Wild Strawberries (1957) - film review

Isak Borg is a distinguished medical professor who is about to be rewarded with a doctorate to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of his graduation.  His daughter-in-law Marianne accompanies him on the long car journey from his home in Stockholm to Lund University where he is to collect his award.  En route, he has time to reflect on his past life.  A visit to his aged mother and to the place where he spent his summer holidays as a child bring back bittersweet memories.  When these are added to a bizarre dream he had the night before, the old man begins to realise that his life has not been as full as he had thought.   Marianne’s revelations about the state of her marriage and her antipathetic feelings for Borg cause the professor to see the failings of his life...

Widely acknowledged as one of Ingmar Bergman’s finest films, Wild Strawberries is a distillation of all that is great about this director – his humanity, his appreciation of human psychology and his consummate skill as a cineaste.  It is a beautiful work, a visual poem that is crafted with the depth, sensitivity and emotional potency that illuminates the greatest works of art.  Gunnar Fischer’s expressionist photography in an instant draw, an alluring mantle on which Bergman imposes a richly humanist portrait of an old man who looks back on his life with great sorrow, and in so doing causes us to reflect on our own lives.

The film moves seamlessly between present reality, past memories and dreams – recognising the fact that all three play an essential part in human existence.  The dreams help the film’s central character, an ageing doctor of medicine, to make sense of his memories and thereby see more clearly his life in the present.   It’s a tragic story because, after a life devoted to ministering  for other people’s bodies, he finally realises that he has neglected to make contact with their souls.  The film’s apparent simplicity is a thin veil that covers some profound humanist messages, and, like much of Bergman’s work, it allows various interpretations.

One critical factor in the film’s success is the extraordinary performance from its lead actor, Victor Sjöström, who, apart from being a great actor, was also a noted film director, responsible for such silent classics as The Phantom Carriage (1921) and The Wind (1928).  Here, in his final screen role, Sjöström conveys a sense of isolation and self-reproach that is almost heart-breaking, yet there’s also a feeling of intellectual detachment and aloofness that makes his character distant, unsympathetic and at times unfathomable.  It is as poignant and convincing a portrait of old age as cinema has ever shown us, and a perfect medium through which Bergman makes his most intense exploration of the human soul.

© James Travers 2006

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