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.