The Magic Lantern

I'm planning, you see, to try to confine myself to the truth. That's hard for an old, inveterate fantasy martyr and liar who has never hesitated to give truth the form he felt the occasion demanded.

Occasionally I sense an insane wail deep down in the pit, the echo alone reaching me, striking without warning, a child weeping uninhibitedly, imprisoned forever.

One has to manage alone as best one can. (Karin Bergman)

Only he who is well prepared has any opportunity to improvise.

Most of all I miss working with Sven Nykvist, perhaps because we are both utterly captivated by the problems of light, the gentle, dangerous, dreamlike, living, dead, clear, misty, hot, violent, bare, sudden, dark, spring like, falling, straight, slanting, sensual, subdued, limited, poisonous, calming, pale light. Light.

În ciuda faptului că port o mască,nu sunt nesincer.Intuiţia mea vorbeşte repede şi clar,sunt prezent în deplinătatea fiinţei mele.Masca este un filtru.Nimic din ceea ce este personal şi care nu are nici o importanţă,nu trebuie să treacă prin ea.Tumultul din mine trebuie ţinut în frâu.

Nu citesc ziare,nu ascult şi nici nu mă uit la pogramele de ştiri.Încet şi pe neobservate dispare cel mai credincios tovarăş din viaţa mea:anxietatea,moştenită atât de la mama cât şi de la tata,aşezată chiar în centrul identităţii mele,demonul şi în aceelaşi timp prietenul şi stimulatorul meu.Mi se antenuează nu numai suferinţa,angoasa şi sentimentul de umilire ireparabilă,dar mi se eclipsează şi estompează şi forţa propulsivă a creativităţii. Aş fi putut rămâne un caz medical pentru tot restul vieţii mele.Existenţa îmi era aşa de plăcută în aceea stare de melancolie.Ea era ocrotită cu atâta delicateţe.Nimic nu mai este real,nimic nu mai are vreo importanţă,nimic nu mai este neliniştitor sau chinuitor.Mă mişc cu precauţie,reacţiile îmi sunt întârziate sau inexistente,sexualitatea încetează,viaţa este o elegie,un madrigal cântat de un cor,undeva departe,sub o boltă cu ecou,în timp ce ferestrele rotunde cu vitralii strălucesc şi spun poveşti care nu mă mai intereseză.

My ties with Fårö have several origins. The first was intuitive. “This is your landscape, Bergman. It corresponds to your internal imaginings of forms, proportions, colours, horizons, sounds, silences, lights and reflections. Security is here. Don’t ask why. Explanations are clumsy rationalizations with hindsight. In, for instance, your profession you look for simplification, proportion, exertion, relaxation, breathing. The Fårö landscape gives you a wealth of all that. Other reasons: I must find a counterweight to all the theatre. if I were to rant and rave on the shore, a gull, at most, would take off. On the stage, such an exhibition would be disastrous. Sentimental reasons: I would retreat from the world, read the books I hadn't read, meditate, cleanse my soul. [after a month or two I was hopelessly involved in the islanders problems, something which resulted in the 1969 Fårö Document.) Further sentimental reasons: during the filming of Persona, Liv and i were overwhelmed by passion. With monumental lack of judgment, I built the house with the idea of a mutual existence on the island. I forgot to ask Liv what she thought.

Life has precisely the value one puts on it.

I find women friends easier. Openness is obvious (I like to think), undemandingness is total (I hope), loyalty invulnerable (I imagine). Intuition moves without prejudice, emotion is undisguised, there is no prestige involved. Conflicts which arise are trusting and not infectious. Together we have danced every imaginable turn: suffering, tenderness, passion, foolishness, betrayal, anger, comedy, tedium, love, lies, joy, jealousies, adultery, overstepping boundaries, good faith. And here are even more: tears, eroticism, mere eroticism, disasters, triumphs, troubles, abuse, fights, anxiety, pining, eggs, sperm, bleeding, departure, panties. Here are even more - best to finish before the rails run out - impotence, lechery, terror, the proximity of death, death itself, black nights, sleepless nights, white nights, music, breakfasts, breasts, lips, pictures. Turn towards the camera and behold another jumble of images: skin, dog, rituals, roast duck, whale steak, bad oysters, cheating and fiddling, rapes, fine clothes, jewellery, touches, kisses, shoulders, hips, strange lights, streets, towns, rivals, seducers, hairs in the comb, long letters, explanations, all that laughter, ageing, aches, spectacles, hands, hands, hands.

Dacă mă simţeam atacat,muşcam la rândul meu ca un câine rănit.Nu aveam încredere în nimeni,nu iubeam pe nimeni,nu simţeam lipsa nimănui.Eram subjugat de o sexualitate care mă împingea spre o permanentă infidelitate şi acţiuni forţate,mereu chinuit de dorinţă,teamă,angoasă şi conştiinţă încărcată.