Post by petrolino on Feb 28, 2020 21:00:18 GMT
Harriet Andersson : The Face Of Valentina
"Aside from their intimidating themes of God, identity, and existential angst, Ingmar Bergman’s films are instantly distinguishable by his small repertory company. He not only established a rapport with performers, writing roles with specific actors in mind (or expediently creating entire movies around the interactions of two actors), but also had romantic relationships with several of them. The personal and professional benefits of these relationships cannot be understated, and are critical for understanding much of his output. An early inspiration and lover, and one of the few players who worked with Bergman in both his pre- and post-1960 work, was Harriet Andersson. Far from the Anita Ekberg paragon of the tall, blonde Swedish sex bomb, Andersson nevertheless became an international symbol of liberated, confident sexuality with the acting chops to back it up. A skilled performer who could switch from the skipping cheerfulness of a Rococo painting to the roiling unease of a Goya, her large eyes and full lips were a palette that could be used to paint emotions and everyday struggles that were difficult to verbalize.
Their first collaboration, Summer with Monika (1953), established the main “type” she would play for him: a working-class woman who was very aware of her socio-economic status, but also ineffably strong-willed, and searching for a larger purpose in life. Many working-class female characters in his oeuvre were relegated to supporting roles; in some cases, such as Agda in Wild Strawberries or Anna in Cries and Whispers, these workingwomen provided emotional labor that did not (or, more accurately, could not) be provided by members of the wealthy families. Andersson, by contrast, was frequently a lead or co-lead, spitting earnest truths about a situation, and fiercely fighting even if she would ultimately be defeated.
These characters’ and their respective struggles were distinct from the vast majority of characters suffering existential crises in Bergman’s dramas (Anna in Persona is another rare instance of a working-class co-lead), as well as from the modern understanding of the conditions under which such doubts arise. In 1943, Abraham Maslow published “A Theory of Human Motivation,” and theorized that once more basic needs of hunger, safety, and belonging are resolved, humans are motivated to solve more complex questions of esteem and self-actualization. Whereas most of Bergman’s heroines experienced existential struggles because their lower needs had already been met, Andersson’s characters grappled with material and existential problems. Bergman’s interest in this dual confrontation reflects his interest in the naturalists, who focused their dramas on young women who had to work for a living, and show how they could not support themselves as domestics or shop girls, and were instead forced into prostitution, a type of involuntary immorality that would spiral into emotional suffering, shame, and angst. August Strindberg, one of the most important naturalist playwrights and a key influence on Bergman, conceived of himself as a member of the “Underclass,” as his mother was a servant before she married his father; for him, the “Överclass” (the wealthy) had a hostile relationship to those who were not truly one of them.
These not-quite Marxist class struggles (as the terminology is borrowed from Nils Quiding) are the centerpieces of Strindberg’s embellished autobiographical novel The Red Room and theatrical works like Miss Julie. Bergman, chewing over more than the question of where to put the actors, studied the wide array of dramatic and socio-economic tensions evident in Strindberg’s works. As a result, he produced female characters that were not simply trapped by a bad marriage but equally punished by their own doubts, expectations about their behavior, and the absence of direction (or God) in their lives. (Peter and Katarina’s meltdown in the first episode of Scenes from a Marriage rather perfectly encapsulates this polyphonic unhappiness that is drawn from Strindberg’s masterful titration of dramatic action.)"
Their first collaboration, Summer with Monika (1953), established the main “type” she would play for him: a working-class woman who was very aware of her socio-economic status, but also ineffably strong-willed, and searching for a larger purpose in life. Many working-class female characters in his oeuvre were relegated to supporting roles; in some cases, such as Agda in Wild Strawberries or Anna in Cries and Whispers, these workingwomen provided emotional labor that did not (or, more accurately, could not) be provided by members of the wealthy families. Andersson, by contrast, was frequently a lead or co-lead, spitting earnest truths about a situation, and fiercely fighting even if she would ultimately be defeated.
These characters’ and their respective struggles were distinct from the vast majority of characters suffering existential crises in Bergman’s dramas (Anna in Persona is another rare instance of a working-class co-lead), as well as from the modern understanding of the conditions under which such doubts arise. In 1943, Abraham Maslow published “A Theory of Human Motivation,” and theorized that once more basic needs of hunger, safety, and belonging are resolved, humans are motivated to solve more complex questions of esteem and self-actualization. Whereas most of Bergman’s heroines experienced existential struggles because their lower needs had already been met, Andersson’s characters grappled with material and existential problems. Bergman’s interest in this dual confrontation reflects his interest in the naturalists, who focused their dramas on young women who had to work for a living, and show how they could not support themselves as domestics or shop girls, and were instead forced into prostitution, a type of involuntary immorality that would spiral into emotional suffering, shame, and angst. August Strindberg, one of the most important naturalist playwrights and a key influence on Bergman, conceived of himself as a member of the “Underclass,” as his mother was a servant before she married his father; for him, the “Överclass” (the wealthy) had a hostile relationship to those who were not truly one of them.
These not-quite Marxist class struggles (as the terminology is borrowed from Nils Quiding) are the centerpieces of Strindberg’s embellished autobiographical novel The Red Room and theatrical works like Miss Julie. Bergman, chewing over more than the question of where to put the actors, studied the wide array of dramatic and socio-economic tensions evident in Strindberg’s works. As a result, he produced female characters that were not simply trapped by a bad marriage but equally punished by their own doubts, expectations about their behavior, and the absence of direction (or God) in their lives. (Peter and Katarina’s meltdown in the first episode of Scenes from a Marriage rather perfectly encapsulates this polyphonic unhappiness that is drawn from Strindberg’s masterful titration of dramatic action.)"
- Violet Lucca, Bright Wall/Dark Room
"There’s something in the way Harriet Andersson moves. Throughout the Swedish actress’ 45-year career, not counting a small role in Lars von Trier’s “Dogville” (2003), she effortlessly commanded the screen while communicating sharp emotions without saying a word. The French New Wave filmmakers recognized Andersson’s appeal, as her fourth wall gaze in “Summer with Monika” (1953) inspired the closing shots of both François Truffaut’s “The 400 Blows” (1959) and Jean-Luc Godard’s “Breathless” (1960)—two early classics of La Nouvelle Vague. And the legendary Swedish filmmaker Ingmar Bergman certainly admired the former theatre performer, as he cast her in several of his most ambitious features. Yet Andersson remains one of cinema’s most undervalued icons."
- Q.V. Hough, 'I Have Seen Grace'
"Harriet Andersson did not fit easily within the confines of Swedish art cinema of the time."
- Roland Ardent, 'Art House Confidential'
'Through a Glass Darkly - While vacationing on a remote island retreat, a family finds its fragile ties tested when daughter Karin (an astonishing Harriet Andersson) discovers her father (Gunnar Björnstrand) has been using her schizophrenia for his own literary ends. As she drifts in and out of lucidity, Karin’s father, her husband (Max von Sydow), and her younger brother (Lars Passgård) are unable to prevent her descent into the abyss of mental illness. Winner of the Academy Award for best foreign-language film, Through a Glass Darkly, the first work in Ingmar Bergman’s trilogy on faith and the loss of it, presents an unflinching vision of a family’s near disintegration and a tortured psyche further taunted by the intangibility of God’s presence.'
- The Criterion Collection
"I recently gushed over Harriet Andersson for her career-defining performance in Summer with Monika. A catapult, too, for her director Ingmar Bergman. I fell in love (again) with Andersson the actress, her character, the whole persona. The Swedish actress would mesmerize me when I first came to see her work, from a film eight years later – Through a Glass Darkly – also from Bergman."
- Robin Write, Filmotomy
"The great subject of the cinema, Ingmar Bergman believed, is the human face. He'd been watching Michelangelo Antonioni on television, he told me during an interview, and realized it wasn't what Antonioni said that absorbed him, but the man's face. Bergman was not thinking about anything as simple as a closeup, I believe. He was thinking about the study of the face, the intense gaze, the face as window to the soul. Faces are central to all of his films, but they are absolutely essential to the power of what has come to be called his Silence of God Trilogy: "Through a Glass Darkly" (1961), "Winter Light" (1962) and "The Silence" (1963).
In the conventional language of cinema, a closeup is part of the grammar, used to make a point, show a reaction, emphasize an emotion. They fit into the rhythm of the cutting of a scene. But in these three films, and many others, Bergman was not using his close shots that way. His characters are often alone, or in twos. They are not looking at anything in particular -- or, perhaps, they're looking inside themselves. He requires great concentration on the part of his actors, as in "Through a Glass Darkly," where Harriet Andersson's face is held in the foreground and another character in the background for a long span of time in which she focuses on a point in space somewhere to screen right, and never blinks, nor does an eyeball so much as move. The shot communicates the power of her obsession, with her belief that voices are calling to her.
Frequently Bergman uses what I think of as "the basic Bergman two-shot," which is a reductive term for a strategy of great power. He places two faces on the screen, in very close physical juxtaposition, but the characters are not looking at each other. Each is focused on some unspecified point off-screen, each is looking in a different direction. They are so close, and yet so separated. It is the visual equivalent of the fundamental belief of his cinema: That we try to reach out to one another, but more often than not are held back by compulsions within ourselves.
In framing these shots, Bergman works hand-in-hand with his cinematographer, Sven Nykvist, one of the greatest artists of his craft. Nykvist makes us realize that most movies simply illuminate faces, while he lights them. Especially since the advent of television, movies have used a lighting style that flattens the image and makes it all seem on one plane. One reason we like film noir is that it uses angles, shadows and strategic lighting more boldly. In a Bergman film, if you freeze a frame on one of his two-shots, you'll see that Nykvist has lighted each face separately, and often not from the same source; he uses the lights to create a band of shadow that is like a dark line drawn between the faces, separating them."
In the conventional language of cinema, a closeup is part of the grammar, used to make a point, show a reaction, emphasize an emotion. They fit into the rhythm of the cutting of a scene. But in these three films, and many others, Bergman was not using his close shots that way. His characters are often alone, or in twos. They are not looking at anything in particular -- or, perhaps, they're looking inside themselves. He requires great concentration on the part of his actors, as in "Through a Glass Darkly," where Harriet Andersson's face is held in the foreground and another character in the background for a long span of time in which she focuses on a point in space somewhere to screen right, and never blinks, nor does an eyeball so much as move. The shot communicates the power of her obsession, with her belief that voices are calling to her.
Frequently Bergman uses what I think of as "the basic Bergman two-shot," which is a reductive term for a strategy of great power. He places two faces on the screen, in very close physical juxtaposition, but the characters are not looking at each other. Each is focused on some unspecified point off-screen, each is looking in a different direction. They are so close, and yet so separated. It is the visual equivalent of the fundamental belief of his cinema: That we try to reach out to one another, but more often than not are held back by compulsions within ourselves.
In framing these shots, Bergman works hand-in-hand with his cinematographer, Sven Nykvist, one of the greatest artists of his craft. Nykvist makes us realize that most movies simply illuminate faces, while he lights them. Especially since the advent of television, movies have used a lighting style that flattens the image and makes it all seem on one plane. One reason we like film noir is that it uses angles, shadows and strategic lighting more boldly. In a Bergman film, if you freeze a frame on one of his two-shots, you'll see that Nykvist has lighted each face separately, and often not from the same source; he uses the lights to create a band of shadow that is like a dark line drawn between the faces, separating them."
- Roger Ebert, The Chicago Sun-Times
Gunnel Lindblom, Jeanne Moreau, Ingmar Bergman & Bibi Andersson in Paris, France
Harriet Andersson - born 14 February, 1932 in Stockholm, Sweden
'My Funny Valentine' - The Miles Davis Quartet in Milan, Italy
Definitely one for the GAME OF THRONES crowd.
