Kritiken

Balanced admirably between representations of both the bleak realities as well as the unexpected joys of living, what Bergman gives us in WILD STRAWBERRIES is an unforgettable lesson that life—even when you don’t deserve it—hands you little gifts of camaraderie and friendship, little windows of opportunity for connection, reminders of all the ways that life and cinema can be beautiful.

Bergman is actively wrestling with his torments and desires; he isn't working toward a preconceived conclusion. Wild Strawberries's supporting characters aren't chided as impulsive bubble-heads readymade for Borg's scorn, as Bergman dramatizes, with aching precision, the forcefully erotic beauty of life that Borg is missing due to what's essentially buried self-loathing. One of the reasons Bergman was such an art-house juggernaut was simple: He made suffering sexy.

The rancor of old age is its own purgatory, geriatric thawing is a crisscrossing spectacle, a constellation dilated by Resnais in Providence. Scolded in merciless dreams and awarded in pompous ceremonies, the chastened curmudgeon has at long last the reward of a smiling flirtation and a peaceful night's sleep. "A nice and relaxing drive, wasn't it?" Sjöström's sublimely creased face in serene close-up comprises the concluding oasis, Bergman contemplates the miracle in awe and envy.

In its less complicated moments, the film is one of the most natural car films on record, being kept free of both meatball melodrama (as happened in The Hitchhiker and Wages of Fear) and high-powered folksy humor... However, as the movie purrs along with a sure-handed grace, it becomes obvious that Bergman the Dream Merchant is often practicing stock riffs. Bergman shows the doctor caught in dreams that are a web of dated maneuvers from the scarier wing of museum art.