Focus Features

Liv Ullman and Bibi Andersson in Persona

In the Golden Age of European Art Cinema, Ingmar Bergman was one of its brightest luminaries, creating a constellation of films that in their individuality and emotional power were unmatched: Smiles of a Summer Night, The Seventh Seal, Wild Strawberries, The Virgin Spring, Through a Glass Darkly, Winter Light, The Silence, Persona, The Shame, Cries andWhispers, Scenes from a Marriage, Autumn Sonata. And then, at the peak of his powers, he retired leaving as his legacy his masterwork: Fanny and Alexander.

One of the crucial films in his life was Persona.

Two years before he made Persona, he had been appointed as head of Sweden's Royal Dramatic Theatre. His work there eventually led him to the brink of exhaustion, suffering double pneumonia and acute penicillin poisoning. This physical state, as well as a disenchantment with the theatre, led to a crisis. It was while he was recovering in hospital that he began writing the screenplay for Persona.

InPersona, an actress named Elisabeth Vogler (Liv Ullman) stops communicating, falling into a silence. After a stay in hospital, she goes to an island with her nurse Alma (Bibi Andersson). The most striking moment in the film – its most arresting image – is when the two women exchange personalities, when they move one into the other.

Bergman recalls how it was filmed:

“Sven Nykvist and I had originally planned a conventional type of lighting on Liv Ullmann and Bibi Andersson. But it didn't work. We then agreed to keep half their faces in complete darkness - there wouldn't even be any leveling of light.

From there on it was a natural evolution to combine the two illuminated halves of their faces, to let them float together to become one face.

In most people one side of the face is more attractive than the other, their so-called good side. The half-illuminated images of Liv's and Bibi's faces that we combined into one showed their respective bad sides.

When I received the double-copied film from the laboratory, I asked Liv and Bibi to come to the editing room.

Bibi exclaims in surprise: "But Liv, you look so strange!" And Liv says: "No, it's you, Bibi, you look very strange!" Spontaneously they denied their own less-than-good facial half.

When you write a scenario, you are anticipating the technical challenges as well. You are, so to speak, writing the score. Then all you have to do is put the music on the stands and let the orchestra play.

I cannot arrive at the soundstage or an exterior location and assume that "things will fall into place one way or another." You cannot improvise on an improvisation. I dare to improvise only if I know that I will be able to go back to a carefully constructed plan. I cannot trust that inspiration will strike when I get to the set.

The script of Persona may look like an improvisation, but it is painstakingly planned.

We began filming in Stockholm and got off to a bad start.

But, slowly and squeakingly, we cranked it out. Suddenly I enjoyed saying: "No, let's do it better, let's do it this way or that, and here we could do it a bit differently." Nobody ever became upset. Half the battle is won when nobody starts feeling guilty. The movie naturally profited from the strong personal feelings that emerged during the filming. It was, in short, a happy set. In spite of the grueling work, I had a feeling that I was working with complete freedom both with the camera and with my collaborators, who followed my every twist and turn.

When I returned to the Royal Dramatic Theatre in the fall, it was like going back to the slave galley. What a difference between the meaningless, stressful administrative work at the theatre and the freedom I had experienced filming Persona. At some time or other I said thatPersona saved my life – that is no exaggeration. If I had not found the strength to make that film, I would probably have been finished.

One significant point: for the first time I did not care in the least whether the result would be a commercial success. The gospel according to which one must be comprehensible at all costs, one that had been drummed into me ever since I worked as the lowliest manuscript slave at Svensk Filmindustri, could finally go to hell (which is where it belongs!).

Today I feel that in Persona – and later in Cries and Whispers – I had gone as far as I could go. And that in these two instances, when working in total freedom, I touched wordless secrets that only the cinema can discover.”

Extract taken from Images: My Life in Film by Ingmar Berman translated by Marianne Ruuth (Faber & Faber, 1995).

Liv Ullman and Bibi Andersson in Persona

In the Golden Age of European Art Cinema, Ingmar Bergman was one of its brightest luminaries, creating a constellation of films that in their individuality and emotional power were unmatched: Smiles of a Summer Night, The Seventh Seal, Wild Strawberries, The Virgin Spring, Through a Glass Darkly, Winter Light, The Silence, Persona, The Shame, Cries andWhispers, Scenes from a Marriage, Autumn Sonata. And then, at the peak of his powers, he retired leaving as his legacy his masterwork: Fanny and Alexander.

One of the crucial films in his life was Persona.

Two years before he made Persona, he had been appointed as head of Sweden's Royal Dramatic Theatre. His work there eventually led him to the brink of exhaustion, suffering double pneumonia and acute penicillin poisoning. This physical state, as well as a disenchantment with the theatre, led to a crisis. It was while he was recovering in hospital that he began writing the screenplay for Persona.

InPersona, an actress named Elisabeth Vogler (Liv Ullman) stops communicating, falling into a silence. After a stay in hospital, she goes to an island with her nurse Alma (Bibi Andersson). The most striking moment in the film – its most arresting image – is when the two women exchange personalities, when they move one into the other.

Bergman recalls how it was filmed:

“Sven Nykvist and I had originally planned a conventional type of lighting on Liv Ullmann and Bibi Andersson. But it didn't work. We then agreed to keep half their faces in complete darkness - there wouldn't even be any leveling of light.

From there on it was a natural evolution to combine the two illuminated halves of their faces, to let them float together to become one face.

In most people one side of the face is more attractive than the other, their so-called good side. The half-illuminated images of Liv's and Bibi's faces that we combined into one showed their respective bad sides.

When I received the double-copied film from the laboratory, I asked Liv and Bibi to come to the editing room.

Bibi exclaims in surprise: "But Liv, you look so strange!" And Liv says: "No, it's you, Bibi, you look very strange!" Spontaneously they denied their own less-than-good facial half.

When you write a scenario, you are anticipating the technical challenges as well. You are, so to speak, writing the score. Then all you have to do is put the music on the stands and let the orchestra play.

I cannot arrive at the soundstage or an exterior location and assume that "things will fall into place one way or another." You cannot improvise on an improvisation. I dare to improvise only if I know that I will be able to go back to a carefully constructed plan. I cannot trust that inspiration will strike when I get to the set.

The script of Persona may look like an improvisation, but it is painstakingly planned.

We began filming in Stockholm and got off to a bad start.

But, slowly and squeakingly, we cranked it out. Suddenly I enjoyed saying: "No, let's do it better, let's do it this way or that, and here we could do it a bit differently." Nobody ever became upset. Half the battle is won when nobody starts feeling guilty. The movie naturally profited from the strong personal feelings that emerged during the filming. It was, in short, a happy set. In spite of the grueling work, I had a feeling that I was working with complete freedom both with the camera and with my collaborators, who followed my every twist and turn.

When I returned to the Royal Dramatic Theatre in the fall, it was like going back to the slave galley. What a difference between the meaningless, stressful administrative work at the theatre and the freedom I had experienced filming Persona. At some time or other I said thatPersona saved my life – that is no exaggeration. If I had not found the strength to make that film, I would probably have been finished.

One significant point: for the first time I did not care in the least whether the result would be a commercial success. The gospel according to which one must be comprehensible at all costs, one that had been drummed into me ever since I worked as the lowliest manuscript slave at Svensk Filmindustri, could finally go to hell (which is where it belongs!).

Today I feel that in Persona – and later in Cries and Whispers – I had gone as far as I could go. And that in these two instances, when working in total freedom, I touched wordless secrets that only the cinema can discover.”

Extract taken from Images: My Life in Film by Ingmar Berman translated by Marianne Ruuth (Faber & Faber, 1995).