All language subtitles for Ingmar Bergman tar farväl av filmen.ENG

INGMAR BERGMAN

...BIDS FAREWELL TO FILM

A rhyme for the porridge.

"Our porridge is our strength and stay

It is our staple food

In joy, in grief, both night and day

It always does us good"

Now!

Look! I found the almond!

Four cheers for the coming year's
little bride-to-be!

Cut! Thanks.

When they cheer,
you look at them all very happily.

Am I in there, too?

Look, I got the almond!

Was it memories of bourgeois homes
and Christmases like this one

that made you make this film?

Not at all.

I started to write
mostly for the fun of it.

I didn't give the slightest
thought to what might come of it,

whether it would become
a film, a novel,

or something for TV.

In fact, I began to write about Uppsala

and my grandma's world

on Garden Street.

Did you visualize it?

Yes. I carry it inside me,
as a memento from my childhood.

Sometimes, when falling asleep...

It's a very good way to go to sleep,

the state between being awake
and falling asleep...

I step into Grandma's apartment
and walk through the rooms.

I see very clearly
that picture hanging on the wall,

that carpet, that clock,

that little porcelain figurine.

I walk from room to room
and I know exactly

where all those little
things are to be found.

And I can recall the smells...

We live in a totally different
environment of sound and light today

than we did back then.

I can recall all the sounds
from that time.

Even the smells.

The light I recall in my memory

is altogether different
from what we experience today.

So I started to write it all down...

and enjoyed doing it.

There is...

a short story by E.T.A. Hoffmann

that was turned
into the ballet The Nutcracker.

It begins with a magnificent
Christmas celebration.

Two children sit on a staircase,
waiting for the doors to open.

The tree and the whole celebration
are being set up inside.

That always fascinated me.
That's how it started.

I began by recreating the Christmas spirit,
and then one thing led to another.

It's like drilling for water.

You hit a spring
and it starts to gush out like crazy.

Then it got very long and voluminous.

I never thought about why this
or that happened. I just continued.

So perhaps this was coming
out of your subconscious?

I guess a lot of things were waiting
for me to formulate them.

It's kind of odd to think...

for those who have followed your work
over 30 years as a film director...

that you started out
as a young rebel,

exposing these wretched families,
this dishonest bourgeois mentality...

To think that it would end
in this loving celebration,

these deep red,
bourgeois Christmases,

almost like those of Dickens
or Fritz Reuter. It's fantastic!

You know, even the devil
might take vows in his old age.

On the other hand, I must admit

I'm quite allergic to every form
of Christmas celebration.

I simply cannot stand them.

Really? So this doesn't go on
at your home?

No, absolutely not.

I'd rather spend Christmas

with a book and some fish balls.

That's more like what people expect.
And your famous beret.

Well, I put that away, because
as I got older, it seemed unbecoming.

But I really spend Christmas
without all the common trappings.

But it was fun to recreate...

my childhood Christmases,
because they really happened that way.

My mother was
a very prominent director,

and we lived
practically in the countryside...

in a corner of Lil/jahsskogeh.

Exactly like in the rural provinces.

It was a huge vicarage
with lots of relatives...

uncles and aunts
on both Mother's and Father's side.

So Christmas was a huge production,
full of commotion.

It was lovely and gorgeous
in every possible way.

Now it's Yule again, now it's Yule again
and Yule will last until it's Easter

That's not true of course
No, that's not true of course

For in between comes
Lent and fasting

Now this is the funny part.
You come in like this.

And suddenly
you steer her over there.

You slip out of line
and join the others' hands.

They keep on going. Continue.

You push her in there, and you say,

"Shall I visit you tonight?"

Yes, yes. And you continue.

She gets free and escapes.

Right. Then she's saved
by joining the group here.

Unfortunately, you end up here
next to your wife.

That's good. Thank you.

ls Alexander in the movie
a portrait of you as a child?

Well, yes and no.

He's very much a composite.

What were you like as a child?

Well...

a lot like I am today, I guess.

Though a lot more scared and worried,

if that's possible.

But also very curious
about human existence.

l was, despite what everyone
believes, a very happy kid.

I had a very happy childhood.

The problem was

that those who raised me...

my parents and so forth...

almost always sent mixed messages,

if you know what I mean.

On the one hand, there was
this positive, life-affirming attitude

and a certain joyous,
worldly mentality,

and we children enjoyed
a certain freedom and independence.

On the other hand, there were the sudden
incomprehensible punishments,

the sermonizing,
confessing your sins and such.

That was very hard

for a child to understand.

Before puberty,

l was probably just
one lucky little devil,

who could enjoy

many of the pastimes
that I spent most of my time on...

cinematography and theater.

And with their support.
I mean, no one tried to stop me there.

Though I remember
when l was 12 years old and bought...

With some money from an aunt,
I went to an antique dealer

to buy Strindberg's collected works

The red annotated edition
by Landqvist... you know the one.

And as I struggled to get all 55 volumes
home, l was completely happy,

since Strindberg had already become
my personal household god.

But then Father came in,
saw all the books and said,

"Put those away!
I will not have Strindberg under this roof!"

I had to stash them all in a closet,

but nobody ever tried to stop me
from reading Strindberg.

We never had that kind of censorship.

The punishments
were mostly unreasonable

and terribly brutal.

You're a wise little man, Alexander.

You realize that the game is up...

but you are proud and stubborn...

and of course you are ashamed.

I've forgotten what I'm to confess.

Have you now.

What does the bishop want
Alexander to confess?

You know I have means at my disposal.

I didn't, but I do now.

In my childhood,
parents were not so softhearted.

They had the cane.
l have one too.

It's an ordinary carpet beater,
but it can dance a fine step!

If that didn't work, we had other
effective means, namely castor oil.

There you see the bottle and a glass.

A few mouthfuls of this
and you're more docile.

If that didn't help,
there was a dark and cold cubbyhole

where you sat for a few hours until
the rats started sniffing at your face.

Why must I be punished?

That is obvious, my boy.

You have a weakness in your character.

You can't distinguish lies from truth.

So far they are just child's lies,
however dreadful they may be.

But soon you will be
a grown man, Alexander,

and life punishes liars
ruthlessly and indiscriminately.

The punishment is to teach you

a love of truth.

I've always believed

there's some sort of virulent,
self-propagating evil.

I don't think all the evil
around us can be explained.

I believe it's a very strong,

very vital, self-propagating evil

that exists for its own sake.

I believe there's completely
inexplicable goodness as well.

So you kind of let
the devil off the hook?

Well, okay,
you might call it the devil,

but I don't think that's really it.

But the film is mostly
autobiographical, isn't it?

As a matter of fact, it isn't.
Well, some elements of it, perhaps...

When I first set out,
I didn't know what I wanted to write.

It was like some sort
of good-humored outburst,

and I began occupying myself
with Uppsala,

what my grandma's place looked like.

I kept wandering through the rooms
in my memory and thinking about it.

That's where it all started.

It's always remained
very strong in my consciousness,

this apartment of my grandma.

I stayed with my grandma very often,

and l was very attached to her.

In a way I was afraid of my parents,

though I was fond of them as well.

Especially my mother.

This is the first time you made a film
with a child as the leading actor?

Yes. I've always been afraid
to make films with children and animals.

This is indeed the first time.

It was wonderfully lighthearted.

Give a little yell,
and then rush in together.

- l'm last.
- You're last, and you're first.

I've been thinking about it.
You've all got slippers on.

- Should we take them off?
- I'm worried you might slip.

What do you think?
It's a bit risky.

- I'll take them off.
- Isn't it better without them?

But make sure you know where they are
when you're not on camera.

Actually, it's better
if you're not wearing slippers.

Before we begin, let's make sure
there are no nails sticking up.

You're in there.

So you're in there.
We've rehearsed that.

And then...
Listen!

Wait a minute. Stop.

such a positive film.

You're world-famous
for being so sinister,

one of the world's
most sinister film directors.

That's the general opinion
of you and your work.

Yes, I know.

And then you make your last movie
with this very sensual, happy quality.

I guess deep down
I'm really one happy devil.

lt's burst out every now and then
over the years.

l've kicked up my heels a time or two,

and I found it to be tremendous fun.

In the words of Strindberg,
from To Damascus:

"Despite my understandable melancholy,

I never managed
to take anything really seriously."

Without further comparison,

I'd say it feels really good.

Because that's the way it is.

Even if you depict all the misery
in the world and get involved in it...

there's already something in the very act
of sitting down to portray it,

putting pencil to paper

or adjusting a camera setting
and beginning to film it...

There's an element of delight there

that makes it agreeable.

There's an element ofjoy
in telling about the dark stuff.

Because anyone
who's really as tormented

as my films sometimes become...
without my even realizing it...

should in fact
go straight on to hang himself.

Many people have turned to writing
instead of hanging themselves.

Yes, I guess that happens.

But there's no doubt that
for me the element ofjoy

in doing things has always
been very strong.

There is, as you say,
a delight in doing things...

Isn't there also a special kind ofjoy
in making them particularly diabolic?

No, it just turned out that way.

Sometimes I've realized afterwards

that they turned out
even worse than I thought.

That things became
even darker and more horrible

than I thought they would.

For example,

both From the Life of the Marionettes
and The Serpent's Egg

are, in their own way, unfinished
because they're such introverted films.

So totally without options.

But there's no doubt that
when they were made,

they depicted a state of mind
that I had experienced for myself.

And in making those films l was trying
to get myself out of that state of mind.

You must be very happy that,
before you quit making movies,

you made this one that expresses
this open way of relating to life.

Well, no, lthink
that Fanny and Alexander,

and the fact that people like it...

and that those who invested in it
got their money back,

and that everybody is happy with it...

That is an act of grace, you see.

You know, making movies before,

and being successful...

I sort of took it for granted.

But now I react
with feelings of gratitude

and surprise.

In the film,
this lighthearted philosophy of life

is represented by the uncle,
Gustav Adolf, played by Jarl Kulle.

He's naive and positive in outlook,
and a true womanizer.

I'd like us to watch and listen
to his celebration of life,

which is also the film's.

My dear, dear friends.

I am more moved than I can say.

My wisdom is simple.

There are those who despise it,
but I don't give a damn...

Forgive me, Mama.
I noticed you raised your right eyebrow.

You think your son is talking too much.
Don't worry. I will be brief.

Therefore... and consequently...

we Ekdahls have not come
into the world to see through it.

Never think that.

We are not equipped
for such excursions.

We might just as well ignore
the big things.

We must live in the little world.

We will be content with that

and cultivate it
and make the best of it.

Suddenly death strikes.

Suddenly the abyss opens.

Suddenly the storm howls,
and disaster is upon us.

All that we know.

But let us not think
of all that unpleasantness.

We Ekdahls love our subten‘uges.

Rob a man of his subterfuges
and he goes mad and begins lashing out.

Damn it all,
people must be intelligible!

Otherwise we don't dare to love them
or speak ill of them.

We must be able to grasp
the world and reality

so we can complain of their monotony
with a clear conscience.

Is that how you wish
to sum up your view of life?

Not at all.
You're referring to his speech?

No, not at all.

This speech about
the large and small aspects of life,

about engaging in "the small life"...

that's not me at all.

That is entirely Gustav Adolf.

Don't forget
that his last name is Ekdahl,

and there is a most famous
lifelong deceiver named Hjalmar Ekdahl

in lbsen's The Wild Duck.

The Ekdahl family was in fact named
after the Ekdahls in that play.

This speech was written

partly in a sudden outburst
of good mood,

and partly...

in a sort of good-humored anger

over all these heroes of social activism

who through the years
have slandered me

for lacking such social commitment.

A good friend of mine
came groaning to me and said...

I'll never forget this...

the events in Algeria
kept him awake at night.

And this from someone
who sleeps damned well at night!

It has always irritated me,

because of course we all worry

about what's happening around us...
there's no escaping it.

lt's constantly rushing over us,

and our senses aren't constructed
to understand it,

no matter how much imagination
we may have.

We experience moments of great anxiety
for ourselves and our children.

But I think

this frenzy of social activism,
which prevents us

from enjoying a waltz,
or a good meal, or a spring day,

is reprehensible.

Do you realize you were criticized
by a bishop for this little speech?

He mistook it to be
Ingmar Bergman speaking.

That's right. My father,
who was a priest, used to say,

"Isn't it sad that it's always the morons
who become theologians?"

Because the irony
and the ambiguity in this speech

was over this bishop's head.

Is there nothing of you
in the character of Ekdahl?

Well, of course there is.

I think there's a little of me
in every character,

even in the bishop,

as well as the rest of the characters.

The bishop has got a lot more
interesting qualities than Ekdahl.

You portray the bishop
as a rather unhappy figure,

who also behaves very sadistically
towards his stepson.

The bishop believes...

and that you have
to relate to it accordingly.

The bishop looks
at the world quite differently,

and he thinks one has to behave
quite differently because of that.

And all parties are, more or less,

victims of their own perceptions.

The bishop's home is sinister, private,
nihilistic, just like his religion, right?

I think I brought some of that with me.

Maybe not so much from home,

but I saw it in the environment
in which we grew up:

the clergy of those days.

Something very nihilistic

and extremely frightening.

The bishop's home looks like your films
from Faro of the '60s, doesn't it?

Rather dark and barren.

The bishop's home looks a lot
like that in Winter L/ght,

where they've forgotten...

They remember the law
but forget the gospel.

Which of your negative traits
does the bishop have?

I don't think the bishop
and l are that much...

I think that very often

it's easy to take over qualities...

that you dislike from your parents.

You inherit,
consciously or subconsciously,

either through genes
or parental pressure...

a lot of qualities from your parents.

There was one aspect

especially for an anarchist,

a natural rebel
and maverick like myself,

and that was the dogmatism.

It was more of a cultural thing:
Parents simply could never be wrong.

Just like God or the king
could never be wrong.

The words "I'm sorry"
simply did not exist.

Parents could never admit
they behaved badly.

It was always us children
who were pushed

to contemplate our guilt and shame.

We didn't always agree
to being in the wrong.

You had to accept punishment
and ask for forgiveness,

despite your innocence.

And I guess I carried that with me
in my early years.

I really struggled with that dogmatism.

l'm authoritarian by nature.

My democratic qualities

aren't that well developed,

due in large part to my profession.

But as you grow
more conscious of it,

and it becomes more and more
tedious to live that way,

you gradually give it up.

So, you're
a freedom-loving authoritarian?

Yes!

One who dislikes others
to be authoritarian?

Yes. Right.

I love democratic decision making,
as long as I do the deciding.

And you like to impose your will on your
environment, control the situation.

I've noticed on several occasions
that you must be in charge.

You know, it's a double-edged sword,

because I know professionally,

the moment I coerce
my actors in any way,

they might perform
the way I want them to,

but on the other hand,
I know the results may be disastrous.

Because everything done...

on stage or in front of a camera

must happen totally voluntarily.

One might persuade people,
influence them to do certain things,

but one can never destroy
their own free will.

Cut.

My old teacher, Torsten Hammarén,
whom I met as a young director

at the end of the '40s,
taught me everything about the theater.

to listen and to shut up.

I didn't quite understand it then,
as l was rather garrulous.

But then I realized that actors...

are pretty intuitive people

and that I had to develop
my own intuition

to meet them on an equal level.

Actors are not particularly
verbal, you know.

They often have difficulty expressing
what they mean and what they want.

There are often things
that can't be easily expressed,

but we could meet
on an intuitive level.

Much of what we do

happens on a subconscious
level anyway.

There's no doubt about it.

We understand each other
and we trust each other.

Thus we create

a feeling of safety on the job.

Do you keep explaining to the actors
the emotional situation at hand?

I try not to explain too much.

I try not to overexplain
things for them.

Maybe I reinforce their perception
of what they're doing.

No...

I try to listen
with both my outer and inner ears.

I try not to talk all the time,

but to let the actors
feel their way...

into the issues instead.

I just might

put in a word here or there,

and so we attempt
to come together

and reach something together.

But there is no way

to make an actor do something well

against his or her own will.
It's simply not possible.

You make your move on the turn.
Look this way, Sven.

That looks great.

Is everything okay?

"It is not I..."

It is not I talking.
It is yourself.

Then put your hand
in front of his face.

Like that.

You are not to hesitate.

He's sound asleep.

Just a moment.

Hold your hand in front of his eyes.

You are not to hesitate.

He's sound asleep.

Then we follow the hand down.

Wait, let's see. That's right.

Stand still.

The hands are at the bottom of the frame,
the eyebrows at the top.

Look here. Look at the mouth.

I know who you're thinking of:

a tall man with fair, graying hair.

Correct me if I'm wrong.

He has clear blue eyes...
- He becomes more and more scared.

He becomes terrified.

Above the altar
hangs the crucified prophet.

In his dream he gets up
and cries out,

"My God, my God,
why hast thou forsaken me?"

There is no answer,

not even a laugh.

Don't talk like that.

It is not I talking.

It is yourself.

Cut!

Is there any difference between
directing children and grown-ups?

Yes, there is.

These children in
Fanny and Alexander-

I never thought it could be fun
working with kids,

but it turned out that these two...

were immensely fun to work with.

They were wonderful.

When they came bouncing down
the stairs each morning,

full ofjoy and eager
to commence this new game...

I got a boost,

an extra kick ofjoy,
because it was such fun.

They never read the manuscript,

and they were never asked
to study it at home.

They had to learn it
every morning when they arrived.

And you know kids...
things just fly into their heads.

We played our way
through all the different scenes,

the scary ones
as well as the funny ones.

Here is an excerpt of you
filming the hundredth take...

Yes, they were on the go
the whole time

and enjoyed themselves enormously.

They found it just as much fun
arriving for a day's work

as leaving in the afternoon
when they didn't enjoy it anymore.

And the next day
they were happy again.

Like that. That much.

Shh!" you say.

Listen, he's playing the flute.

If we concentrate...

You turn toward her,
and you both sit down.

If we concentrate on him dying,
then he will.

But we have to start together.

One, two, three:

Die, you devil!

"Die, you devil!"
Then there's another flash of lightning.

You say, "One, two, three."

Then he says, "Die, you devil,"
by himself.

Right. We did it that way before.

It was good the second time too.

You see he folds his hands...

- And I do too.
- Good.

And sit up straight, like this.
Don't slouch.

Then you look at him
and imitate his posture. Okay?

One, two, three.

One, two, three:

Die, you devil!

And you continue playing.

One, two, three:

Die, you devil!

- He's still playing.
- Let's try again.

Look at her and then say it.

One, two, three:

Die, you devil!

Then you look up.

And you say...

- "You can't..."
- Is it my turn?

You can't hear it anymore.

Maybe he's dead.

- Maybe he died!
- Yes, right.

Maybe he died.

My sister and I
used to carry on like that.

I recognize it well.

- Did you laugh about it?
- No. We were damn serious.

The movie ends with a quotation
from Strindberg's A Dream Play.

"Everything can happen.
Everything is possible and probable.

Time and place do not exist.
On a flimsy framework of reality,

the imagination spins,
weaving new patterns."

Is this what the movie is to you?
New patterns woven by the imagination?

Well, I guess it always has been.

Film has always been for me

a fantastic opportunity
to knock down walls and ceiling...

to stick my hand right through

the membrane of reality.

To reach out for other worlds,

to heighten events and tensions.

I think film is an incredible medium,

and I think that perhaps...

we may just be standing
on the threshold of its development.

And you know why?

You see, film deals so intimately
with our dreams.

The mysterious and remarkable thing
about film, as I see it...

others may see it differently...

is that film goes
beyond the intellect.

It speaks directly to you...
and that's where its danger lies.

It speaks directly to your conscious
as well as your subconscious mind.

You're very much defenseless,

very much exposed.

I think this is perhaps

even more significant for theatrical films
than for films made for TV.

Because a movie theater
is in essence a darkened room

in which you're staring
at a single illuminated spot,

which is the very basis
of at least a few types of hypnosis.

You sit there motionless...
and comfortable, if possible...

and you watch this illuminated spot.

- The illusions.
- Right, and shadows.

And it all streams right down
into your subconscious mind,

into your soul.

You can talk directly to this soul,

and it's tremendously fascinating.

The supernatural element
in this film can be found

in, among other things,
the theme of spirits.

Alexander's gentle father, Oscar,
dies too soon

but doesn't wish to disappear
into the peace of heaven that awaits him.

His spirit wanders about the house,
worrying about his wife and children.

It's not my fault
it's all gone wrong.

I can't leave you.
I just can't.

It would be better
if you'd take off for heaven.

You can't help us anyway.

I lived my whole life
with you children and Emilie.

Death makes no difference.

Do you draw a significant line
between life and death?

No. I tried to depict this
once before,

in Cries and Whispers...

where a deceased person
is unable to leave behind

the ones she loves
and the ones surrounding her.

She hesitates
to leap into the unknown

yet ends up stuck there anyway,
despite the fact she's dead.

l have a feeling there's...

I thought for a long time...

l was convinced,
and I found it reassuring,

that when you die, something
switches off, and you are no more.

From being something,
you go to being absolutely nothing,

and that's where it ends.

When you're born,
you're switched on.

I grow more and more
doubtful about this,

as my experiences
don't lead in that direction.

Do you sometimes dream
of those who have died?

Yes, I think there are people
who have passed on

whom I can almost touch,
who are very close to me.

Maybe it's just my imagination.

Maybe as I get closer
to the ultimate mystery myself...

It may feel reassuring
that there's something afterwards,

but I think it might not feel
so reassuring after all.

In fact, I think I prefer
that it be over when it's over.

When I used to believe that,
it was a tremendous feeling of security.

But I can't deny

that I sometimes feel
I can reach out for a hand,

or hear a voice, or...

Talk to them?

Not talk to them,
but communicate with them.

I'd be lying if I didn't say so.

I've tried to depict it...

simply and clearly,

without all the frills
and Vaseline on the lens.

No strange electronic music.

I wanted it to be in the same
obvious way that I experience it.

Do these experiences
have a moral significance for you?

Or is it the ghost of Hamlet
that urges you on?

Or do they just exist?

They just exist.

I don't know why or how.

The thing is, I just...

I experienced this
strongly as a child.

It just existed
and wasn't a big surprise.

l was indeed frightened by death,
but also fascinated.

I never stopped wondering about it,

but as I grew older,

my fear of dying took on
astronomic proportions.

But now I don't feel that way.

I consider this life

to be one enormous adventure,

filled with both wonderful

and frightening things.

I see it as one little part
of a long journey.

But whether this is really
the case or not, I don't know.

A journey whose origin and destination
are both shrouded in uncertainty?

If there even is a destination.

That I don't know either.
There might not be.

Maybe the journey
is itself the destination.

So the part of the trip that comprises
your films has come to an end?

- Yes, it's finished.
- You've said this is your last movie.

It will be my last movie, yes.

There's no coaxing you
into reconsidering?

I received a letter today

from a young man who wrote,

"I'm very interested
in ancient history.

Would it be possible
to get your autograph?"

And did he?

Of course he'll get his autograph
from ancient history.

But why do you wish to quit?
Because you're part of ancient history?

Not at all, but...

There are a number of reasons.

I guess I have this intuitive sense

that one suddenly says to oneself,
"This is it."

I've seen so many of my colleagues

swept off the stage,
worse for wear and utterly weary.

And their films have become gray
and more and more boring.

I would like

to go down "with flag flying high."

Like world boxing champion
Rocky Marciano,

who left the ring
undefeated after 50 fights.

Well, I think this is
a good place to stop.

And there's something else
you come to realize:

Making movies
is very strenuous physically.

It's a fiercely physical
and psychological effort...

and I almost think
the physical aspect is the worst.

You produce about three minutes
of the finished movie per day.

Everyone knows that these three minutes
must be of absolute peak quality.

The highest possible quality.

To keep up with
this frightening level every day,

week after week,
month after month,

makes you terribly neurotic.

It requires tremendous physical effort.

I don't want any part of that anymore.
I lack the strength.

Yes, Oscar, that's how it is.

One is old and a child
at the same time.

What became
of those long years in between

that seemed so important
at the time?

May I take your hand?

I remember your hand as a child.

It was small and firm and dry.

And your wrist
was so awfully slender.

I enjoyed being a mother.

I enjoyed being an actress too,
but I preferred being a mother.

I liked having a big belly,

and I didn't give two shakes
about the theater then.

It's all acting anyway.

Some roles are nice,
others not so nice.

I played a mother.

I played Juliet and Margareta.

Then suddenly I played a widow
or a grandmother.

One role follows the other.

The thing is
not to shrink from them.

But what became of it all?

Can you tell me that, my boy?

You're a good boy

to listen to your old mother's soliloquies,
as Isak calls them.

If I have a spokesman
at all in this movie,

it has to be the grandmother,
Gunn Wéllgren's part.

It might be even more noticeable
in the TV version

that she's the centerpiece,

the uniting element.

The movie is structured
in such a way that she returns

on certain occasions...

and she also carries
the end of the movie.

She tells what it's all about.

The fixed point.

She's experienced.
She knows what's going on.

It's often said that the women
in your films are more interesting,

more three-dimensional than the men.

- That's how it is in real life, right?
- You believe that?

No, it just turned out

that maybe the female roles were
better than the male roles.

I also think it's more fun
to work with women.

Especially in the early days.

It isn't like that anymore,
but in the early days it was more fun.

Why is that, do you think?

Well, it must be...

my enormous need for close contact...

or my unwavering interest
in the opposite sex. I don't know.

I've always found it
very exciting to work with women.

Do you consider their spiritual life
more interesting?

No, I wouldn't say that, but...

For me personally,
it's always been more exciting.

You know...

it all started, like everything else,
in my childhood,

because I was very much in love
with my mother.

She was beautiful and, in many ways,
very unapproachable.

She alternated between being
very cold and very warm.

Sometimes she would be tender,

and sometimes she would
push us children away.

You could never be sure of her mood.

But I knew one thing for certain...
l was desperately in love with her.

Those are some
of my earliest childhood memories:

my great attachment to my mother.

So, I learned at a very early age...

Very early on I studied her...
unknown to her, of course.

I wanted so badly to get close to her.

And so I tried to figure out
how to get closer to her.

I investigated,

with the cunning

and intuition of a child,

my mother's way of reacting,
feeling and thinking.

For instance, I knew

that my mother
had severe troubles with...

Well, she often had stomachaches.

She had, of course, developed
a nervous stomach

from all the pressures
weighing on her.

Mother was in fact
a rather rebellious spirit,

though disciplined in a rectory.

But I learned that if I said
my stomach was upset,

I got my mother's
immediate attention.

I would be coddled and cared for.

When she discovered I was bluffing,
l was badly punished.

But it got to where
I could fake a stomachache

to the point
where I got actual pains.

And that was wonderful,
and a huge victory,

since she started to take care of me

and cuddle me
and be very tender with me.

She was tender and caring
towards sick people,

and to children that were ill.

So I guess that's where
this interest in women began.

Do you use this little trick
on other women?

I think when you're young,
you use every means available,

permitted or not...

l have a strong sense

of having used all kinds
of strange tricks in those days.

Any trick that proved
particularly successful?

I don't know.
What tricks did you use?

You'd use tenderness and intellect,

a little Weltschme/Z
and things like that

that could serve to get
the ladies interested.

Being a young man was very problematic
for me with girls and all,

as l was, first of all, a lousy dancer.

Maybe I was a bit too interested,
and I looked like hell, so it was hard.

But I think it all started
back somewhere in my childhood.

When did all that start to change?
You said these were problems of youth?

Well, as I grew older

and formed an identity,

achieving professional success
and things like that.

- You stopped being so eager, perhaps?
- That's right.

Well, you know how it is.

Some things
have to be learned from life.

Yes.

Thanks.

Is the feminist contingent satisfied?

Did she laugh?
It didn't sound...

I don't think she sounded satisfied.

She'll have to settle for that.
Thank you.

- Well, were you?
- Yes, it'll do.

She's satisfied.

She's thinking, "Damn, it's hopeless.
Two darned old male chauvinist pigs."

She's used to being
bullied around at home.

And by you too, huh?