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Set in medieval Sweden, The Virgin Spring (Bergman, 1960) tells the story of Karin, a girl who is raped and murdered by three herdsmen, and of her father’s subsequent revenge when these arrive by chance at the family farm. The film sets up a dichotomy between pagan and Christian values and continually contrasts them through the use of characters, themes and images. However, being in such close contact, these religious traditions have a convoluted relationship, and the characters constantly vacillate between the naturalness and instinctualness of paganism and the spiritual aspects of Christianity.

Bergman was interested in making a film adaptation of the 14th century ballad “Töres dotter i Wänge.” The ballad developed in the the romance languages, but its several versions began to gain mobility around Europe so that by the time it arrived to Scandinavia it had adopted a Christian message (Issakson, v). Bergman attempted on several occasions to adapt it into a film, but when he revised the screenplays, he found them useless. He sought the help of Swedish novelist Ulla Isaksson (Cowie, 182). As Isaksson mentions in the printed screenplay, “the film must… make the story of young Karin and her parents realistic, comprehensible, coherent, convincing in psychology and milieu… [Thus] certain additions to the story were therefore essential” (Isaksson, vi). The original ballad, simple and straightforward in tone, lacks the complexity and rationing that would make the characters more believable and developed. Also missing is the conflict between Christianity and paganism that is so prominent in the film. It becomes clear that from the onset both Bergman and Isaksson attempted to create an experience that would be not only enjoyed, but elucidating in regards to morals, redemption, and faith.

Having Isaksson as the screenwriter immediately distinguishes The Virgin Spring from the rest of Bergman’s films. Bergman, being a very particular filmmaker, wrote most of the screenplays for his films, and although he had directed films from others’ screenplay, this was the second time he worked with a screenplay by Isaksson, the first being in Brink of Life (1958). The production itself was also different from his other films. Bergman had met Käbi Laretei, an accomplished pianist, who would go on to become his fourth wife. As Peter Cowie mentions in Bergman’s biography, this marriage coincided with a period of Bergman’s life that “marked a return to the bourgeois world…and [that] awoke in him the need for an altogether new approach to the cinema, an approach at once austere and improvisatory” (Cowie, 180). Bergman was ready to begin a new stage in his career.

Importantly to the production, was the addition of a new member to Bergman’s troop: Sven Nykvist. Gunnar Fischer had been the cinematographer for many of Bergman’s film before 1960. They worked together on such films as The Seventh Seal (1957) and Wild Strawberries (1957), but their collaboration ended abruptly as Bergman was about to shoot The Virgin Spring and Fischer was occupied shooting a film for Disney (Cowie, 182). Sven Nykvist would become Bergman’s cinematographer, and they worked together until Bergman’s last film, Fanny and Alexander (1982). They developed a relationship that allowed the visual aspects of the films to flourish and transcend into another dimension whenever they chose to experiment. In fact, Nykvist would go on to win two Academy Awards for cinematography for his work in Cries and Whispers (1972) and Fanny and Alexander.

Bergman, known for the religious and existentialist questions he poses in his films, found the perfect story to bring these matters into the forefront once again with The Virgin Spring. The film presents two characters who are dimensionally opposed to each other in all aspects of their being and it is through them that Bergman decides to contrast Christianity and paganism. As Cowie argues, “The collision between the kindly spirit of the New Testament and the pent-up savagery of paganism runs as a leitmotif through the entire film. The heathen world and its superstitions are symbolized by the sinister old man at the ford, who cherishes his box of relics and terrifies Ingeri, and by the rapist’s furious trampling on the gleaming white candles that tumble from Karin’s bag” (Cowie, “Bergman in Trasition”). The film is defined by its religious motifs and the plot develops because of the conflict that exists between the two tradition, one dying and the other barely becoming prominent.

The film presents Christian and Pagan traditions as rather mythological. The stories regarding their respective dieties sound like legends, like a perfection that can never be attained. When the beggar approached the youngest herder as he tries to sleep, he tries to comfort him with stories of hell. The place he describes is horrible and scorching, and yet he argues that at the moment that the individual is to be enveloped the fire and evil, a hand, presumably God’s, will reach down and save him. However, after Töre has forced the older herder onto the fire, and approaches the youngest herder, no ‘hand’ saves him. There is no miraculous salvation for him. In a similar way, when Ingeri enters the old man’s hut, he presents her with the remains of one of his previous sacrifices. Ingeri tries to run, but fumbles and trips only to look up and see the old man magically appear before her. The old man, a worshiper of Odin, and the Christian God are encased in magical and mythological elements. The old man in his magical hut, filled with the remains of his sacrifices, and God never appearing onscreen at all, but allowing the spring to flourish. The characters recognize these elements and know that while they cannot reach that perfection, they should still aim to reach the zenith of flawlessness.

There is a clear dichotomy between the two foster sisters from which the contrasts surge and infuse the film with traces of conflict. While Karin is pure, beautiful and ethereal, Ingeri is dark, sinister and earthy. In this manner, Karin comes to represent Christian values and Ingeri pagan ones. There is an inherent clash between the two since paganism was the principal religious institution until the Christianization of Sweden began in the 11th century (“Christianization of Sweden”). The old traditions were not abandoned instantly and few continued to practice it.

Both girls are needed to emphasize religion. Without one, what the other represents cannot exist. It comes to be that one tradition is defined only by what the other is not. And even if Karin’s outward perfection emphasizes the film’s promotion of Christianity, she is still not perfect inwardly. She only becomes perfect when juxtaposed to all the flaws that exist in Ingeri. The very first time Karin is onscreen, she is spoiled and vain. She talks to her mother as an equal and even has witty responses. Her own mother responds that if she had answered like that to her parents, she would have been punished. This may be Bergman’s way of saying that even if religion is not perfect, it is still necessary. A mother cannot live without her children, and Bergman argues that individual have a similar relationship to religion.

Ingeri cannot become part of respectable society since she is representative of dark, pagan and, in some way, witchery. Her hate of her foster sister, a hate of Christianity and its values stems from her own misfortune. She tells Töre that she began hating Karin when she became pregnant, when she lost respectability. Allegorically, this represents the Christianization of Sweden. The old religion enjoyed popularity, but it is relegated to the shadows when Christianity appears, just as Ingeri is first seen in the shadows trying to revive the flame in the kitchen.

One of the most, if not the most, controversial scene in a Bergman film is the rape scene in The Virgin Spring. Karin sits with the herdsmen, and while they begin to grow more and more macabre, the audience can only look on with the deepest sense of dread. Karin tries to run, but they catch her, and force themselves on her. When the film was released, it was censored by many countries, and even today it continues to be the scene that most people remember (The Criterion Collection DVD Booklet, “Censoring The Virgin Spring”). Its brutal way of approaching the scene is notorious. The attack is so animalistic in nature, that parallels are drawn to paganism. The herdsmen attack Karin with a disregard in consequences, both human and heavenly.

The godless act of the herdsmen groups them closer with the old man at the river, who has exacted sacrifices to Odin. The old man, described as one-eyed in the screenplay, comes to represent Odin and the dark pagan traditions. In his hut, the most conspicuous object is the high wooden chair. It is decorated with carvings of Odin and Thor, and this is where Ingeri realizes that her plea to Odin is being answered (A contrasting image is presented in the farm at Töre’s chair; the carvings are there but they are of saints and other Christian symbolism). She grows afraid of the powers that she once represented. She begins to run as a way to escape and cleanse herself of the evils of paganism. She arrives, however, to the place where Karin is being raped. Dumbstruck, she cannot respond, and can only look on with horror. Paganism has tried to destroy Christianity and regain its former place. It seeks power, and, by destroying the thing that signifies it, its purpose is almost achieved especially since the devout Märeta encourages Töre to revenge the death of their daughter.

Töre’s revenge is exacted with precision. He descends to the same levels of instinct and animalism that the herdsmen inhabited while raping Karin. His pagan revenge is thorough, killing even the youngest of the herdsmen. Merely a child, his innocence can be argued. It is his murder of the child that deeply bothers Töre. He cannot comprehend why god works in the ways he does and is thrown into an internal existential struggle. His faith is re-instituted, however, when they retrieve Karin’s body from the forest. When the spring wells forth, he witnesses a miracle and his shaky faith is restored to an even stronger point. Paganism’s goal is therefore thwarted, and God’s power reigns over the land.

When the film was initially released, it received mixed reviews. Most critics believed that while the technical mastery of the craftsmanship was superb, the subject matter and Isaksson’s screenplay were questionable (“The Virgin Spring – Reviews and Comments”). After the success of his earlier films, mainly The Seventh Seal and Wild Strawberries, Bergman was heralded by critics as one of the freshest voices in cinema; however, the release and subsequent reception to The Virgin Spring deterred momentarily the status as an imaginative and creative director in the world that he would possess later in his career (Cowie, “Bergman in Transition”). However, as Cowie argues:

The Virgin Spring marked a crucial watershed in Bergman’s attitudes toward life and the cinema. Early in the ensuing decade, he would turn to psychological issues at the expense of ethical ones. He would renounce the historical environment of The Seventh Seal, The Magician, and The Virgin Spring, and he would film his work in a harder, less mannered idiom. So this ruthless parable represents for him both a farewell to the past and a harbinger of the future, just as the 1950s gave way to the 1960s in manifold ways (Cowie, “Bergman in Transition”).

In this way, The Virgin Spring is a transition for Bergman, and thus any differences in the production, especially the work of Sven Nykvist, seem now only fitting. The collaboration that would surge between Bergman and Nykvist would provide their later films with the visual elements for which which they are well known today.

Incidentally, Bergman, in retrospective, saw the film as a failure, and he hardly mentions them in his two autobiographies and in the series of interviews conducted for the book Bergman on Bergman. Bergman once said that “at the time [he]’d thought it a good film, one hell of a fine film! [He] considered it one of [his] best films. [He] thought it was magnificent” (“The Virgin Spring – Reviews and Comments”). He condemned his use of Kurosawa’s methods, especially the tracking shots of Ingeri running through the forest. He recognized the hollowness in the film and saw he was trying to impart an important message, but in the end the film only remained filled with empty images. Regardless of the initial negative reviews, the film went on to win the Academy Award for Best Foreign film in 1961, continues to be seen as part of Bergman’s cannon, and has grown in reputation in recent years.

WORKS CITED

“Audio Commentary: Ingmar Bergman scholar.” The Virgin Spring. Narr. Birgitta Steene. Dir. Ingmar Bergman. 1960. The Criterion Collection DVD. Janus Films, 2009.
“Christianization of Sweden.” Encyclopaedia Britannica. 26 May 2011 <http://britannica.com/eb/article-29852?hook=403674>.
Cowie, Peter. Ingmar Bergman: a critical biography. 1st Limelight ed. New York: Amadeus Press, 1992. 181-90. Print.
Cowie, Peter. “The Virgin Spring: Bergman in Transition.” The Criterion Collection DVD Booklet. Ed. The Criterion Collection, 2006. Print.
Gibson, Arthur, and Lorine M. The Rite of Redemption: an Interpretation of the Films of Ingmar Bergman. Lewiston: Edwin Mellen Press, 1995. 36-85. Print.
“Ingmar Bergman The Virgin Spring – Reviews and Comments.” Ingmar Bergman Face to Face. Ed. Ingmar Bergman Foundation. The Ingmar Bergman Foundation. 26 May 2011 <http://www.ingmarbergman.se/page.asp?guid=BB728513-0E57-46FA-A22E-ED605C3BB46F&LanCD=EN>
Isaksson, Ulla. The Virgin Spring: the Screenplay.Trans. Lars Malmström and David Kushner. New York: Ballantine Books, 1960. Print.
The Virgin Spring. Dir. Ingmar Bergman. Script. Ulla Isaksson. Perf. von Sydow, Max, Gunnel Lindblom, and Birgitta Valberg. The Criterion Collection: 2009, DVD. 89 min.

The Virgin Spring was the second Bergman film I was ever acquainted with, after The Seventh Seal and I must say that there are a few similarities that one can discover between these two films from doing no more than watching the opening credits. Max Von Sydow and Gunnel Lindblom – the knight and the silent female from The Seventh Seal – have returned again to take on leading roles in The Virgin Spring. It is also worth mentioning that this is the last of Bergman’s films to feature an original score; therefore, it is also the last to incorporate Bergman’s famed, yet largely under-appreciated film composer, Erik Nordgren. Thus, through Nordgren’s unique expertise, music is able to play a special role in contributing to the power and effectiveness of this film to connect with its viewers. For example, the usage of that harrowing flute juxtaposed upon dark scenes of shadows and smoke creates a cinematic effect among the likes that only seem to be achieved when executed by the most skillful of filmmakers. Those film makers who can artfully utilize the black and white medium – that is, to the level that Bergman can – are the ones that really have the most talent.
This is the second of work in Bergman’s ‘ouvre’, after The Seventh Seal, that directly deals with questions of disillusionment and identity crisis in relation to one’s religious association. Also, perhaps tied in a bit with the previous motifs are the questions of theodicy that are alluded to, almost constantly, throughout the film. I find that this film is profound in the same way that all good art is; it doesn’t just lead the viewer by the hand but allows him/herself to gain a participant role in the work by forcing him/her to make his/her own interpretation based on the content that is being presented. Certainly, the imagery and allusion is abundant and plentiful, yet, Bergman never just goes right out there and suggests that Karin’s piety is false, that Märeta and Töre are overly devout individuals that have become so disillusioned with the institute of religion that they’ve lost touch with the reality of life and so on and so forth. Lastly, there is the question of old Pagan ritual coming into conflict with the contemporary Christian theology suggested in various symbols and verbal allusions. One might ask, which of these religions are most legitimate and how can god’s figure change from era to era based on subjective interpretation? Accordingly, one may relate this to the motif of theodicy and the character’s seeming desire to ask themselves the age-old question: “If there is a god and he is so great and powerful, how can he allow such injustices to fall upon mankind?”
Although there are many other scenes that deserve attention within this film, due to time constraints I am only apt to speak about one of them, which is, of course — the rape scene. It is truly amazing to me how an artist can manage to portray a scene of such detestable action and consequent tragedy in such a strikingly beautiful and artful manner. The way the camera is set up in between the rape and a thorn bush is deeply symbolic, how it is to be interpreted is left largely up to the viewer, however, the basic implication remains the same, that, fundamentally, Karin has become entrapped and ensnared by something, that has, finally, led to her downfall. From my point of view, I see her flaw as her blind devoutness to Christian theology, which she seems to use only to manipulate people to satisfy her own needs and desires. To provide an example of evidence for this claim, one can point to how Karin convinces her mother to let her wear her hair down in the beginning of the film despite her mother’s extremely pious and god-fearing nature. Thus, one may certainly argue that the thorn bush may symbolize a representation of Karin’s character flaws that end up leading to her tragic downfall.
Be that as it may, perhaps there is a larger implication being alluded to, especially if one considers the end of the film and the clashing of Christian and Pagan iconography. One may suggest that within the film there lies an allusion to the notion that perhaps Christianity is not as important as these individuals thought it was, in fact, maybe it is no more than man-made rhetoric inspired by old Pagan traditions. (Hence, identity crisis) Furthermore, there is also arguably present within the film the suggestion that one’s devoutness to an institution will certainly not be the one to save you in a time of distress or great danger. This sort of an claim can be even further supported if one takes into account the chapter in Bergman’s autobiography Images: My Life in Film on The Seventh Seal in which he stresses the importance of the holiness of people (or general goodness) and the problem of trying to label that holiness as being in association with a particular religion. This attempt to label and reinterpret the “words of god” in his mind (as well as mine), is where we begin to encounter trouble. Thus, given that supporting evidence, one may certainly see this film as a work against institutional religion, yet, as is characteristic of all good art; the meaning of the work is always open to subjective interpretation.

This is my first Bergman film. He dramatically uses light and darkness and rustic scenery well. In fact he presents a story in simple black and white terms, straightforward good and evil. Max von Sydow is the head of a Medieval Swedish household who runs a farm. He and his wife keep a very religious house and treat their servants well for the most part. The cook’s daughter (Pettersson) (it’s not totally clear if she is also Sydow’s daughter) is brunette, dirty, a pregnant teen, pagan, a troublemaker, and in Medieval Swedish culture kind of ugly, but not really very ugly. Sydow and his wife’s legitimate daughter (Lindblom) is blond, always clean, spoiled with rich clothes, an innocent Christian girl, which means a virgin. What can I say? I liked the bad girl, I was more interested in her, and shared her jealousy of the perfect much loved daughter. Anyways, these two are sent on a long trip through the forest to deliver some candles to the nearest church. The classic fairytale archetype is here showing how things really begin when the characters venture into the woods.

I’m skeptical of this Christian good, Pagan bad simplicity. Because the parents practice penance by burning themselves with candle wax or whipping themselves with birch tree branches and say prayer before every meal, and the herdsmen have crooked teeth, one sounds like a monster when he tries to speak, and they are desperate and ravenous you are clearly supposed to see who the bad guys and good guys are. A different time period is presented though and one special feature interview with Lindblom suggested it was meant to be a fairytale like story, so I’ve tried to let my uneasiness with the simplicity pass. In fact, Bergman doesn’t let you have these doubts. As soon as you start feeling sympathetic toward the pagan girl, she starts scheming to let the virgin continue ahead in the woods alone, she starts to wish genuine harm will come to the virgin and when it does she stays back and does nothing to try to stop it. The herdsmen (one well-spoken man, another who has had his tongue cut out in some previous fight, and a young boy who all claim to be brothers) spy the virgin and decide to make her their next game. It is quickly revealed that they are liars and thieves, and they brutally rape and kill her then strip her of her valuables and run off. The young boy does not participate, but stays behind as he is told until his brothers come back, but he becomes very sick from what he saw and runs off too.

Later the herdsmen all together again end up at the house of the virgin they killed and left out in the woods. Her father is kind enough to let them come in for a meal, warm by the fire and sleep the night. It is unclear if they realize where they are at first and plan to further victimize the family, but clues are planted at least in the young boy’s head and he begins to feel very guilty. Well the herdsmen make a couple stupid convenient moves and the mother and father come to realize that their daughter was a victim of these men. The pagan girl has now finally stumbled back and comes clean to Sydow about her part in what happened and what she saw. Sydow begins planning vicious revenge for the morning and murders all three. The young boy probably didn’t deserve death by this point, but the two grown men undoubtedly got what they deserved.

Everyone in the house then goes to find the virgin’s body and there is an excellent scene where the father talks to God. Sydow crumbles to the ground and says something like, “You allowed it to happen. I don’t understand you, God. I don’t understand. My daughter was raped and murdered and I took revenge on three lives and you saw it happen.” He doesn’t know any other way to live than through seeking God’s forgiveness though, so he vows to build a church here in this place with his own two hands. And when he lifts his daughter for his wife and himself to hug her one last time a spring of water starts flowing from where her head was nestled in the dirt. But I think the ultimate message is the part where he questions God and vows to build something good (though a church wouldn’t be my choice) in this place where tragedy occurred.

A tragic tale of a young girl who is on her way to church when she is suddenly ravished by two men and a younglin’. Bergman tests the limits of human faith and revenge with this excellent period piece.

Recap aside, is the revenge of the father justified? The two grown men clearly are guilty, but the young boy, in my opinion, seemed uncomfortable with the whole thing. He even put dirt on her body in order to slightly cover her (another instance of Paganism vs Christianity). People can argue that the movie favors towards Christianity, as this was the time period where that transitioning began, but I think Bergman acknowledges the darker side of belief and hope.

Max von Sydow does an amazing job here as the Pagan-turned-Christian father who exacts his revenge on the three mongers. There is an introduction to this movie on the Criterion Collection DVD by Ang Lee and he notes that at the end of the film, when the family and workers go out to see the body, the father walks off and begs God for forgiveness. Lee notes that what interested him most about this scene was how they used a long shot from behind him, while many other people would have used a medium shot or a close up from in front so we could see his facial expressions. What interested me about this shot/s was how Sydow asks God why he would do this, and even asks him if he’s there. With the added context of the dialogue I found it amusing, as if the long shot itself was a point-of-view shot from God watching this man curse and seek for forgiveness. I don’t know if that was intended or not, but that’s what I got out of it.

The image of the father pushing the tree is unforgettable.

I also disagree with Mr. Smith. It is unfortunate that many younger viewers of this film have been raised in the era of blockbuster movies, where the action must be non-stop and storytelling is a forgotten art form. Bergman is weaving a tale of tragedy. There is a certain amount of background into the nature of these characters that had to be developed before getting to the heart of the story. It had to be established that Karin was a true innocent, one who was too trusting and too naive. The father had to be established as a truly loving and honorable man, one who took his responsibilities seriously. We also had to see the piety of this family, their devotion to God. Only then can the silence of God in this tragedy have its greatest impact on the audience.

Mr. Smith, you ARE missing something. However, the fault is not entirely yours. I would suggest you stop renting Vin Diesel movies and focus on truly worthwhile films.

I could not disagree with Christopher Smith more. Bergman masterfully employs cinematography in this film to create a continuity of human existence that does not modernize his medieval characters by drawing them into the future (Kingdom of Heaven or most other modern historical epics too plentiful to list here), nor does he try to bring his audience into the past in order to sympathize with his characters by creating an epic, in length only, film that desensitizes the viewer to the dissimilar setting before eliciting an emotional response from his audience (like in Clavell’s Shogun or Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai). Instead, in the relatively short amount of time of 89 minutes,Bergman is able to create a believable and universally sympathetic world that requires very little concerted effort from his audience in order to obtain his intended reaction. I do not believe Bergman glamorizes or makes the rape scene beautiful as someone else wrote.The scene of the Von Sydow’s lament over the discovery of his daughter or his rage as he sits in the chair serve as perfect examples of the gap of time being bridged through both magnificent acting and careful cinematography. The revenge as it is portrayed in this film is also not glorified but shown from the perspective of a detached almost analytical observer who both understands and objects to the action taken. For what it’s worth I consider this Bergman’s most stunning film, possibly because of the nostalgic effect it has on me being the first Bergman film i ever watched, but probably it has to do with the intensity of emotion throughout its entirety that would not permit a longer length.

Maybe I’m just missing something everyone else sees in this alleged “cinematic masterpiece”. Strong performances, with a few compelling scenes and powerful imagery – but it’s slow-paced (especially toward the beginning, the story takes about half an hour to get going), pretentious, and tedious much of the time. The story has great potential for drama and suspense, but it never really delivers. Not a bad film, but nowhere near the masterpiece it has been claimed to be.