•
Rating: The beginning of a story can be wrapped in an almost fairy-tale aura. It comes to my mind this way when I try to remember how and when my curiosity, first, and then my interest in cinema was sparked. I remember well when Public TV broadcasted in black and white and there were only two channels. In particular, on Monday evenings, right after Carosello, it was a good habit to air films included in retrospectives dedicated to highly acclaimed and esteemed directors. Even though I was very young and couldn’t stay awake after Carosello, I remember that films by authors like Bergman and Fellini were programmed in specific retrospectives. In my then quite young and suggestible mind, that was enough to make me curious and think that the cinematic art had something magical in itself.
Over time, this primordial impression found countless confirmations, and not only in what I had the chance to see by the aforementioned two directors. Nonetheless, I always kept a certain regard for Bergman because he has always been a very respected author, not least because of that severe philosophical approach of Lutheran Protestant roots that led him to tackle the great themes of life. It would be enough to remember certain essential works like "The Seventh Seal," focused on the eternal duel between Life and Death, or "Wild Strawberries," attentive to the melancholies of the existence of those who are now elderly. Basically, always those so-called challenging films that one would see and watch again in art-house cinemas, after which often and willingly followed tough debates (understandably, then at a certain point someone like Nanni Moretti would jump in to wish to avoid them..).
Yet, in the case of this film which I mention below (discovered by me a few years after the "Bergman bricks") titled "All These Women," the reported impressions were decidedly unsettling. How, I wondered after the first viewing, could such a serious director as the Swede allow himself such a divertissement, almost a brilliant comedy at the rhythm of black bottom (the setting is in a princely villa among actors and actresses dressed according to the fashion of the Twenties of the last century)? Yet the greatness of a director lies precisely in showing a certain eclectic style that can move from dramatic to light tones without falling into the banal and insipid.
Briefly, the plot sees a certain Cornelius, a music critic with compositional aspirations, arriving at the splendid mansion of Felix, a world-renowned cellist, with the aim of completing his biography and trying to deliver a composition of his own. But the endeavor turns out to be much more complicated than anticipated as Felix (never directly framed throughout the film) lives surrounded by an authentic harem of women (wife and various lovers) in perpetual competition with each other to enjoy the musical genius. It will not be easy for Cornelius to execute his plan (enlisting all those women involves a certain expenditure of seductive and erotic arts as well..). But when the goal seems almost within Cornelius's reach, the great cellist is struck by a sudden malaise. Great sorrow among the attendees, subdued funeral rites as per custom, but considering that "The king is dead, long live the king!", the void left by a great artist must also be filled, and a young cellist will enter the scene to the joy of the various widows. This will turn out to be useful for critic Cornelius himself, now devoted to glorifying a new rising star in the musical universe.
In a film with a dazzling rhythm, at times with tones of farce and slapstick comedy, Bergman stages a gentle satire of the artistic environment (and there are autobiographical references, considering that the Swede lived revered as a genius of cinema). The artist, blessed with success and money, lives in an Eden, surrounded by beautiful women, in a court of miracles at whose doors beggars of all kinds knock, becoming increasingly annoying. Maintaining good public relations is very demanding and put yourself in the shoes of someone who, so famous, has to face hordes of critics and journalists probing your existential or artistic choices. What Bergman went through is exactly what happened, just to give a few examples, to Pablo Picasso, who was asked for the hidden meaning of some of his paintings. Or what was asked of the Beatles about the meaning of the lyrics of some songs.
Fortunately, the Swedish director, shaking some pebbles out of his shoes, with gentle irony (and a steady hand in directing a group of very talented actresses like Bibi Andersson, Harriet Andersson, Eva Dahlbeck) describes what is precisely a golden prison for any known artist. And he confirms himself, in what might seem to some a minor film in his filmography, as a Mozart of the camera. Years ago, he passed away (much as our Fellini unfortunately did), but he left us a vast array of titles for a great lesson in cinema to posterity.
Loading comments slowly
