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The Silence (1963)


 

Ingmar Bergman - The Silence (1963)

A train. Two women. A boy appears in the frame, rubbing his sleepy eyes. One of the women coughs painfully, appearing to be ill. Later, the boy looks out of the train window and sees the silhouettes of armored vehicles speeding by as the train moves.

For me, one of the most significant films by Bergman is The Silence (1963). The film tells the story of the estranged and strained relationship between two sisters, Ester and Anna. Eventually, they arrive in a small town called Timoka.

The Silence is one of Ingmar Bergman's films with the least dialogue—only about 34-38 lines in total. Later, Bergman remarked that if he had been more alert and logical, there would have been only 7-8 lines in the entire film. The film works exceptionally well even as it is and would have succeeded just as brilliantly with only those few lines. It is also the final part of Bergman’s so-called Faith Trilogy. The other two films in the trilogy are Through a Glass Darkly (1961) and Winter Light (1963).

The Silence is a distortion of emotionally charged but suppressed feelings, and in the midst of all this, there are the layers and nuances that make this film visually powerful and mesmerizing. It manages to mirror silence, small sounds, atmospheric environments, and subtlety, thus creating an associative chain between the film and the viewer.

The boy moves alone through the hotel corridors. He stops and sees a large painting. The boy’s confusion. The hotel concierge walks past him from a distance; attention shifts to the man, and then back to the painting. (The painting: Paul Rubens, Deianeira Abducted by Nessus)

The conflicting relationship between the two sisters reflects like a nightmare from the past—something that occasionally resurfaces, gnawing at the already broken core of the characters. It also deals with the separation and jealousy between these two women. The film expresses a kind of atmosphere of denial and silence, where silence is golden, and suffering becomes a value in itself. A theme that Bergman explored and varied in his films numerous times, yet he always managed to create new angles and layers to them.

Anna and her son leave the hotel. Ester is too ill. The ticking of the clock—Ester lies in bed, speaking. The concierge listens, and Ester says, “With ghosts and memories, one must be on guard.”

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