Reflecting its primary themes of isolation and solitude with a dogged aloofness, Ingmar Bergman’s The Passion (misleadingly retitled The Passion of Anna for its US release in 1970) features the director’s key modus operandi and favoured leading man in a simple drama, yet one rich in metaphor. Blanketed in a bleak austerity, this was the final work in a series of films (preceded by Persona, 1966, Hour of the Wolf, 1968, and Shame, 1968) that examined many different, dark facets of the human condition suffering under the strains of various forms of conflict.
The central character, Andreas Winkelman (a strapping Max von Sydow), has established a quiet, lonely existence for himself on a wintery island; we first meet him fixing holes in his roof, a sure sign from a director whose work is steeped in symbolism and subtext that his protagonist wants to keep the outside world at bay.
He becomes friendly with his neighbours Elis (Erland Josephson) and his wife, Eva (Bibi Andersson), with whom he has a brief affair. But it is the troubled Anna (Liv Ullmann) that most intrigues Andreas; she suffers anxiety and emotional extremes, having lost her husband and son in an automobile accident, and Andreas can’t help but become involved in her life and grow fond of the woman and her mysteries. Whilst the dark romance develops, the torture and slaying of local animals by an unknown person brings tension to the disparate community, sparking accusations and retributions.
Such is the surface narrative of Bergman’s film, though purely plot-driven developments have never been the acclaimed director’s primary motivation. The Passion of Anna explores such thematic concerns as the unremitting coldness of class division (intellectuals Eva and Elis assume local farmer Johann Andersson, memorably played by Erik Hell, is the sadist responsible for the animal deaths); the soul-destroying nature and acceptance of death (Anna’s desperate life may be grounded in guilt as well as grief; Johann’s fate after being confronted by the townsfolk); and restructuring of memory and spirituality over time (Anna yearns for the ideals of a marriage that, in reality, was marred by mental and physical violence).
One of the great Swedish director’s first colour films, The Passion of Anna features some idiosyncratic touches that will bewilder first-time viewers of his work. For instance, Bergman halts the film completely on several occasions to let his lead actors break 'the fourth wall’ and talk about their characters lives, motivations and functions within the film’s framework – it is the 1969 equivalent of having an extra feature pop-up onscreen whilst watching a DVD.
Like its icy locale, The Passion of Anna at first appears impenetrably cold – the very opening shot is of Andreas as he seems to wish away a beautiful sunset, thereby preparing the viewer for a descent into darkness. But Bergman’s script and imagery rewards a patient, thoughtful viewing; the filmmaking means by which he explores the neuroses and emotional scars of his characters has a classically European precision, despite its rough-hewn setting. Though not always spoken of with the same adoration as some of his better known works, The Passion of Anna shows a great director in perfect command of his art and craft.
