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Ingmar Bergman’s Winter Light is the second installment in a trilogy of films that deal with the artist coming to terms with his spiritual identity. Bergman himself notes in his autobiography that all three films deal with reduction but specifically: “Through a Glass Darkly – conquered certainty. Winter Light – penetrated certainty.” (p. 245) He also states that Through a Glass Darkly should be regarded as the starting point for Winter Light. Bergman started to formulate some of his thematic concepts regarding religion in the latter film, while really honing in on his thematic intentions in the former. One can see evidence for this claim in the repetition of such key phrases as “God is love” and “Spider-god”; while God’s silence is only alluded to in Through a Glass Darkly, it is openly discussed in Winter Light.
We have a main character in the form of Pastor Ericsson, a religious figure who is undergoing a crisis of identity as he realizes that his whole existence has been based on a fabrication, an abstraction, a false hope; yet, through all of the tragedies that take place throughout the film, it seems, that as in other Bergman films, the healing/therapeutic power of human relationships is the closest thing that one can have to a divine experience. One might point to the Bergman’s chapter on The Seventh Seal in his autobiography in which he speaks about the common factor amongst all religions, or, a certain general holiness of people. I think this is what Bergman stresses here when the character of Algot, the hunchback, reminds Pastor Ericsson that “God is love”. It seems suggested that whether God does or doesn’t exist doesn’t matter as long as you maintain that what is important is human relationships, thus, Pastor Ericsson ends the film doing a service for no more than his mistress and the hunchback sexton, Algot.
Bergman states in his autobiography that not one shot in the entire film is done in direct sunlight, he insisted on only shooting on gloomy, overcast days to ensure that the ambiance of the film would be reflective of the harsh conditions of the weather and moreover, of the jaded, grim psychological compositions of the characters. It is certainly interesting to see Sven Nykvist branching out from his usual polished, glossy style that we’ve come to know with his earlier collaborations with Bergman such as The Virgin Spring and Through a Glass Darkly. Three of the actors within this cast have been in films that have previously been screened in our class before: Gunnar Björnstrand, Max Von Sydow and Gunnel Lindblom.
In the scene in which Pastor Erisson and his mistress, Märta, are in the car together and a train passes by, it is arguable that when he makes his comment “it was my parents dream that I became a clergyman” that his statement is representative of Bergman himself — a bit of the artist’s own preoccupations and sentiments seeping through his own work; regardless, Bergman notes himself in his autobiography that this is one of his favorite scenes in the film in its thematic and artistic depth. If one looks closely, one may notice how each passing train cart is meant to resemble a coffin, heightening the intensity of the reminder of the Pastor’s mortality as he has just seen his life flash before his eyes as he was leaving the schoolhouse before he called back to Märta and asked her to come along. Also, in an earlier scene where Pastor Ericsson is guarding the body of the dead fisherman, Jonas Persson, and we get this marvelous imagery of this bitterly cold, and frigid winter lake. There seems to be the implication, although this might be a stretch, that there is some kind of a rebirth going on here; one may argue that the character of Jonas serves as the martyr figure for Pastor Ericsson as he saves his life in realizing his salvation lies in human relationships. “God is Love.”

Bibliography:
1. Bergman, Ingmar. Images: My Life in Film. New York: Arcade Pub., 2007. Print.

As the second of Bergman’s trilogy of faith, Winter Light is also his second-most misinterpreted, after The Silence (the third). The story presents a number of very distinct characters in different spiritual realities: the pastor having a crisis of faith; his schoolteacher mistress; a suicidal family man; his ever-practical wife; a materialistic organist; and a sycophantic but faithful assistant. Bergman presents the death of God through the hardening into meaninglessness of ceremony and the failure of each character to provide any sympathy or compassion for each other. Instead, each drifts away from religion in his or her own way, respectively: the loss of love; the rise of science; depression; attention to only practical life; and material cravings. The exception is the assistant, a hunchback presented as relatively unintelligent, who, we find out, is becoming more faithful by reading the Gospels, first to put himself to sleep, but eventually to give meaning to his suffering.

The film is focused around the cry of Jesus on the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” The pastor, a man of faith for many years, repeats these words as he curses God for his silence amid suffering. At this moment, the future of faith looks bleak, indeed, as the pastor brusquely tells the suicidal fisherman – the failing apostle of a faithless teacher – that it makes no difference if God exists or not.

However, this is not the end of the Gospel story, or Bergman’s. Indeed, the resurrection of Christ is mirrored by the pastor’s rediscovery of faith through the idiot, who teaches him that the physical pain Christ suffered paled in comparison to his suffering from the silence of his Father, but his suffering is not meaningless, but a sacrifice for the sins of the world. At the crux, the pastor has to decide whether to celebrate mass for the two who helped him and his mistress who accompanied him, or to cancel it. The choice is made for him by the idiot, who turns on the lights and rings the bells, causing the schoolteacher to beg for faith, despite her atheistic upbringing and Enlightenment worldview.

Thus, Winter Light ends on a distinctly optimistic note for faith, just as the first of the trilogy, Through a Glass Darkly, did (“Father spoke to me!”). The key to understanding both this film, and, to an even greater degree, The Silence, is not an acceptance of a skeptical modern world, but the acknowledgment that the silence of God is not the end of faith, but only its test.

I suspect, due to the demographics of the audience, that many will dispute my theistic take on this film, but I fervently deny that Bergman is as jadedly modernist as Antonioni or Godard. Due to his upbringing by an abusive Lutheran minister father, he is utterly concerned with the place of faith in the modern world, and it is a great disservice to assume academic atheism in his work or the critique of it. He sees that possibility – thus the character of the mistress – but knows there is more to be dealt with – thus the trilogy, among his other religious works.

Of the countless Bergman masterpieces, Winter Light might stand at the very top. It is a bleak, spare and powerful tour de force. This was the second and I think best of his proclaimed “Silence of God Trilogy”. Each film in the trilogy becomes darker and more pessimistic than the last. Oddly enough, despite the austere nature of the film and its ambiguous ending, I find it to be ultimately hopeful. This is because the power of faith is displayed. Not faith in god, but in man. Despite the harsh words spoken by Tomas to Marta and their tumultuous relationship, she still believes in him and is reaching out to help. I think that Bergman was trying to show that our most important relationships in life are not with god, but with people. Instead of the empty words of religion in a time of crisis, it is how we communicate with others that will most effectively console us. Once we lose the will to form and maintain meaningful relationships with others, then we are lost. After Tomas’s wife died years before, he shut himself off from true human connections and as a result was not able to help Jonas with his crisis. Tomas’s own problems caused him to be selfish and hurtful to those close to him. This is something many of us have been guilty of to different degrees. In the end Tomas may have lost his faith in god, but there is a glimmer of hope that he will one day open up to Marta again. It will only be when he regains his faith in others that he will truly be able to live again.

Part II of Bergman’s “Trilogy of Faith”, Winter Light, considers the plight of Tomas, a country priest. He’s asked by a woman in his congregation, Karin if he will speak to her husband, Jonas, who’s suffering from an existential crisis apparently brought on by rumors that Mao’s China has acquired “the bomb.” He agrees, but faced with a dwindling congregation and a loveless, secret affair with the atheistic Marta (engrossingly portrayed by Ingrid Thulin), he finds that he has only doubt and self-loathing to heap upon the already suicidal Jonas.

The film’s a masterpiece of quiet desperation. The opening sequence of the service in the nearly empty chapel subtly communicates the indifference, boredom, and mind-numbing ritualism that any of us who’ve ever been to church have had to endure. Even more fascinating is the powerful verbal battle between Tomas and Marta that takes place during the film’s second act; the emotionally dizzying turns from hatred to love, defiance to subservience, foreshadow Bergman’s verbal epic of the following decade, Scenes from a Marriage. For me, the only flaw sprang from the implausibility of both the source and resolution of Jonas’s dilemma.

Well, I was moved enough by this film to post my first ‘review’. It should be said that I am a musician not a film maker or cinema expert etc so take this review with a healthy pinch of salt (it’s my uninformed opinion.)

I only gave it three stars (ok it’s a silly points system but as a rule of thumb it’s sort of reasonable.)

I really liked some aspects of this film, particularly the beginning where there is an extended sequence in the church, you get to see all of the characters and you naturally make conscious/unconscious assumptions about them, this drew me into the film.

Was really enjoying it until the strange to-camera shot (if I can call it that) from the pastor’s girlfriend/partner where she reads the letter (I don’t remember the character’s name, not worth looking it up either.)

I understand the function of the letter, quite a useful device in terms of understanding her feelings about the relationship and I also understand the difficulty in terms of presenting it cinematically (the pastor couldn’t read it, and voiceover wouldn’t work either); I don’t have a solution but I thought it was a strange break with the rest of the film.

Another element that I thought a bit clumsy was the part at the end where the old guy talks about Jesus’s most difficult moment (about faith), this chimes with the pastor’s experience, this is too neat/cute (in my opinion, hence the use of the term ‘clumsy’, ‘clunky’ would do too, ‘unsubtle’, take your pick.)

At times I felt like I was watching an upper-middle-brow version of an episode of Eastenders (trouble and strife sans insight with a side-order of pseudo-profundity thrown in.)

On the plus side the performances are fantastic, some of the screenplay is excellent as is the overall mood and photography (that white, winter light comes across well.) The lack of music is good too (or rather, I liked it.)

Overall, I thought this film was a bit of let down in terms of narrative and conceptual/philosophical content (despair about faith and nuclear war, ok, and?, what about it?) but was strong in some formal and technical areas.

*as I said at the top, this is my subjective and uninformed view, take it or leave it (there are no objective criteria, obviously, this isn’t science/sport.)

Winter Light is probably one of the most amazing, jaw-dropping movies I’ve seen in a while. I would even go as far as to say that it’s better than the Seventh Seal, but I want to give it another viewing before I finally decide. Either way this is an … (read more) Winter Light is probably one of the most amazing, jaw-dropping movies I’ve seen in a while. I would even go as far as to say that it’s better than the Seventh Seal, but I want to give it another viewing before I finally decide. Either way this is an exceptional masterpiece and a milestone in cinema. All the usual suspects are present in this dreary film: Max von Sydow (my personal fav. of the crew) puts on, in my opinion, his best performance (at least from what I’ve seen) as a sullen man who looses his faith and begins to question the value of life due to an article he read in the paper about China. Gunnar Bjornstrand stars as the pastor Karin, another man who is slowly loosing his faith after his wife passed away four years ago. Ingrid Thulin plays a schoolteacher who steals the show, especially when Karin is reading her letter. If there’s one trademark that Bergman has, it’s shooting in close-ups, and it’s put to the final test here during this reading. This is one of the most heart wrenching moments I have ever seen in cinema. I know someone who acted exactly like her character in the movie, and it’s frightening how Bergman nailed this persona head on. Berman is truly a master at weaving tales about the human condition.

The photography is great, but the acting is what really makes this movie work. When we hear the bad news about Max von Sydow’s character, my mouth literally dropped. The scene where Karin explains his true feelings to Ingrid Thulin’s character is just as effective, and the ending is phenomenal. However, even in a world as dark and dreary as this Bergman still manages to light a candle in the dark when we see Karin perform his sermon in the end. I highly, highly recommend this movie to everyone.

This is my favorite Bergman film. It represents what I consider to be the essence of film: it is stripped of all pretense of entertainment and acts solely as a mirror to reflect our own image back upon ourselves. There is no unnecessary scene, not a single wasted shot, nor any superfluous dialogue. The film is dark, spare and vibrant with emotion and turmoil. It is beautiful, horrifying and exquisite.

The Swedish title of the film is “The Communicants.” I like “Winter Light” much better. The film is part of Bergman’s trilogy, often called the trilogy of God’s silence. We look for God, seek Him out. God often seems absent, as if He does not exist. When He does appear to us, He is not the brilliant light of the world we often hope for. The Light of God is often distant and muted, offering little in the way of warmth. In fact, God’s light seems cold, like the sun’s light of a cloudy winters day.

Not as well known as other Bergman masterpieces such as The Seventh Seal, Persona or Cries and Whispers — but just as rich and rewarding for the patient viewer. As an autobiographical stand-in for Bergman himself, Gunnar Bjornstrand plays a sickly pastor (the actor was actually suffering through an illness throughout the production) who begins to doubt the effectiveness of God’s power when he is visited by a suicidal member of his congregation (Max von Sydow), who is plunged into depression when he reads that China has nuclear weapons. Not only are Bjornsrand’s sermans robotic and meaningless, but he can’t even provide comfort when he sits down with von Sydow; he just complains about his own disillusionment with God. Thus, von Sydow kills himself. Bjornstrand also spurs the continuing affections of his once-girlfriend Ingrid Thulin, as he is still in love with his long-dead wife. In an arresting scene, Bjornstrand reads a letter from Thulin, and Bergman shows us her reading directly into the camera, her eyes accusatory and wounded. This is the formal experimentation that Bergman (who is often falsely accused of being too theatrical in his style) would push to the limit in Persona. Bergman treads familar ground in questioning the meaning of faith; the role of God in the everyday, practical lives of men and women (when the pastor delivers to the news of von Sydow’s suicide to his loving and desperatly worried wife, she responds by simply walking dry-eyed into the dining room to inform their many children — simply because that is what she must do, and there is no time for grieving); and how we lash out and hurt those closest to us, and accept pain unblinkingly from those we love (the painfully one-sided relationship between Bjornstrand and Thulin). Film is part of Bergman’s Trilogy (including Through A Glass Darkly and The Silence, neither yet seen by me), which together examine a world abandoned by God. Sven Nykvist’s cinematography is perfectly austere, revealing every nuance of the pain within these people.

Criterion’s DVD has surprisingly few extras: Peter Cowie’s discussion of the film mostly examines the autobiographical nature of the film.