Persona

[Anthony]

Okay, these are class notes, though they're still a fine starting point, IMO.

First, I'm going to post two relatively brief scene analyses, if you can call them that:

Opening Sequence: 0:00-6:00

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Persona begins with a slow fade-in of two heated carbon rods that meet together, then transitions at 0:40 to a brief compilation of exploded images of projector parts: a rotating spool, a running film strip, and a flashing light. At 1:06, a short, projected animation begins to play, followed by clips of a running film strip, a child’s motioning hands, and an old, silent comedy film, lengthier than other images throughout the sequence. From 1:40 to 3:40, we see a montage of unrelated shots, rapidly transitioning between clips of a tarantula, a dying lamb, a crucifixion, and dead or unconscious people. Nearly every shot between 0:00 and 3:40 was taken from an extreme close-up point of view with shallow focus, accompanied by sharp sounds with sudden spikes in pitch. The rest of the opening sequence comprises shots of a boy: he wakes up, briefly reads, and runs his hand over a blasted television image of a face(a combination of Alma and Elisabet's faces)—shot in shallow focus (3:40-6:00, shown in the image above).

Forming a coherent, and self-contained interpretation of this sequence is nearly impossible; every shot evokes different associative connections, and their disjointed culmination is meant to generate an intense feeling of confusion and unsettledness within the viewer. However, when analyzed in relation to the film’s fractured narrative, the sequence's abstruse style is more meaningful. Images from the sequence reappear at 46:40, the film’s Brechtian caesura, yanking us out of the story into a sort of metacinematic limbo—we peek behind the veil of the narrative. In the opening sequence itself, the images reflect themes heavily related to cinema: literally, animations and projector parts, as well as evocations of death, deception, darkness, light, and motion. However, more than simply making metacinematic commentary, Bergman seems to be contending with something like the relationship between life and death and the "complex reality of ultimate knowledge," of whatever it is that underlies experiential reality. His ultimate aim seems to be to remind us of the “persona,” or mask, donned by life itself, with his opening sequence functioning as an image of the face that lies behind.


Sequence from 23:36-24:15

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Persona’s avant-garde nature makes it an ideal candidate for the use of Soviet-style montage à la Eisenstein (according to the Yale Film Analysis Web Site, “[emphasizing] dynamic, often discontinuous, relationships between shots and the juxtaposition of images to create ideas not present in either shot by itself”), and we see this most poignantly beginning at 23:36, when Alma reads an excerpt of text to Elisabet (incidentally, not from an actual book, but written by Bergman himself):


All the anxiety we carry within us, all our thwarted dreams and inexplicable cruelty, our fear of extinction, the painful insight into our earthly condition have slowly crystallized our hope for otherworldly salvation. The tremendous cry of our faith and doubt against the darkness and the silence is the most terrifying proof of our abandonment and our terrified and unuttered knowledge.


The camera initially proceeds at 23:36 not to focus on the characters of Alma & Elisabet, but instead quickly cuts to a number of stills of the surrounding rocks on the island of Fårö, where the film was shot on-location. Already a characteristically Bergmanesque text dealing with the profoundly agonizing and alienating character of the human condition, the otherwise picturesque rocky landscapes of the island turn into something quite austere and reflect the cold, ruthless character of the material being read. Furthermore, the fact that these harsh landscapes are deserted also indicates the feelings of isolation found within the text. In any case, as the recitation of the text extradiagetically continues, the camera then cuts to Elisabet at 23:53, as she rises from the place where she lay. Again, the shot in and of itself would otherwise seem just like an ordinary movement, but in association with the continuing recitation of the text, it becomes much more clear that there is something in its substance which strikes a chord with Elisabet. Already a mysterious character in the film with seldom any lines, rare moments like these give the audience further insight into the young woman’s ruthlessly safeguarded psyche. By the scene’s end at 24:08, Alma asks Elisabet “Do you think that’s true?”, and the latter's slight head nod affirms our suspicion of the text’s resonance with her. On the contrary, Alma at 24:15 bluntly responds with “I don’t believe that,” perhaps reflecting the still profound separation between the two women at the beginning of the film, which evidently gradually becomes more and more obscured as it goes on until the two are basically indistinguishable from one another.

[Anthony]

In my opinion, nature was portrayed quite interestingly throughout the film—

To provide an example, I'd urge you to look closely at the shot at 43:50: this is the scene directly after Alma discovers Elisabet’s letter, and we see Alma outside, under the shade of some trees. Alma remains in high-key lighting, but the trees, despite being in the forefront, are in very low-key lighting, almost black. However, although the camera placement in the mise-en-scene definitely seems intentional, the lighting itself seems natural, untouched by Bergman. I was inclined to see this almost as though Bergman was using nature 'subliminally;' by depicting nature authentically, almost non-diegetically, and contrasting it with the inauthenticity of the film’s narrative world, he reminds the viewer of the distinction between the shadowy inexplicability/background presence of our natural condition and the lenses we see our condition through—the human experience, the “roles” and “personas” we interact through, and experiential lenses we see our lives through as opposed to seeing life-in-itself.

In addition to your guys' notes, what did you guys think of the way Bergman represented nature?

[Roshan]

I read the first half of the first post and skimmed over til the end so I saw the question about nature Anthony. But before I read the whole thing or answer that, I really just want to say that I saw this a long, long time ago (at about your age) and didn't remember it well at all, but now I thought the very best thing about it, what independently most stood the test of time, was the actual characters and their story when we were still sure what the story was. The cruel betrayal of Alma's innocent trust by something itself so innocent in a way while she herself was also violating a trust was just incredibly compelling, believable, and painful. What's more, that it was all so believable and we could understand the depths and layers of the motivations for these actions and feelings when Liv Ullmann had (almost) never spoken made it all the more extraordinary. btw it also occurred to me watching this time that their dynamic is an iteration of .Strindberg's The Stronger. Bergman was first and foremost a creature of the theater.

Granted that there's a lot in Persona that was 'a first' for a film destined for commercial release, but it's been talked about and imitated so much since (and its antecedents dredged up so often for those interested in that kind of thing), that it's really the purely human element that stood out as fresh for me. And I wanted to get that down before I start talking and focusing on all the other things that are so much more 'important'. That was a really good story when it was, discounting the opening, 'just' a story.

[Roshan]

"With personifications of "mortality" being common in Bergman's films, the original ending of Persona called for an elderly character with an ax to join Alma on the island.[8]"--wiki

[e-ssam]

I was reading somewhere that since “meta-cinema” has gotten popular through the French New Wave, that it probably served as an influence for Persona’s content.
To substantiate, the film was also originally titled “Cinematography” but I’m not sure if it was for that reason, it doesn’t click with me.
Even if the case is possible on a technical level, placing the film next to the French New Wave or with doesn’t fit with the structure of the film nor its narrative, nor Bergman’s “shtick”. My first thought after the rewatch was “Bergman’s films beforehand were mostly contemplating faces so he decided to move past all else & make one purely about that”.

The main focus of the film was always at the emotional push & pull between the Alma & Elisabeth, and what contextualizes it as to make it stand out better are the opening and ending montages. In a sense, they “flatten” all subsequent events so that we make sure to know everything is happening on one plane, it makes questions about the reality (and perspective) of events let it be dream sequences or characters mostly either secondary or inessential. The New Wave didn’t do that, the point with was to “flip cinema on its head”, make you aware of what it is as a tool, not to push in a purely emotional and oftentimes “mystical” realm.

Imo, Bergman was acting completely in the realm of his own tradition, it's only the next logical step, and probably the most "purely cinematic" aspect about the film remains Bergman’s use of close-ups, not the montage.

*I'm sure he also wasn't a fan of Godard :p*

[e-ssam]

btw it also occurred to me watching this time that their dynamic is an iteration of .Strindberg's The Stronger. Bergman was first and foremost a creature of the theater.

"If you live in a Strindberg tradition, you are
breathing Strindberg air. After all, I have been seeing Strindberg at
the theater since I was ten years old, so it is difficult to say what
belongs to him and what to me."

The oneiric aspect also has, at least in part, relation to A Dream Play.

[e-ssam]

In addition to your guys' notes, what did you guys think of the way Bergman represented nature?

That shot is my favorite in the film that doesn't doesn't include a prominent face, although it stilll does.

Also, I *think* that the sound of water drops in the background is only here and in opening with the boy (or at least, the same sound effect is used) they also sort of mirror one another.

[e-ssam]

The cruel betrayal of Alma's innocent trust by something itself so innocent in a way while she herself was also violating a trust was just incredibly compelling, believable, and painful. What's more, that it was all so believable and we could understand the depths and layers of the motivations for these actions and feelings when Liv Ullmann had (almost) never spoken made it all the more extraordinary

soo this is my fourth rewatch
I got the film on a higher quality this time and also noticed a little cool tidbit. (not sure if it clearly shows in the screenshot tho)

Other than them wearing the same and mirroring one another in here, I never noticed before that Alma isn't fully in focus, even when she is the most prominent on the screen, it remains Elisabeth that's in focus.
(camera also stays with her afterward)
she made Alma glamorize and idolize her, feel close to her, only so she would sit and watch it herself.
Played that girl like a fiddle from early on.

[Roshan]

she made Alma glamorize and idolize her, feel close to her, only so she would sit and watch it herself.
Played that girl like a fiddle from early on.

Maybe she did, maybe she didn't. It's certainly the version she proudly told herself when writing a letter to someone outside of the little world she and Alma cohabitate and create, thus allowing her to maintain a sense of her being superior to, rather than deeply emotionally involved with and needing, a de facto servant and social subordinate. And it's certainly the version, the interpretation, they both stick with--but to not stick with it would have necessitated Elisabet giving up her role as the mute, which would have made her subordinate to Alma, to explain why she wrote what she did and how it wasn't true, at least not the only truth, and this Elisabet could not do.

But Elisabet has not unlikely been every bit as smitten as Alma, and as, if not more, envious too--of Alma's innocent zest for life and her normalcy.

[e-ssam]

Maybe she did, maybe she didn't. It's certainly the version she proudly told herself when writing a letter to someone outside of the little world she and Alma cohabitate and create, thus allowing her to maintain a sense of her being superior to, rather than deeply emotionally involved with and needing, a de facto servant and social subordinate. And it's certainly the version, the interpretation, they both stick with--but to not stick to it would have necessitated Elisabet giving up her role as the mute, which would have made her subordinate to Alma, to explain why she wrote what she did and how it wasn't true, at least not the only truth, and this Elisabet could not do.

It's also the version that gladly and deliberately guides Alma to her husband.


But not the one when she looks away