...Men filmen är min älskarinna (2010) - full transcript

...BUT FILM IS MY MISTRESS

Ingmar Bergman.

The master, Ingmar Bergman.

Later he just became Ingmar to me.

But at the time I met him...

he was just the great, great,
unforgettable director.

We're talking of the time

when we were all good friends.

There was Ingmar and Bibi Andersson,

and the cinematographer Sven Nykvist.

I had one line of dialogue
and it was “Nothing.”



But to play a mute character,

who observed and listened,
that I could do.

And I understood —
I am Ingmar.

That was my fortune as an actress.

I recognized him

and he recognized me.

I'm 100 percent certain...

that I produce consumer goods

both in the theater and on film.

And whether they survive me

or not —

or what people say —

makes absolutely no difference to me.

And I honestly mean that.



AFTER THE REHEARSAL

The only thing that means anything...

when I'm working...

is that the work

should be meaningful

for those who perform it...

and at the same time
that it should be alive.

Meaning that it should take on
a life of its own.

There's only one thing
that I'm afraid of.

And God should know
I'm terrified of it.

And it's that...

suddenly my ability
to make something living...

and touching

will be taken from me
or that I'll lose it.

That suddenly
I won't know what to do,

or that time will pass me by.

Now, some practical considerations.

We'll start in the morning.

I was thinking that if it suits you,
which we can discuss,

we should start rehearsing at 11 :00.

-Does that work?
-Yes.

Does anybody have any objection?
Efland?

We should be able to handle staging
in three instances by doing the following:

Pages 1 through 20 tomorrow,
which is Tuesday.

And then on Wednesday
we'll do your scene.

-How many pages is that?
-About 20 pages.

And then the rest on Thursday.

Sven, you don't have to feel obligated
to be here on these days,

but you can be here if you feel like it.

Yes, I know.

I've promised to take a few days off.

I think you should.

Where are you going?

-Up to Dalarna.
-Dalarna?

Yes, I'm going to go skiing.

-Action.
-How old are you really, Anna Egerman?

Guess.

You're the same age
as my youngest daughter.

I should be here. Here.

-Maybe here.
-You're father is —

How about this?
Where he's turned towards her.

First her alone and then —

The lighting is more interesting.

I've always taken as a whole
the work of artists I admire.

For example, if you asked me,

“Do you ha ve a specific relationship
with a painting by Vermeer

or a painting by Pierre Bonnard?”

I'd answer, “My relationship
is with the body of work,

the worldview that is expressed through
that artist's entire body of work.”

Sometimes it's the tiniest
or strangest details

that are the most precious to me

due to the interesting way they fit
into the artist's work as a whole.

From that point of view, I've always seen
Bergmanis work as a whole.

Yes, it's strange.

Kerstin, you're the script supervisor,

it's strange that she looks
so much older in pictures.

The secret to Ingmar Bergman's directing
is that he's always right here amongst us.

They always ask.

I have his head under my arm.

Make the complete turn.

No, first you say —

-Dear God.
-Good God.

God. Oh, dear God.

I turn and look down.

Yes, the complete turn.

-Should I do it?
-Wait a minute, let me check with Sven.

When did you stop it there?

Over the years —
ever so slowly —

we've developed a working technique.

I'll sit at home preparing intensively,

developing the staging,

mapping it out
so I can imagine it in my head.

But once I'm in the studio
with the actors and the camera

setting up the staging,

it may suddenly happen
during the first rehearsal

that an inflection,
gesture or expression by one of the actors

causes me to change everything.

Because I feel it's better.

But it doesn't have to be
spoken between us.

Through me you'll hear tones
you've never heard before.

Isn't that worth something?

Don't do it all the same.
“Isn't that worth something?”

So it's not all the same.

I'll have to turn it up.

That's okay.

I mean now, during rehearsals.
So it's not all the same.

So, let's see —

-There. How far did you go?
-We went to that spot before.

-What?
-Where they are now.

We went up to here, right?

There. Let's keep it
as tight on them as possible.

I imagine it like this.

So after a week we start
talking after rehearsals.

We have to discuss your part, right?

We go to the canteen for a coffee,

bringing a colleague along as an alibi.

Then we start meeting in my room.

We sit far apart

and drink mineral water
and nibble on biscuits.

Everyone knows, but no one says anything.

Johan slinks around,

courted by sympathetic
female drama students.

There's a general atmosphere of euphoria —

Stop. Stop there.

-And then?
-And then?

And then we start meeting more often.
Mostly in the afternoon after rehearsals.

I'm getting too close with the zoom.

If we go slightly slower
it will work better.

-You feel it's more fluid?
-Exactly.

The background is constantly new.

And the corners.

It's the corners I'm worried about.
They feel strange.

Yes, I trail behind a bit.

It was a bit long.

Everyone knows, but no one says anything.

Johan slinks around,

courted by sympathetic
female drama students.

There's a general atmosphere of euphoria,

occasionally interrupted by violent
but harmless thunderstorms.

At 11 :00 I give you a ride home.

Our relationship is sweet
and full of promise.

I kiss your cheek. “Take care,” I say.

You look at me
with an inscrutable smile

and slowly shake your head.

-Your eyes —
-Thank you.

There. That was about it.

Yes, I understand what you mean.

SHAME

Today, I saw Shame again
and I was really surprised.

The film fascinated me.
It was contradictory,

complex, poetic,

simultaneously realistic
and dreamlike,

it grappled with the present, yet was
totally out of step with the present.

Seeing it at a different age,
in a different period,

allows you to reinterpret it
in a way that's constantly new.

I think Shame
is one of those “open” films

which seem to tell one story,

but actually, not quite,

for the story is something else,
hidden within the film.

I'll go call an ambulance!

Jan come with me! Jan!

No! Let me go!

It has a desire to confront
the absolute worst,

a need to face the absolute worst,

to face the anxiety of being yourself,

your inner limits.. -

and the abysses
that can open up inside yourself.

It's also a film
that stands at the crossroads

of real life and imagination.

As in all of Bergman's films,
it's portrayed with raw truth,

with an attention
and sense of detail that is cruel.

It hurts.

Yet at the same time,
the film is set in a made-up world.

The film follows the logic of dreams,
a dreamlike logic,

and the scenes unfold
according to a dreamlike logic.

FROM THE LIFE
OF THE MARIONETTES

I'll quote Strindberg
from The Road to Damascus...

and say,
“In spite of my melancholy temperament

I've never been able
to take anything seriously.”

And I think that feels good,

because that's how it is.

And even if you depict
the very worst thing in the world

and feel strongly about it,

the fact that you sat down to depict it,

and put a pen to paper
or focused a camera on it,

means that there's already
a desire there...

which makes it okay

to experience some kind of joy

in depicting even the horrible.

Because if you were as tortured

as some of my films
end up becoming,

without me realizing how,

you'd just go hang yourself.

He agreed.
Somewhere in that neighborhood.

I just want to try 30 lengths.

No, but I've never done that.

Yeah, but you'll take to it
like a fish to water.

-Arne Carlsson?
-Yes.

I thought I just heard something.

It hurts me when someone
dismisses Bergmanis films,

saying, “It's cinema for adults,”
or “It's cinema for the bourgeoisie.”

Absolutely not!

It's terrifying for children.
It's perfect.

It's “primitive” cinema,
like the films made in 1910, 1920.

Whenever he speaks of silent film,

it's obvious that he championed
that cinema his whole life.

And now that these characters talk,
let them say wonderful things!

But to me, watching these films,
their gestures are pure silent film.

Katarina.

Look at me.

Please take my hand.

Put it softly to your cheek.

Do you feel my hand?

But do you also feel
that it's me?

That it's me?

See?

Does it make me look older?

You don't want —
You don't want to get older?

-Wrinkles —
-Yes, wrinkles —

Wrinkles don't matter.

Wrinkles —

Wrinkles don't matter.

-It's all that ugliness that tortures me.
-Once more, please.

Wrinkles don't matter.

One thing that touches me deeply,
although all the characters are wonderful,

is the homosexual character.

In his monologue at the girl's house
and later, his monologue with the cop,

the dialogue, everything
he tried to express in The Rite —

a film I still don't quite like —

was an attempt to film
the words of a homosexual

as if they were different
than those of a heterosexual,

an attempt to film something
that is totally homosexual.

He's one of the greatest characters
I've ever seen.

There's such directness and friendship
between the character and Bergman.

It's really beautiful.

-What do you have?
-I think I've got a nice setup.

-Take a look.
-Because I'll cut there exactly.

In the middle of all of this,
Sven Nykvist shows up

with his impressive technical know-how

and his obsession.

-And then a reverse shot.
-Right.

-Now, coffee, finally.
-Last rehearsal?

Yes.

This big, blonde guy,

who looks like a sea captain.

He's —

I don't know what to say.

He's just as crazy
about this as I am.

I mean, he's obsessed
with his work,

even more so than I am.

We have developed
a language between us

so that we barely have to speak.

I'm incredibly dependent on him.

Of course I could work
with another cinematographer

and develop this nomenclature

with another cinematographer,
but why?

We have a shadow cast
from that side over there.

There's a shadow from that side.

A little to the left.

-There?
-That side.

What about her feet?

Wipe them off, no?

I'm not wearing my contacts.
I don't know what he means.

What did you say?

-He can move up.
-From below?

This direction?

Just a little bit more, Christine.
Move over just a little bit more.

A little in that direction, all right?
Like that.

-Higher.
-A little further north.

That's too much.
That's too much.

That's it, yes?

Yes, the largest possible area.

Yes, we're picking up
everything right now.

That's good.

-There. Can you see this?
-Yes.

-And nothing else?
-Nothing else.

Then it comes —

it's good like that.

I thought —

or, more accurately,
I didn't think at all.

It just flowed through my lips
like a multi-colored ribbon.

“If you are my death...

then be welcome, my death.

If you are life...

then be welcome, my life.”

I am in a closed room,
without windows or doors

but also without roof and walls.

Maybe I'm enclosed in a sphere
or an ellipse, I don 7 know.

That's better, yes.
That's better.

From the Life of the Marionettes
is a really strange nightmare,

a sort of white nightmare.

It's very, very weird.

It's close to Strindberg,
it's even worse!

He says, and it's a beautiful image...

that when we're locked in a room

with no doors, no windows,
and all is dark,

like in a Beckett play,

that sort of enclosure,
that utter anxiety,

we must keep one tiny door ajar.

And it's true. In this film,
we sense such anxiety and suffering,

really terrible pain.

-I'll step back.
-No, don't.

-I'll stand here.
-Yes, like that.

And then you say —

-She should —
-I'm almost ready.

That's good.
Yes.

That's it.

-Are you looking or what are you doing?
-I'm cross-eyed, dear Sven.

Yes, that's nice.
Interesting.

-Do you see that?
-Yes, I've never come so close to you.

-Look.
-I see.

I think it's totally nuts.

CRIES & WHISPERS

Bergman has always
been with me, with us.

In my memory,

that insistent red is so obsessive —

the one in Cries & Whispers...

contrasting with the white clothes
the sisters wear.

It's unforgettable.

And it goes beyond...

the plot of the movie

and its psychological connotations.

But that red and that white
convey so many things

that words can't express.

When I begin to write,

I have some sort
of fundamental scene.

In Cries & Whispers,

for the longest time I had a scene

with four white-clad women
in a red room.

Then I started thinking about
why they were there

and what they said to each other
and things like that.

I! was a mysterious scene
and it kept re turning.

It — how would you say it —
It wouldn't leave me alone.

At the beginning of the film,
during the credits, I think,

there are some stationary shots
in the garden of this large villa.

These images are so eloquent.

It's like being pushed...

gently —
no, brutally —

into hell,

and then pulled out again.

Being pushed into hell again...

and then pulled out

with such capable equilibrium. ..

Such a knowledge...

of the subconscious
fabric of the film itself.

Can't you hear that?

Someone's crying.

Can't you hear it?

Someone's crying and crying.

The entire thing
with wide shots or close-ups

is like an ambivalence. ..

Within the director himself.

Suddenly one morning,
you feel a terrible need to —

you feel an excess of vitality —

just to get close to them

and to film them straight down,

somehow to crowd them against the wall

and to extract
their last possible expression...

through torment.

To get them
to reach far beyond their limits.

Sometimes there's an incredible desire

to break through your own
and your actors' limits.

You should know
how incredibly revealing

and how incredibly difficult
the close-up is.

AUTUMN SONATA

Welcome, everybody.

I wrote this film a year ago.

A bit more than that.

It was finished
in the beginning of August.

And I went and thought about it

that entire spring.

And it was some sort of wishful thinking

to get together...

with old collaborators again
at some point

and to make a film.

Pardon me if I lay down on the floor.

Yes, and then take your things.

Pardon me if I lay down on the floor,
but it's the only thing that helps.

And I remember almost nothing
from my childhood.

Yes, and then you lay down and —

Can I ask you about that part?

Everybody remembers something.

Can't I say that I remember very little?
It sounds a little bit better.

No, she remembers almost nothing.

Almost nothing, but she does.

You can say that, of course.
Say it the way you want it.

It's just I think it sounds so strange.

Everybody remembers their childhood.
You mean she's lying?

No. That's probably
different for everybody.

Not all people
remember their childhood.

It's actually pretty common
that people repress their childhood.

I don't recall.

-For example.
-Not until I was eight or nine.

Yes, but of course.
I don't think I remember-

I remember when I started school.
I mean, I hurt myself right here

and had to go to the hospital,
but after that I remember school.

At that time, I was seven.

-All of school?
-Yes, I remember it all.

-Do you have vivid —
-Incredibly.

What I don't remember
is what I did yesterday.

How about you?

Do you have memories
of your childhood?

-You do. How about you?
-No.

-And you don't either.
-Absolutely not.

Wide forehead.

But I can't get
the different pieces to fit.

I can't see her.

It's just as impossible for me
to see yours, or Helena's —

I keep saying Lena. Can I do that?
I think it's sweeter.

I don't see your face,
Lena's or Leonardo's.

-I remember-
-No, lie down.

I remember giving birth
to you and your sister,

but all I remember about it
is that it was painful.

But the pain, what did it taste like?

I don't remember.

Leonardo once said —

No, I don't remember.

Yes. “lt requires talent
to sense reality,” he said.

“Most people lack this talent...

and maybe that's a good thing.”

-Do you understand what he meant?
-Yes, that's good. Really nice.

I like that you lay down there.

After, “Maybe that's a good thing,”
you lie down.

-And turn towards —
-The daughter.

Lies down. Very good.

Here's something I don't understand.

Here she sees that I've asked Leonardo
to stay a bit longer

because I say it
after Helena's already left.

-Is that nice?
-No.

-She wants to show —
-I would have done that.

And you just did.

This is her —

it's her -

This is her fear.

Instead of staying
and battling it out with this daughter,

this crippled daughter,

who Leonardo turns
his entire passion towards,

she does the only genuine thing:

She leaves.

Yes, but she tells Leonardo to stay.

Yes, but that's
to provide an alibi for —

To make her seem —
She's pretending to be generous.

She's so sophisticated.

Yes, but if I know that now,
that means I've seen through it.

Then it has to turn out the way I said.

That's right. So the responsibility
actually falls on you.

Do you understand?

Yes, but it's terribly ingenious.

-Yes, but isn't that fun?
-Yes, it is.

It's more fun.

Frozen in place, it says.

So it was my fault that Lena fell ill?

Yes, I believe so.

You mean that Lena's illness —

-Yes.
-You can't be serious.

-You whisper these lines.
-Really?

“You can't be serious.”

You speak so low
that it's almost inaudible.

Yes, so she —

This is the abyss.

Does she for a moment believe
that she could have been —

She's so influenced now that
she's ready to believe anything.

-Her entire resistance is shattered.
-Really?

Now she's fractured, naked, shattered.

So it's not in the least —
You're simply —

Crazy? No.

She's right?

You see this witch
has now bewitched her

so she's now
completely destroyed.

-Yes.
-Crushed.

So she's prepared
to accept any and all blame.

That's what's so scary
about this moment.

This is so dark.
There is nothing darker.

And here the demons hover in the air.

So it was my fault that Lena —

Being opinionated
is something I've struggled with

and I'm an authoritarian by nature.

My democratic spirit is something...

that's a bit underdeveloped

as a result of my occupation.

But as you become
more and more aware of that

and find it more and more tiring,
you stop doing it.

The moment I force the actors

they may very well do as I wish,

but on the other hand,
I know the result will be catastrophic.

The sentence next.
The first sentence next.

Yes, right.

-It's the only thing that helps.
-Right.

Excuse me if I lay —
Where should I lay down?

Let's see where you should lay down.

Is it clean?

There.

There you lay down. Like that.

No, I remember very little
of my parents.

“Of your childhood.”

I remember very little
of my childhood.

I don't remember if my parents
ever touched me,

be it caresses or touches —

Caresses or punishments.

Do you mind if I lie down on the floor?

It's the only thing that helps.

I remember very little
of my childhood.

I can't recall my parents
ever touching me,

either to caress me or to punish me.

I didn't know anything about love,

tenderness, contact, intimacy, warmth.

Only through music did I have
a chance to show my feelings.

I just want to note
that I had no contact with her.

Complete distance.

-You're not friendly yet?
-No.

-Should I look uninvolved?
-No, it looks terrible.

But now she's going to start
a new attack.

So I can't sit here
and listen with interest.

I don't mean with disinterest,
but to show —

I don't care.

I need a little bit more.

Because she understands
this pretty well.

This is all you do.

Occasionally, it's more.

But the entire time —

-Try not to look down.
-You have to do it.

It's impossible to not look down.

Four times.
One, two, three, four.

And now you slowly raise —

Now look at both left and right.

She goes to the mirror.

She goes there.

There, and then you say —

-Blah, blah, blah, I say.
-Yes, and then this.

He didn't like that I was gray haired,
but otherwise I look the same.

Don't you think?
Is it that direction I turn?

But otherwise I look the same.
Don't you think?

You look exactly the same.

That's where you'll stand.

Your line follows, “The last few years
we didn't see each other.”

“No, no. You look exactly the same.”

-That's all you say.
-Then you'll stand here.

-That works.
-What?

It works?

-You see both ladies? What?
-Yes.

And then she says —

I'm supposed to speak
to the mirror again?

How are you?

-So sweet.
-Thanks.

What sort of mischief
are you up to tonight?

No mischief at all.
I've got nothing to do.

-I don't know what to do.
-Nobody to get in trouble with?

No, nobody.

-I'll just go see a movie.
-How silly.

-Yes, but no theater.
-No, there's only garbage.

No, I mean there are no shows
on Monday.

No, there aren't.

What time is it?

I'm just wondering about the dress
for tomorrow. I've only tried it once.

-Almost 4:30.
-4:30.

I think it is pan'
of a directoris responsibilities. ..

To have a good working temperament.

To create a kind of...

friendly working environment.

But there's also something called
an “instructive outburst.”

And that's something
you might need to use on occasion.

But they're premeditated

outbursts of anger.

They're very thought out.

They're used to make a point.

Because they're needed.

It can't become too cozy.

-Say hello to Lily.
-I certainly will.

And what's the name
of your complimentary —

I don't remember.

-The necrophiliac.
-Necrophiliac.

LAST PERSON TO LEAVE
TURN OFF LIGHTS AND LOCK UP

SCENES FROM A MARRIAGE

-Aren't you going to set the alarm?
-I've got it in my hand.

If you like, you can make love to me.

Thanks for the offer,
but I'm too tired.

What was it that Bergman could do?

A movie like that
was like a full meal.

You got a bit of this
and a bit of that.

And at the same time,
the atmosphere was so insanely beautiful.

You can see in almost every frame
that it's Bergman.

And definitely when the characters speak,
it's very obvious.

I came here to tell you something.

I've gone and fallen in love.

It's absurd,
and probably a big mistake.

Most probably a big mistake.

I met her at that convention in June.

She was the interpreter and secretary.

Actually, she's studying for her degree.
She's going to teach Slavic languages.

She's nothing much to look at.

You would probably think she's ugly.

I have no idea what this will lead to.

I have no idea about anything.

I'm utterly bewildered.

Of course, I'm happy in one way.

But I do feel damn guilty
about you and the children.

We've always gotten along so well.

Things have been
no better and no worse

than for the average family.

Say something, for Christ's sake.

I don't know what to say.

Bergman is so insanely good
at writing lines.

Insanely good.

I don't think he would be very good
at getting improvisation from the actors.

I can't imagine,
because he —

His lines are so precise,
and they are so entertaining.

An advantage of Bergman's production
is that he made so many movies.

They came out in a steady stream.

He can't really ha ve given
many of them a whole lot of thought.

It just happened.

I'm almost in too deep
to talk about what he can do,

because I haven't really analyzed it,
I just enjoyed it.

SARABAND

Then you do it to —
You'll be late.

Let's do one more.

-It's off from the start, right?
-What?

-Turn it on.
-Now I'll turn it on.

No, you were ahead.
I'll turn it off.

Now I'll —
Turn it on.

Now I'll turn it off.

There. And now you look in the mirror.

The entire night.

Is somebody going to tell me
when we're ready?

Shortly.

Look. God, how horrific.

What's that'? Oh, that's Efland.

This is a better monitor.

And there she is.

The camera is very loud.

But it can't understand or think.

-Of November?
-October.

-Good night again.
-Good night.

Let's make it pitch dark.

-What are you doing?
-Pitch black.

Marianne.

Marianne! Sorry to wake you up.

That's all right.
I'll fall back asleep.

Johan, is something wrong?

I don't know.

I think it's some kind of anxiety.

Anxiety? What kind of anxiety?

Now I see. You're sad —

-You're sad.
-I'm not sad.

It's worse.
It's a hellish anxiety.

It's bigger than me.

It's trying to push its way out
through every orifice —

my eyes, my skin, my asshole.

It's like a gigantic,
total mental diarrhea!

It's coming out everywhere.
I'm too small for my anxiety.

Are you afraid of death?

More than anything,
I'd just like to scream.

What do you do
with a bawling baby

that won't be comforted?

-Come lie next to me.
-There's no room.

-We've slept in narrower beds.
-We won't be able to sleep.

As if that makes any difference
in the last days.

I have to take off my nightshirt.

It's damp from my... indisposition.

Go ahead.

-You have to take yours off, too.
-I do?

All right.

There. Settle. Action.

Perhaps you're wondering
how it turned out.

Then you turn the photograph.

I stayed with Johan
until the beginning of October.

We promised to keep in touch.

I think we even fantasized about
a trip to Florence the next spring.

With a little bit of irony.

Just a touch of irony.

-I even think we —
-“We” — That's it.

We promised —

And then look at —
Like that.

Zoom in.

More, more.

Pan slightly to the right.

There. Like that.

There it is.

That's good, you make
that little gesture with your mouth.

-Is this good?
-Yes.

Kerstin says
that you look like Peter Sellers.

Yes, I can see that.

Not like Ingmar Bergman, but like —

You see that's the finesse
of this entire group.

That's really good.

And then he suddenly appeared
in the doorway...

to the studio.

And then he said, “Good-bye.”

And then he left
and caught a flight to Férii.

And never returned

to the studio or Stockholm.

He remained on Férii.

That's how his film career ended.

And that's how the great adventure
ended for all those...

who got to work with him.

“Theater is my wife,
but film is my mistress.”