darkly, my childhood inheritance is put to rest. I maintained every conception of god created by human beings must be a monster, a monster with two faces or, as Karin puts it, the spider-god.” (p.238)
Within the film there are various memorable cinematic techniques and devices that are worth mentioning. For example, there is a shot in the film when the Knight has his second meeting with Death, within that shot one may notice that the shadows being emitted from the bars of the confession window are reflected, quite deliberately, upon the Knight’s face. There are various interpretations that could be drawn regarding the significance of the composition of this particular shot, however, it is my feeling that the shadows of the confession window are representative of not just the Knight’s, but also the author’s, metaphorical imprisonment by the institution of religion; namely, that of Christianity, as this is a narrative that has for its subject none other than The Crusades. Having a plague at the center of the narrative is quite appropriate for a film so centered upon a spiritual crisis; moreover, one may argue that the plague evokes the theme of theodicy and as a corollary, alludes to the sense that institutional religion is not only inadequate but hopelessly diluted, confused and corrupted.
To move away from critical interpretation and speak about some general facts about the film, one might say a good place to start would be the discussion of Eric Nordgren’s original film score. Largely inspired by Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana and other medieval chants of a similar nature, Eric Nordgren’s musical contribution to the film should never be overlooked as it is marvelously executed and maintains a high-caliber amongst even the most revered comtemporary comparisons. In regard to the representation of Death, it was largely – as many of you may have known and/or guessed – inspired by medieval frescoes found in Swedish churches in the countryside that Bergman had become acquainted with in his childhood. Yet, one should note that at the time of the production the form and physical nature of the figure was more or less established for the reasons I’ve mentioned before; thus, making the introduction of Bergman’s interpretation, which was differed quite largely from the traditional Nordic artistic envisioning of the figure of death, was a not a risky decision. Bergman thought long and hard on this problem and finally decided to embark on what is largely considered on the most influential filmic techniques to have been executed in cinematic history, the artist switches abruptly from the pounding, seemingly ubiquitous, the sound of waves breaking on the shore to the sudden, sobering, introduction of absolute silence. It is at that same exact moment Bergman makes the cut to Death’s appearance and for whatever reason, it has proved throughout the decades among audiences all around the world that this method was effective not only in communicating accurately the representation of the particular conception of the figure of Death but also, perhaps not so much these days, in even shocking and/or frightening the audience. It was a gamble that Bergman played, he realized he could have been laughed at if he hadn’t executed the scene correctly as his actor, Bengt Ekerot, could have easily been mistaken as representing the figure of a clown had it not been for the proper use of costume, lighting and composition. In my opinion, this case is a perfect representation of the necessary essence and/or character that an artist must posses to truly be considered great. To put the final cherry on top, I’ll add that the great artist must not only create but innovate; he must not be an individual who lives a worriless life devoid of problems but instead be a figure who not only is often confronted with problems; yet, despite that, embraces the problems when they come, solving them through profound artistic means… This, in my mind, is the embodiment of the artistic spirit of a unique, rare, inspirational figure such as Ingmar Bergman; a true auteur that has forever changed the world of cinema…