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COPYRIGHT 2004 All rights reserved. Reproduced by permission of The Condé Nast Publications Inc.
From 1999, John Lahr profiles Ingmar Bergman
The social life of the moviegoer, rarely effervescent, is about to lose more of its sparkle. Film Forum is presenting a six-week retrospective, through July 1st, of the work of Ingmar Bergman. Not to plan a pilgrimage to Houston Street would be graceless, although we should resign ourselves to the fact that, like many of Bergman's characters, we will make the journey alone. There may be a way of persuading casual acquaintances to come along for a festive double bill of "Frenzy" and "Crisis," but, if so, it's news to me.
Bergman, happily, is alive today, although viewers hoping that he might spring a surprise appearance, bounding onstage after the screening, should prepare to be disappointed. Publicity has never been his forte; if you want self-revelation from Bergman, go to the work. He was born on July 14, 1918, into a well-to-do Swedish family. His father, Erik, was a pastor in the Lutheran church; Ingmar was raised in the company of women--his mother, Karin, naturally, but also a fond maternal grandmother. He himself has been married five times. Among the most striking measures of his art (rivalled only, in this regard, by the Japanese director Kenji Mizoguchi) is the prominence that Bergman gives to women in his films. We are left in no doubt, as man after man reveals himself to be a fool or a flounderer, that the world is electrified by the fervor of female intelligence. Behind this tendency, as behind so much in life, lies an aunt. It was Ingmar's Aunt Anna who, in the late nineteen-twenties, gave his brother Dag the Christmas present of a cinematograph, which Ingmar soon acquired by swapping it for a hundred toy soldiers. That was the sparking of his passion for motion pictures.
Bergman studied at...
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