It’s said that, along with Citizen Kane, Ingmar Bergman’s Persona is the most written about film in cinema history. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I imagine it’s damned close. Persona isn’t a movie that can be reviewed so much as it begs to be analyzed. Its plot can be easily explained, but its meaning is hotly debated. It will take further viewings for me to comment on what Bergman is trying to say with his film, so I’ll settle for trying to convince you to see it. For now, you can ponder its meaning on your own. The director – who remained purposefully aloof about what the film means – has made claims encouraging viewers to do exactly that. Taking it a step further, Bergman has stated that he’d rather the film be felt rather than understood. Feeling Persona is easy – you aren’t given a choice. Understanding it can be more personal. This is a film that asks a lot of its viewers but doesn’t demand immediate answers.
If one were to take Persona literally, it’s a rather simple story. A well-respected actress named Elisabet (Liv Ullmann) stops speaking one day in the middle of a performance. She spends some time in a hospital where a young nurse is assigned to look after her. The Nurse, Alma (Bibi Andersson), takes Elisabet to a seaside cottage for an extended stay for rest and relaxation. It’s here that things begin to unwind. A battle of wits begins, with Alma losing her personality to the dominant (but silent) Elisabet. Of course, there must be a “break,” at which point realities seemingly begin to commingle, and psyches start to unwind.
Persona works perfectly fine as a straightforward story about the relationship between two women. Its surreal aspects can be explained away as dreams if you were so inclined. And if this is the case, a rather simple plot – augmented with visuals conjured by an eccentric Swedish filmmaker with a Nietzsche obsession – is what we’re left with. If we’re sticking to the literal for simplicity’s sake, Persona is a beautiful depiction of the struggle between two personalities.
Shot in captivating black and white by veteran and long-time Bergman collaborator Sven Nykvist, Persona is pure tension from the opening Rorschach-like shots. This tension isn’t intrinsically unnerving, but it never quite lets you get comfortable either. It’s illusory. The setting resembles reality in almost every way, but shards of untruth creep in, causing discomfort. As in dreams, strange laws and actions are somehow familiar and foreign at the same time. It’s a thrilling experience.
The performances by the film’s leads, Bibi Andersson and Liv Ullmann, are also contradictory and dreamlike. The dominant Elisabet (Ullmann) doesn’t utter more than a few lines, while Alma (Andersson) talks on and on. At times, however, facial expressions betray thoughts and dialogue. Elisabet often smiles at Alma’s rambling confessions, but is she sympathetic or mocking? It’s difficult to say, as the letters she writes to her doctors and family suggest Alma is the one who’s under observation, not Elisabet. Could she be a sociopath or narcissist preying on the weaker Alma to overtake her psyche? But, there I go trying to analyze the film’s meaning, which would be a premature gesture with only one viewing. Let’s say that Ullmann and Andersson capture the dynamic between Elisabet and Alma in a way that is both realistic and surreal all at once. Throw in haunting and slightly terrifying too for good measure.
It’s difficult to refrain from going down a rabbit hole with a stream of consciousness style tirade. Detailing every possible interpretation of Persona’s meaning is half the fun, after all. That day will come, but for now, we’ll have to settle for “It’s really good and you should watch it.” You should, too. With films that beg debate, I’d love to hear your interpretation. What does Persona mean to you? How does it speak to you, and what is it saying? Whatever it is, there’s someone out there who agrees, I promise. There’s also someone who will tell you that you’re wrong and dismiss you as a fool. What fun!
James is a writer, skateboarder, record collector, wrestling nerd, and tabletop gamer living with his family in Asheville, North Carolina. He is a member of the Southeastern Film Critics Association, the North Carolina Film Critics Association, and contributes to The Daily Orca, Razorcake Magazine, Mountain Xpress, and Asheville Movies.