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| Source: Wikipedia |
As summarized above, the Swedes toss us another bizarre psychological drama sandwiched between montages of surreal imagery. It just oozes bullshit symbolism. Film reels; giant spiders; baby lambs; dead people; a sad boy reading in bed; crucifixion. What does it mean, Ingmar Bergman. Who cares, you're dead.
The discernible story involves an actress. She cuts off communication with the outside world, by writing or speaking or even emoting. A nurse tends to her, then takes her on a beach trip. To get the actress talking, the nurse starts talking. A lot. The one-sided conversation waxes terrifyingly personal, such as orgy stories and other such dalliances.
When the actress finally speaks, it turns out--surprise--she's an insufferable bitch. This display is just another act.
SUDDENLY DANCING SKELETON SUITS, SCREECHY MUSIC, MORE CRUCIFIXION, WHAT THE HELL AM I WATCHING?
Back to monotone conversations. This I can handle.
The best/worst scene sticks in my head. A whole conversation lingers on a still shot of one woman's expressionless face. Then, the film repeats the same conversation, just aimed at the other woman's face. The acting is so subtle you might miss it entirely.
Rambling conversation bandies about various themes: fluidity of identity, the pains of pregnancy/abortion/childbirth, nihilism. Sometimes, the philosophically dense girl-talk breaks out in physical violence, as they tend to. The nurse shakes the actress, beats her against a table, slaps her, scrapes her fingernails on her arm, draws blood, sucks the blood...
No, I did not understand this movie.
In the end, the actress and nurse realize they are the same. I think.
Because clear communication would ruin the artsy fun.
84 minutes.
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