Through a Glass Darkly (1961, Ingmar Bergman) (Patreon)

38/100

Second viewing, last seen 1997. Not my least favorite Bergman—that's Cries and Whispers by a mile—but this and Winter Light, i.e. the "spider-god films," constitute a sort of second-tier nadir, possibly because I'm not at all religious and hence indifferent to this particular mode of psychic torment. Also repelled by the deployment of mental illness (apparently schizophrenia, though it's never specified onscreen) as an apparent conduit to something like revelation, albeit of a horrifying kind; it's a variation on the holy fool conceit, which has always struck me as special pleading. Throw in some implied incest (bordering on rape, really, given the circumstances) that's treated as if it's somehow cleansing, plus Bergman's usual penchant for having relatives and close friends speak to one another with the blunt rancor of mortal enemies ("You're void of all feeling. You lack common decency"), and my overwhelming reaction is one of cool distaste. On the flip side, though, I do appreciate the film's stark, foreboding look, and would probably rather enjoy watching it with the English subtitles switched off. Bergman understood how to light interiors for maximum expressionistic effect—there's a magnificent shot of Karin and Martin lying in bed in which we can see just a thin sliver of Von Sydow's face plus one of Andersson's eyes—and of course this was also the first film he shot on Fårö, a beautifully barren location that ideally suited his sensibility. Exceptional form isn't enough to push me into mixed territory when I find the content rancid, but were Through a Glass Darkly as visually garish as Cries and Whispers, it'd surely likewise have a rating in the teens somewhere.