AUTUMN SONATA (60)

Charlotte: You do like me don't you?
Eva: You're my mother.

Autumn Sonata (60) was world famous Swedish actress Ingrid Bergman's last film. And I can entirely see why. This film, set almost entirely in a cottage on a lake somewhere in rural Sweden, is as dark, brutally honest, and painful to watch as almost any I've watched before. It's a film about what armor we build to shield ourselves from the pain too harsh to deal with. It is also a film about the emotional wreckage we are forced to explore when that armor comes crashing down.

The story revolves around Eva (Liv Ullmann) and her mother Charlotte (Ingrid Bergman) a famed concert pianist who has been absent for most of her life. After two years of nearly no communication, Charlotte comes to visit Eva and they spend an emotionally raw evening sussing out the relationship they never truly had. There is a layer of honesty, brutal, brutal honesty on display in Autumn Sonata (60) that makes this film nearly unbearable to watch. The close-up camera angles of Eva as she breaks down her mother in to the cracks and flaws she is built from, pulls us in to her emotional state, and to some degree makes us, the viewer feel as if her harsh, but honest, words are aimed at us. There were times during this film, where I had to turn away from the screen, because the emotion present there made me feel uncomfortable.

There is a character in the film, Helena (Lena Nyman) who has some sort of undefined illness. She is the crux of the emotional revelations in the film, and as more and more shells are peeled away, we realize that each and everyone of these characters is sick. Charlotte is an emotional charlatan, a fake who has left her daughter a barren shell of a woman. While Eva is nothing more than the compiled parts of her anger. Both of these women are so damaged that their eventual reckoning cannot do anything but reveal them for what they are: bits and pieces held together by the hatred for each other still lingering in their hearts. When that emotion is finally exposed, the audience is left wondering, without their pain to hold on to, can these women be anything at all?

Whomever at The Criterion Collection programmed the last few films must've been having some sort of week, 'cause holy hell, these are some films that leave scars on my brain. Seemingly, some one gave this sour fellow/lady quite a hug, as the next film up is Monty Python's Life of Brian (61) and that is anything but a downer.

Jesus, I might need a hug after that one.

Friday: Monty Python's Life of Brian (61)

Coffee with a dominatrix and the very slightest bit of AUTUMN SONATA (60)

In the past four days I've worked six shifts at my coffee shop, including three doubles and two 5:30 shifts. This is the most interesting event that happened in those six shifts:

Friday night the store is dead. No customers, no walk-ins - nothing. I've tried to read and write in this blank time, but I'm distracted (as is usual in these transitory days) and find myself pacing up and down behind the bar.

When she walks in I almost instantly know something is different about her. She is a big, tall woman, and I believe the proper word for her is handsome. She orders a couple of drinks and as I always do I ask her, "So, big plans for the evening? Anything exciting?"

Smiling from ear to ear she answers, "Oh yes. Quite exciting."

Curious, as always, I inquire, "What exactly are you doing tonight?"

Still smiling, "Having a foursome." I'm not a prude, or even sensitive about sex talk, but this very open, honest admission catches me off guard. I laugh (giggle?) and stutter "Wow. That does sound like quite an evening." I thank her for her honesty and go back to pretending to work.

Twenty minutes or so go past, when the woman approaches me again. "Will you look at some erotic photos that I'm entering in to the Seattle Erotic Arts Festival?" she asks. Without even a blink of an eye, "Of course."

The pictures of certainly the one of the more risque thing I've ever seen in my coffee shop. Chains are attached to scrotums; my new found friend screams in the midst of an orgasm; I'm pretty sure there is something involving a butthole and a device this woman refers to, and aptly so (imagine nails) as "The Seattle Scream." I comment on each picture, tell her which I think are the best, and when she's garnered all the opinion I have, I go back to cleaning.

Dominatrixes, ass-nails, scrotum chains and a wide-eyed barista - all in a night's work at Fuel Coffee.
Since I've barely scratched the surface of Ingmar Bergman's Ingrid Bergman-starring film Autumn Sonata (60), I'm just going to write a few thoughts I've had about the film pre-viewing:

- If beloved film The Seventh Seal (11) is indicative of late Bergman, I'm a little worried about my enjoyment of this film. That film made me feel dumb like only a symbolism heavy Swedish film can. This one doesn't feature a white-faced Death as a main character though, so maybe I'll fare better.

- Yup, it's true this is a film by Ingmar Bergman starring Ingrid Bergman. The Swede's, they do shit differently.

- Loyal customer and reader Matthew described the film in one word for me, "Somber." Ooooooh weee, I can not wait.

- This stretch of The Criterion Collection is a little rough on me. Weirdly sexual Nazi films, quiet, brooding Swedish films, and the ominous presence of a two hour silent film about Joan of Arc looming on the horizon. The Third Man (64) you can not arrive soon enough.

For you my loyal readers, I'll take these bullets.

Tuesday: Autumn Sonata (60)