Ingmar Ernst Bergman
La Vergogna

War Seen by the Master.

“When I watch “Shame” again, I find that it is split into two parts. The first half, dedicated to war, is ugly. The other, about the effects of war, is beautiful. The first half is much worse than I imagined, but the other is better than I remembered.” And indeed: ...”the best part of the film begins when the war ends and the pains begin.”

(I.Bergman, from his diary-book: “Images”)

Eva and Jan Rosenberg (played by a sensational Liv Ullmann and a Max von Sydow in a state of grace), are a couple of artists, musicians to be precise. They both play the violin. They have no children. But they dream of having them in the future (especially she does). In fact, they plan to have a child, not knowing, of course, that soon the war will also reach their hermitage. They have long since withdrawn to a deserted island, where they survive by growing vegetables and greens. Without luxuries or comforts but, at least, in full tranquility. The war rages on in the world. Eva and Jan will soon find themselves grappling, first with the manifestation of conflict before their eyes—death, destruction, senselessness—and then with its unpleasant consequences. The couple will be forced to endure terrible and humiliating experiences at the hands of, sometimes one, sometimes the other, army. Sadly, shortly after their life will be overturned by wartime events. The body of a parachutist—already dead—suddenly lands on the island, where other soldiers arrive who, suspecting the two of being the killers of their comrade, arrest them on charges of collaboration. Colonel Jacobi, an old admirer of Eva, helps the couple in prison while simultaneously pursuing the woman, who eventually yields to the soldier's persistent courtship. He even entrusts her with a sum of money for safekeeping. Jan accidentally discovers the money that Jacobi (played by Gunnar Bjornstrand) had entrusted to Eva; he takes it, cold-bloodedly kills his romantic rival and also another soldier accidentally on the island. No longer feeling safe, the two decide to flee by sea. With the money taken from the murdered colonel, they buy passage on a departing barge, destination unknown. In open sea, the vessel drifts, in waters full of floating corpses. In the final scene, the corpses disappear and Eva recalls dreaming of having a daughter.

“Shame” (Skammen) is not a war film (obviously), but a film about war; indeed, about the effects of war on humans and human relationships. In fact, initially, it was simply to be called, “The War.” It is also the Master's indirect response to the socio-political debate on war (even the more current one at the time: the Vietnam War). It is also the director's official stance: he definitively condemns war, adopting (obviously and unequivocally) a completely and indisputably pacifist attitude. Moreover, questioned by an unheard-of, quite generic and hasty accusation of conformism from part of the press, supposedly for some statements made precisely regarding the Vietnam War. To such criticism, the Master simply but firmly responded by saying he was not interested in who was responsible for the Vietnam War, nor for all the other countless war outbreaks scattered across the globe. Indeed, releasing a film about war in full 1968 was a venture that could occur to and succeed only for the individualistic, solipsistic Bergman. Despite the controversy, his film and message are much more eloquent and clear today than they must have appeared at the end of the '60s. Moreover, he always insisted that he declared himself, not only against war, but also against any form of violence and human oppression. Indeed, the case of “Shame” is not even the first time Bergman takes a stand against war in his films. The theme of war, which was already only hinted at by the director in earlier films, becomes central here: depicted as the contagious violence of History, a faceless, nameless demon that unleashes latent cruelty and violence in every man. Looking closely, indeed, the anti-war theme was already present in many of his previous works: - in “The Seventh Seal,” war (specifically the Crusades) is mocked by Jons the shrewd and talkative squire; and even the Knight Antonius Block shows no great enthusiasm for them; - in “Persona” (although only in the Prologue), images of monks self-immolating in protest against the military invasion of their country are shown; - “Winter Light” included an anti-war idea as a foretold catastrophe in the obsession of the farmer, first going mad, finally suicidal, fearing the looming risk of the Chinese atomic bomb; - “The Silence” showed, almost as a warning of a restless and nervous world, convoys of tanks moving through the mysterious and incomprehensible city of Timoka. “Shame” is also a film about the attitude of art, indeed of artists, toward war. Art, in this case music, is seen as a tool to rise and to reach the highest level, that of the exalted peaks allowed only to the creator. But “Shame” is also a film (indirectly) about religion and God (although God is never openly mentioned; but man, his fears, problems, and dreams are openly discussed). Indeed, if one allows the paradox, it could be called a film of man's silence on religion and God, as a response to the silence of religion and God on man. “This film,” as Bergman himself says, “deals with people who have no faith, no political convictions, and who can offer nothing. They are naive. They don't try to understand anything nor to take a stand.” Simple in an almost disarming way but a masterful and perfect reconstruction of a "normal" war, which in the end at least allows survivors to take a small step toward their future and the future of the world. The film shows all the “inevitability” of a common dream. And, once again, as he had done in other previous films, Bergman uses the dream subterfuge to describe the protagonist's state of mind and to circulate a great message of life and hope: “I had a dream. I walked down a beautiful road, on one side there were all white houses with arches, columns, porticoes, while on the other side there was a vast park and under the trees, all along the road, dark green water flowed. I reached a high wall: it was completely covered with roses. Then suddenly a plane set the roses on fire. I was not afraid. It was all so splendid. I stood there looking into the water and saw those roses burning. I was holding a little girl in my arms, she was our daughter. She snuggled against me and I felt her mouth brush my cheek and all the time I knew I had to remember something someone had said and I had forgotten.” Liv Ullmann is superb in the demanding central role—which required a complete emotional involvement, both with her husband (Max von Sydow) and her lover (Gunnar Björnstrand). Max von Sydow, is believable and even detestable, both in the role of a man killer and a potential ...chicken killer. Even when he faints, almost cowardly. The film also provides a great fable on the danger of weapons and their ability to transform even a person who wouldn't potentially be able to kill a meek and defenseless barn animal with their bare hands into a cold-blooded killer. The scene where von Sydow, failing to kill a chicken, almost attempts to shoot the winged fowl is anthological. One of Bergman's greatest films. But also one of his least known and least acclaimed. Finally, about the film's hidden meaning, the authentic, concise, dry but eloquent interpretation provided by Bergman himself, a few years after its release in theaters. It also contains a clear “political” reference to the Prague Spring: “The film is not about the enormous brutality of war, but only about its pettiness. It's exactly like what happened to the Czechs. They defended their rights, and now, slowly, they are subjected to a tactic of degradation that wears them down. “Shame” is not about bombs. It's about a progressive infiltration of fear ... But “Shame” is not precise enough. My original idea was to show just a day before the war breaks out. But then I wrote other things and everything went wrong, I don't know why. I haven't seen “Shame” recently, and I'm a bit afraid to do so. When you make a picture like that, you must necessarily be very hard on yourself. It's a moral issue.”