All language subtitles for ingmar.perspective-rtl.English

Could we reduce the top light?

We can remove that monitor,
or turn it off.

Well, these rumors...
It's partly old grudges that linger.

I was bloody ill-tempered
when I was young.

I remember once I lost my temper...

I lost my rag in a radio studio.

I took a bag...

quite a heavy bag,
it was full of old seventy-eights...

I got so furious that I threw the
bag through the glass window.

I did behave badly...

and was quite volatile.

But nowadays when I...

or rather, over the past
twenty years

when I've been unsettled
in terms of my work,

I've come to see this, clearly,

as a lapse of professionalism.

I would feel I had failed
in my profession.

Because I feel that it is
enormously important...

in this fantastic
and peculiar environment

that a film or TV studio constitutes,

where so many different kinds
of people have to work together,

I feel it's enormously important

that there is a gentle,
smooth, calm, cheerful,

quiet and balanced atmosphere
to work in.

But at the same time dynamic,

so that no one flags,
or begins to feel that:

"That's it now, we can't go on."

I think that the language used
between actors and director

is full of codes and signals.

You could say that Ingmar
and Sj�berg too

- not to mention Molander -

can afford to have regular outbursts

and the actors can take it,
they know what it's about.

You would have one outburst per
what you called 'instruction period'.

It was the same with Alf Sj�berg.
You'd think: "Oh, it's that day."

That's true...

However, the people that spread
these legends about me...

usually are people who
have never worked with me.

When interviewed, actors always
speak very highly of Ingmar.

And this, of course,
annoys some people.

You've made the headlines
in the past

- like when you punched a critic -

these incidents
have been blown up.

That wasn't in a fit of temper.

It was entirely premeditated
on my part.

I saw him sitting there
diagonally opposite me.

By then he'd been hounding me
for some years

in quite a nasty way.

It was a dress rehearsal...

I thought that if I catch him in
the interval and land him one,

I'll be rid of him for the rest
of my life.

The paper couldn't possibly
let him review my work after that.

The paper called me and asked

what I thought of violence
in the theatre.

Not one of the easier questions
in my life as an artistic director.

The critics' guild held a meeting,

declaring you can't behave like that.

But I actually think,
why shouldn't you?

Verbal violence
is just as terrible as physical.

Having been subjected to it in a
major broadsheet year after year,

it felt good to do.
And I never actually punched him.

He was so scared that he sat down
before I got there.

I grabbed him by the collar
and he disappeared down

in the middle of all these music
stands and that was all.

Then I was fined 5,000 kronor

because some woman prosecutor
wanted to make a name for herself.

It was well worth it.

But this critic
- who fully knew the score -

when he couldn't get at me,

started abusing Erland,
since he knew we were friends.

Some of my children
and people close to me

were involved in the theatre,
and he attacked them.

May he burn in hell.

I hate that man,
even though he's dead.

I don't hate many people,
but him - yes.

He was a...

I'll never forgive him.

Erland, you were artistic director
of the Royal Dramatic Theatre.

What was it like
to be Ingmar's superior?

For the most part it was lots of fun.

I had Ingmar there, and Alf Sj�berg,
another superb director.

A dialogue developed
between Ingmar and Alf

around the productions
and the actors.

There was a lot of talk about
Ingmar having too much power.

He didn't, or things wouldn't
have been what they were.

Better or worse, I don't know...

But I was artistic director
from '66 to '75,

during a much needed process
of democratization of the theatre.

It wasn't easy to be the boss
during that turmoil.

And you can't be liked by
everybody when you're boss.

When people said Ingmar and Alf
had too much power,

I'd answer that I thought
they had too little power.

That was my response.

And you wanted Erland
to be your successor.

Yes, we arranged that.

I discovered that...

I was the artistic director
for three years, and...

Not for ten years, three.

- I said three.
- It's because my hearing's bad.

Thinking about your lives,

when I've watched your films
and read your autobiographies...

I'm a woman, and I also like my job,
it's a great job.

I only have three children -
you two have many more.

As a woman and mother,
this is a never-ending conflict.

You always have a guilty
conscience,

where am I best needed?

Ingmar's laughing...

But reading your accounts,
the word 'father' is barely present.

I don't think it's there at all.

Why are you laughing?

You start.

We've got many children... many.

I've never thought about there not
being anything about my father.

- Or do you mean me as a father?
- Yes.

- You say a lot about your fathers.
- We certainly do.

For some peculiar reason
our roles as fathers

haven't been included
in our confessions.

Because you do expose yourselves
and admit to a lot...

There was nothing to confess

as we didn't have a role as fathers.

- Perhaps you did, whereas I was...
- I suppose I did.

It must be a sore point with me,
or I would have a sensible answer.

But it's obvious that I neglected
my children.

In my defense I've always said
it's not all bad

that they're not cosseted,
that I don't interfere all the time.

We're very close - I think. I can't
be sure, but I think we're close.

That's partly due to their tolerance,

partly to the fact that
I've taken an interest in them.

You were away a lot when
they were little, you traveled...

You say somewhere
it may have been good for them.

one couldn't say for sure,
it would be great if it were so, but...

But now they're grown-up,

they show very little
aggression towards me.

But you didn't have a guilty
conscience?

I'm sure I did, but not very.

I can't say I did.

You want to live as well.

They're part of your life,
but there are other parts.

I think I mention this,
that if they suddenly

were to feel I lived only for them,

it would be a great burden
for them, a heavy burden.

In that respect,
I've made things easy for them!

But there's one thing
we should add, Erland,

and that is that the mothers
have been really splendid ladies.

- Really.
- They certainly have.

They've never slagged us off.

They certainly said a thing
or two to us,

but they have never injected
any venom

coming out of the bitterness,
sorrow or disappointment

that they may have experienced.
Not one of them.

They all have that in common,
don't you agree?

Yes, absolutely.

You started laughing when I put
the question to you. Why?

That's because...

I had a bit of a row
with one of my sons,

and I said to him that...

"I know that I've been
a poor father."

Then he roared at me:

"A 'poor father'?
You haven't been a father at all!"

And he may be right in that.

I haven't really met any...

any criteria in that area.
I really haven't.

In my life, however...

these women, these ladies...

who have had my children,
they have been generous enough...

never to speak ill of me
to the children.

What intrigues me is that,
judging from your own words,

you don't seem to have a guilty
conscience.

I suffer from it constantly.

It's always there,
especially in women.

- That's true.
- But not in you.

There's one thing
I think I should add.

I'm very good friends
with my children.

You're like me, you have a great
interest in your children.

An honest interest.

It's human... I'm interested in them.

And another thing, which
I can thank my wife Ingrid for,

was that on my sixtieth birthday,

she arranged for all the children
to gather at my place on Faro.

All nine of them were there.

Several of them were barely aware
of each other's existence.

But they've all maintained
close contact with each other

after that family get-together. They
discovered they liked each other.

The way things are now,

regardless of whether I'm there,

they all come
to Faro on my birthday.

And since I find large parties
hard work,

- I only hear in one ear -

they all have a fine dinner while
I sit by myself with my fishcakes.

After that we all spend
a fabulous evening together.

They have more or less decided
that this is a tradition.

On 14 July, they all come to Faro.

Are we the last generation to enjoy

these generous and
indulgent women?

Maybe they don't put up with it
anymore, we're the last of that line.

We two have agreed that
in many respects we are dinosaurs.

On the point of extinction.

A dying breed.

You both describe how rehearsals
would go on until late at night.

Impossible to combine
with small children.

So why did you have
so many children?

You'd imagine you'd come to know
your limitations.

In those days, even a low income
actor could afford domestic help.

Things were different
in that respect.

From necessity,
because actresses, like our wives,

would be back on stage
a fortnight after delivery.

You must have had a desire
for that many children.

I'd like to say that I don't have
any planned children.

They just happened!

They happened...

My children are all love-children.

Very much so.

I'm immensely fond of them.

And it's wonderful
with all the grandchildren.

I have grow-up grandchildren,
and little ones.

I even have great-grandchildren.

I'm absolutely enchanted by
these little grandchildren

that are popping out
one after another.

I want to be with them,
but I can only do one hour at a time,

then I have to take a Valium and
go to bed, because it's hard work.

But I enjoy it a lot.

You were talking about women
having a guilty conscience.

Trust me to try and suppress that...

I had a strict upbringing.

It was common in those days

that you were brought up
to have a guilty conscience.

A guilty conscience
was part of the upbringing.

Moreover...

I was a rat in many ways,
I was a liar and a cheat.

I went from one to the other.

I behaved like an absolute bastard.

In the end this became
unbearable for me.

I decided not to have
a guilty conscience,

as I felt it became
a form of posturing

to have a guilty conscience
about the suffering you cause.

So I got rid of my guilty conscience.

How do you do that?

A guilty conscience is one thing,
feelings of guilt another.

I could never liquidate
my feelings of guilt.

But as I got rid of my guilty conscience.
I decided to become

the world's foremost
in my profession.

There would be no limits to my
conquests as a professional.

It was all closely linked:

My feelings of absolute failure...

as a human being,

and wanting to compensate for this
by being

as accomplished a professional
as was virtually possible.

This in its turn forced me
to make certain decisions.

A tremendously ascetic lifestyle.

Precision, punctuality, soberness...

A rigor which became a trial
for my colleagues.

I demanded the same of them.

We've been talking about life,

and for both of you art
- theatre and film - is life.

But love and women have
also been leitmotifs in your lives.

- Many women...
- Here we go.

There still are.
Erland is moving in with someone.

It has always been important.

Of course there have
been conflicts...

and storms.

Despair and joy,

and this turmoil in body and soul
that love will create.

"Here we go," you said, Ingmar.

You're used to it being brought up,
your love life.

But it's formed an essential part
of your lives.

Yes, but I resist talking about it.

It's hard when it's made public.

Often because I feel I've let
too many people down in the past.

I've had too many shortcomings
in these affairs.

'Affairs' is the wrong word
- episodes.

But there must be many wonderful
and enjoyable things to tell...

Oh yes, I've been very...

I've been very much in love,
I am in love - continuously.

It's a tempting profession.

You very soon become
very intimate

with the people you play against.

A love affair in the workplace is
the most natural thing that can happen.

It's considered such a strange thing.

I think it's perfectly reasonable that
love springs up in the workplace.

You just sit there smiling, Ingmar.

I've always marveled at how
- we two go back many years -

how girls would chase Erland,
he never had to do anything.

When I've fallen in love
with someone,

I've always had to work hard at it.

But Erland and Sven Nykvist
never had to do a thing.

The girls just fall madly in love,
and I can never understand...

Why?

I could never understand
how they did it.

I've always had a devil of a job

being something of love's carthorse
all my life.

I don't agree with you there.

You can't be a judge of that.

- I suppose I can't!
- No, you can't.

You don't know how it works.

If you want a brief description
of me...

On the subject of Bergman
and love:

I have always been deeply in love...

for as long as I can remember.
It started with my mother.

I was madly in love with my mother.

She was so beautiful.

But she had of course
had a puritanical upbringing,

so any tokens of affection

were out of the question...

because I was a boy.

But if you were ill - my mother
was a trained nurse -

so when you were ill,
then she would let loose

all her enormous love.

No wonder I was ill all the time!

But as she was a nurse

she'd see through me...

And this has continued...

Looking at the women in your life,
they last about three years

and then you find someone else...
Five years, you say.

Five years.

That's barely enough time
to get started.

But then I met Ingrid.

That lasted for twenty-four years.

Then Ingrid died,
or we would have carried on.

But in that Ingrid came
to the decision

that she wanted to marry me,

all other traffic ceased.

Was it true love, or had you
matured? It was true love.

Yes. And it was a matter of...

I was fifty-two when
we got married,

and I was coming out of puberty
then, pretty much.

And this marriage,
that I subsequently lived in,

was immensely close.

The funny thing was that Ingrid

looked so much like my mother.

That could have had some
significance, somehow.

We had such a deep
understanding...

so that... everything
came together there.

What is also funny is that,
on the other hand,

it shows what wonderful girls
they all were.

I'm good friends with all these girls.

It's hard to believe when you read
how you treated some of them.

It's hard to understand

how they could be so forgiving.

Your first wife, for example,
who contracted TB.

While she was in treatment
you met someone else.

To be abandoned
in these circumstances...

To do that, and still remain friends...

It's quite amazing
that they've been so generous.

There could have been
so much bitterness and hate.

Somehow the bitterness subsides.

I have also caused a lot
of bitterness, which has subsided.

You go through it together,
that's something you can't avoid.

I'm also very good friends
with my ex-wives.

When reading about you I get
an impression of two lady-killers,

also from your autobiographies.

Try not to look too flattered!

Still you describe yourselves as ugly
when you were growing up.

- You did in your book The Colour.
- It might have been there.

Your head was big,
you had red hair...

And also curly hair
and masses of freckles.

In those days you were bullied
for being a redhead.

When I look at photographs
I'm surprised that I felt so ugly.

You can't tell from photographs,
but I felt horribly ugly.

Did this feeling have anything to do
with you becoming an actor?

To be someone.

To play the lover,
become someone else...

I played many romantic roles
in Gothenburg,

and enjoyed it immensely.

It was a great achievement for me

not to be so embarrassed
about my body and all that.

It was an enjoyable time
in that respect.

But the same...

Bergman's looking highly amused...
What?

What? I'm just delighted,
listening to you makes me enthusiastic.

Also, it appealed to my mixture
of shyness and exhibitionism.

Being on stage is very good
for that.

I didn't want to be either
seen or heard,

but I quote Isaac Grunewald:

"A day without being in the papers
is a lost day."

In that respect I'm really
quite ambivalent.

To tie it up:

I was of course
very easily seduced,

as I was so fond of being noticed

and appreciated, especially
by women.

- Who fell in love with you?
- I suppose that many did.

And I fell in love with many
of them.

You also describe yourself as ugly:
spotty and sickly...

I really was hideous.

I was tall and stooped.

I was terrifically skinny - as thin
as a scratch on a negative.

On top of that I had appalling acne.

I felt enormously ill at ease
with my body

and with all the hormonal storms

that I was subjected to.

Furthermore, the girls thought...

that I looked enormously comical.

I had a difficult time with girls,
there's no doubt about that.

During my schooldays
I had a hard time with girls.

There was one girl who
took pity on me.

She must have been around
fourteen.

I was sixteen.
That's where it started.

She was really quite fat.

She must have been twice my size
and not very attractive.

That's where it all started.

She was really sweet and we used
to do our homework together.

And my mother, who kept a close
eye on the chastity of her children,

she thought this girls was so ugly

that she couldn't possibly be
a threat to little Ingmar's chastity.

But that's just what she was.

We started practicing diligently
at her house

on a shabby, saggy couch.

It must have felt like a vindication
for you.

The pimply boy that no one
wanted...

Of course, eventually I got that.

I got that...

I started making films in 1945.

And for the first time I experienced

this intensely powerful...

erotic atmosphere.
But that's not quite true, either.

As I was so young and insecure...

so scared,

and knew so little...

I spent most of my time
being extremely angry.

I was constantly shouting
and kicking up a row.

It wasn't actually
until after a few years,

when I began to master
my profession,

that this incredible feeling

of attraction and affinity appeared

within this magic circle
created by the lights.

That didn't appear until later.

I consistently fell in love
with my leading actresses.

It didn't always result
in love affairs,

but it certainly
was a loving atmosphere.

- And there were children...
- And complications.

- A new film and a new love.
- Yes, that was often the case.

It must have been hard
to go through all these separations.

It can't just have been a matter of
stepping in and out of relationships.

- It sounds like it's been painful.
- It's been tough.

A feeling of doom...
obscurity and strangeness.

I avenged my ugliness
by being funny.

I always had to be funny.

I have been dogged by this
over the years.

Being funny was a way
of keeping both

myself and the world at a distance.

But I've grown out of it,
now I'm just dull.

You're still funny.

Oh well... I still use it
in the struggle for existence.

I'm skeptical about this thing
of 'being oneself'.

I'm not sure what that means.

I'm quite happy not having a core.

I have to remember
having said that!

So you don't go and say:
"I'm quite happy having a core."

In contrast to Erland, who says he's
quite happy not having a core...

Is that what you said?

It's a bit different for me.

Instead I rather feel

that I live in a terrible
state of chaos

that I have to keep a check on.

If I don't keep a check on it,

I will perish in my chaos.

I could perish in this chaos.

Is that why you like to be
in control?

As regards the world around me,

and as regards myself,

I'm extremely organized
and controlled.

I detest any kind of improvisation.

And nowadays...

I don't have a social life at all.

Since Ingrid passed away
five years ago

I don't meet any people
outside my work.

Erland and I met at the theatre,
or talk on the phone.

We never go out together,
or have dinner.

Why did this stop?

I've never found it difficult
to be alone.

On the contrary
I've felt a great need of solitude.

Ever since I was a child
I've liked being on my own,

playing alone,
pottering about on my own.

Solitude has never been a problem
for me.

But then I had those exceptional
twenty-four years with Ingrid,

where I came to experience
something extraordinary:

a close relationship.

That could never be recreated.

So now I have reverted to solitude.

But to this I now have to add
my sense of deep loss.

Because I carry that with me
every day.

Although my need of company...

hasn't changed in any way,
it remains nonexistent.

But I do love

my time at the theatre,
at the rehearsals.

But I also love my solitude at Faro.

- We haven't said much about death.
- No...

- Do you dislike talking about it?
- No.

- Most people do.
- Why? It's an absolute reality...

Both Erland and I have good reason

to contemplate it.

I think of Strindberg,
whom you both love,

of his play Thunder in the Air.

There are in the accounts
of ageing

a feeling of reconciliation,
together with the pain.

I get the same feeling
when listening to you.

I don't know if this is just
my impression.

Is it wishful thinking on my part,
that ageing brings reconciliation?

- Do you want to start, or shall I?
- You start.

I can carry on.

We should talk in chorus,

as we both feel the same way
about growing old.

We were never told it would be
so hard.

It's hard work.

It's very hard work.

Especially when you feel
yourself waning,

and your ailments begin
to take over.

Ridiculous, slightly humiliating
ailments begin to take over.

Before you get used to this,
and they become part of your life,

you have a hard time.

Ageing is strenuous work.

It isn't something often talked about.

We should talk more about it.

Ageing in itself

is a full-time job.

Making yourself function

in a reasonably dignified manner.
We've talked about this.

Your way of talking about
your ailments

is a mixture of seriousness
and joking.

Joking about it is like casting
a spell.

And there is a comical side to it.

If you spend five minutes
trying to button a cuff link

you start laughing after
four minutes,

seeing the ridiculous side of it.

But I also have to say
that I'm very reluctant to die.

Much more so than Ingmar.
I don't want to die.

Ingmar is more resigned to
the thought, but then I'm younger.

Not resigned.

We had an agreement,
we even used to joke about it...

I would die first.

Ingrid would sit with me
and hold my hand.

Ingrid would be the last
person I saw.

She was going to take over
everything on Faro

and everything was to go on
as before.

And then this happened...

Probably the cruelest thing
to befall me in my life

and which has crippled me.
Ingrid suddenly died.

Not suddenly, it took a year.

To go on living now

is for me

so utterly irrelevant.

I try...

I try to fill in the gaps
in my knowledge.

I try to keep my life in order.

I keep set hours.
I get up at six in the morning.

I work methodically until noon.

Then there's the theatre.

I try to maintain a strict order.

To me...

To me life itself is a heavy burden.

That I'm never going to see
Ingrid again...

is to me deeply distressing.

It's a dreadful thought.

You see, I really felt
that Ingrid was still there.

I had an uninterrupted conversation
going on with her.

She wasn't altogether gone,
she was still near.

But then notions of life and death
as existence and non-existence

clashed violently.

"That means I'll never again
see Ingrid."

Then Erland and I

had a good conversation about it,
which meant an awful lot to me.

Erland asked: "What are your
thoughts on the matter?"

I said: "I'm very doubtful
at the moment."

"But I think I'll see Ingrid again."

Because I do believe in other
realities, I always have.

I think I'll meet Ingrid again.
And Erland wisely replied:

"So affirm that belief."
And that's what I've been doing.

I'm not actually afraid of dying.

On the contrary, really.
I think it'll be interesting.

- So this is where you differ.
- Yes, I think it's ghastly.

I don't want to.

But I know that I eventually
will be defeated by my body.

When it gives up.

I know I said several years ago,
when I felt it approaching,

that I somehow had to find
a philosophy of dying.

It's as if you're just going
with the stream,

instead of deciding where
to put in the oars

and start rowing for yourself.

I prefer to do my own rowing,
and not be caught off guard.

I suppose my fear has lessened
the past few years.

- Have you found a philosophy?
- No.

- You've helped Ingmar.
- We've talked about this, but...

Well, maybe, I don't know,
something has changed in me.

I feel that the one thing
that would be really appalling,

would be to end up a vegetable.

Or to be a burden to other people.

If my dying spirit had to live
in a body...

where the organs were increasingly
undermining me.

To me that would be rather
gruesome.

Though there are possibilities...

You can actually decide for
yourself if you want to go on living.

I hope that I'll have the presence
of mind to make that decision.

- You would take your own life?
- Absolutely.

And that's not posturing on my part.

It will be a completely natural
ending

to do that while I have
my wits about me,

and still have the capability
to plan and organize it.

I fully share that view.

It's nice to have Ingmar
and Ulla there,

to control my mental faculties.
I ask them if I'm going senile.

You see, we've promised
each other this...

As I mentioned earlier,
Erland and I have an agreement

that we will gauge

each other's senility potential.
Haven't we?

We won't know who's judging who,

and then we'll just lie there
laughing.

Hey guys, it didn't work!

Is there still curiosity and joy, the
desire to experience new things?

We may be sad, but neither Ingmar
nor I have lost our cheerfulness.

- I don't think so. We laugh a lot.
- Yes.

But that's necessary, really.
It's all you can do, isn't it?

While we still have our teeth...

- Even when they've fallen out...
- We'll still be laughing.

We'll be laughing about that.
"Look, there go my teeth...

You see, throughout my life,

ever since I was a little boy,
I have been tremendously curious.

And my curiosity...

on all possible and various levels,

because there are many kinds
of curiosity -

but my curiosity actually
is boundless.

There's even a recognized disease
called loss of curiosity.

You lose your vital force.

Picture the phone conversations
between these two curious persons.

We have a lot to talk about.

I feel it's a wonderful gift.

With time we've come to realize
what life has bestowed on us:

This contact we have with one another,
this friendship.

This intimate friendship.