"The daughter shall inherit the mother’s injuries. The daughter shall suffer for the mother’s failures. The unhappiness of the mother shall be the daughter’s unhappiness. It’s as if the umbilical cord had never been cut. Is that how it is? Is the daughter’s unhappiness the mother’s triumph? Is my grief your secret pleasure?"
"Eva: The mother's injuries are to be handed down to the daughter. The mother's failures are to be paid for by the daughter. The mother's unhappiness is to be the daughter's unhappiness. It's as if the umbilical cord had never been cut..." How brillantly, how magnificently does Bergman express the complexities of aching love and maddening hatred between mother and daughter. Theatrical and wretched in its honesty.
Igieniche confessioni notturne per dispiegare le sfumature d'amore/odio/dolore di un'infinita scala cromatica. Le parole delle due splendide attrici protagoniste, furie volteggianti in una cornice teatrale, rivelano quanto a fondo Bergman si sia spinto nella sua volontà di capire.