Film: Inner life expressed as art: the films of Ingmar Bergman: Part 1
Part 1 (of 3): Prologue
I recently watched most of the major films of Ingmar Bergman made after 1955. The films have a sense of progression, reflecting ongoing events in Bergman's life. There is even (intentional?) titular relationships with the seasons of a man's life in four of the films made over 30 years: The Virgin Spring (youth), Smiles of a Summer Night (young adults), Autumn Sonata (middle age), Winter Light (old age). Viewing these films was a remarkable experience, but an uncomfortable one, very unlike seeing the works of other cinematic masters like Kubrick, Mizoguchi, or Truffaut. I felt like a voyeur, peering into Bergman's self-administered psychotherapy. I have rarely experienced art in which the intent seemed as much to benefit the artist/author as the viewer. Thinking about this idea of composing/painting/filming to externalize and assuage one's own demons provoked this larger question for me: how does an artist's personal life affect his/her art? We, as consumers of theater, film, and literature like to make such connections, since they can give us an emotive road map to what we are experiencing. But how often are they real? It seems there are varying levels of correlation:
Level 1: An inverse connection between life and artistic output: For example, Rossini's life was marked by mental and physical illness and childhood hardship, yet he wrote sparkling comedy. Dostoyevsky led a relatively sheltered and prosperous life as a doctor and noble, but wrote dark, tortured tragic novels.
Level 2: Little or no connection between the auteur's life and his art: This is probably the most common, especially in music. The music of Bach, Haydn, Wagner, Stravinsky, the plays of Shakespeare (as far as we know), the operas of Verdi and most films of Kubrick fall into this category. Note that these artists may wish to express a political message important to them (e.g. Verdi's Italian liberation propaganda in Nabucco, Coppola's antiwar message in Apocalypse Now, Beethoven's early political (pro-Napoleonic) views in the Eroica symphony, later recanted). But these themes do not reflect their personal life, triumphs, and tragedies.As much as we would like to equate Beethoven's personal tragedy (failing hearing, illness) with tragic musical themes, I don't think it really pans out. Is the Ninth Symphony tragic? Is the 8th?. It seems that many of these artists without significant autobiographical content in their creations are classified as "universal" by critics, but universality is not excluded by such personal connections---see the works of Woody Allen.
Level 3: Indirect/subliminal connections between life and art (whether or not the auteur would admit or intend it): Included here might be Tennessee Williams', Caravaggio's and Michelangelo's homoerotic subtexts, Picasso's equal adoration for and violence towards women, Tchaikovsky's emotional and sexual turmoil, Mahler's failing health (e.g. the initial ticking, failing heart opening the 9th Symphony), Schubert's chronic illness (the late sonatas and chamber works), or Hitchcock's misogyny. This category provokes endless pseudo-psychoanalytic analysis by critics. For example, is Schumann's music often wildly animated and exciting because he was a manic-depressive? Or did his illness just make him wildly inconsistent in output and quality?
Level 4: Explicit, intentional connection of art and life. This includes many first ("autobiographical") novels and plays, self portraits, most novels by Dickens (illustrating his harsh working class upbringing), Nabokov (illustrating the folly of academia and academics) and Roth (Jewish consciousness in the suburbs), and the continuing career of Woody Allen. These artists depict their lives, reworking the material in often brilliant ways, yet maintaining the personal connection that the viewer/reader then may apply to her own life. This technique is less common in music, with some notable exceptions (e.g. Richard Strauss A Hero's Life, inflating himself and mocking critics). This level has become more common with the rise of the individual in the 20th century and of overt narcissism in the 21st.
Part 2 of this series will discuss how Bergman fits into this scheme.
I recently watched most of the major films of Ingmar Bergman made after 1955. The films have a sense of progression, reflecting ongoing events in Bergman's life. There is even (intentional?) titular relationships with the seasons of a man's life in four of the films made over 30 years: The Virgin Spring (youth), Smiles of a Summer Night (young adults), Autumn Sonata (middle age), Winter Light (old age). Viewing these films was a remarkable experience, but an uncomfortable one, very unlike seeing the works of other cinematic masters like Kubrick, Mizoguchi, or Truffaut. I felt like a voyeur, peering into Bergman's self-administered psychotherapy. I have rarely experienced art in which the intent seemed as much to benefit the artist/author as the viewer. Thinking about this idea of composing/painting/filming to externalize and assuage one's own demons provoked this larger question for me: how does an artist's personal life affect his/her art? We, as consumers of theater, film, and literature like to make such connections, since they can give us an emotive road map to what we are experiencing. But how often are they real? It seems there are varying levels of correlation:
Level 1: An inverse connection between life and artistic output: For example, Rossini's life was marked by mental and physical illness and childhood hardship, yet he wrote sparkling comedy. Dostoyevsky led a relatively sheltered and prosperous life as a doctor and noble, but wrote dark, tortured tragic novels.
Level 2: Little or no connection between the auteur's life and his art: This is probably the most common, especially in music. The music of Bach, Haydn, Wagner, Stravinsky, the plays of Shakespeare (as far as we know), the operas of Verdi and most films of Kubrick fall into this category. Note that these artists may wish to express a political message important to them (e.g. Verdi's Italian liberation propaganda in Nabucco, Coppola's antiwar message in Apocalypse Now, Beethoven's early political (pro-Napoleonic) views in the Eroica symphony, later recanted). But these themes do not reflect their personal life, triumphs, and tragedies.As much as we would like to equate Beethoven's personal tragedy (failing hearing, illness) with tragic musical themes, I don't think it really pans out. Is the Ninth Symphony tragic? Is the 8th?. It seems that many of these artists without significant autobiographical content in their creations are classified as "universal" by critics, but universality is not excluded by such personal connections---see the works of Woody Allen.
Level 3: Indirect/subliminal connections between life and art (whether or not the auteur would admit or intend it): Included here might be Tennessee Williams', Caravaggio's and Michelangelo's homoerotic subtexts, Picasso's equal adoration for and violence towards women, Tchaikovsky's emotional and sexual turmoil, Mahler's failing health (e.g. the initial ticking, failing heart opening the 9th Symphony), Schubert's chronic illness (the late sonatas and chamber works), or Hitchcock's misogyny. This category provokes endless pseudo-psychoanalytic analysis by critics. For example, is Schumann's music often wildly animated and exciting because he was a manic-depressive? Or did his illness just make him wildly inconsistent in output and quality?
Level 4: Explicit, intentional connection of art and life. This includes many first ("autobiographical") novels and plays, self portraits, most novels by Dickens (illustrating his harsh working class upbringing), Nabokov (illustrating the folly of academia and academics) and Roth (Jewish consciousness in the suburbs), and the continuing career of Woody Allen. These artists depict their lives, reworking the material in often brilliant ways, yet maintaining the personal connection that the viewer/reader then may apply to her own life. This technique is less common in music, with some notable exceptions (e.g. Richard Strauss A Hero's Life, inflating himself and mocking critics). This level has become more common with the rise of the individual in the 20th century and of overt narcissism in the 21st.
Part 2 of this series will discuss how Bergman fits into this scheme.
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