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Still a sticky subject for many Bergman lovers, Fanny & Alexander - Bergman's last film before his self-imposed cinematic retirement - remains, twenty years later, a defiant polarizer.
While there is a distinct and pervasive magic within the framework of Fanny & Alexander - especially in the 5+ hour version of the picture included on this DVD box set - the filmmaking style with which Bergman tells this autobiographical tale is almost unavoidably subtle and unimposing. Always a filmmaker to push people's buttons - there's one Swedish critic mentioned in the extra features who continually refers to Bergman's output as "vomit" - the fact that his once-noticeable heavy aesthetic hand isn't pulling the strings with Fanny & Alexander rubs some cineastes the wrong way.
As with any filmmaker who experiments heavily in his early career and then finds more mainstream success with less volatile works, there's a degree of resentment that clouds Fanny & Alexander in certain circles. Of course, as an autobiography of sorts, there isn't much room for Bergman to turn the insides out of the characters he documents in the film, but that's of no matter to early-Bergman fans that throw the odious "sell-out" term at his later works. Fanny & Alexander doesn't appear, on first viewing, to be all that cryptic of a tale, but what gives the film its unmistakable punch is that its merits are derived more from repeat viewings than on first assessment.
And this thread of thought is what brings me to my own feelings about the film. I vividly remember being all but laughed out of a conversation with a professor in college when I avowed - after having seen all the pictures that were available for viewing at my university - that F&A was Bergman's best and most important film (yours truly studied Scandinavian Film at UC Berkeley). After discussing neo-feminist regards of Through a Glass Darkly and ideas of mortality, regret, and ire in Wild Strawberries, how could I - or any serious film lover for that matter - give Fanny & Alexander even a modicum of implication as being the pinnacle of Bergman's achievements?
Well, my reasoning behind it showcases a youthful sentiment that may not be in alignment with Bergman's heady and mature themes, but this writer views Fanny & Alexander as the cinematic equivalent of a Greatest-Hits album. Purists will never agree with me - in the same fashion rock and rollers would never call, say, "The Beatles 1" better than "The White Album" - but while other Bergman films dug deeper and formally challenged their audiences with more piquant ideological and societal aims, F&A showcases all of Bergman's notorious talents at their fullest.
After investigating the female psyche with explosive frankness in films like The Silence and getting to the bottom of the problems (and necessities) of marital unions in Scenes from a Marriage (which also got a deliciously large DVD release recently), Fanny & Alexander is, compared to its earlier brethren, a much more user-friendly beast. But in telling the slightly fictionalized story of his life, Ingmar Bergman, for better or worse, throws everything he possibly can at the canvas. His obsessions with the fairer sex and death and responsibility and madness and everything he's famous for are all here, but he's put a cap on them - silenced them with his filmmaking prowess, if you will - in a fascinating, indelibly cinematic way.
Fanny & Alexander - aside from being arguably Bergman's best-written film - is an artistic epic not about characters interacting on screen, but about an auteur looking back at both his creative pedigree and his personal development with the distant, calming eye of his beloved Ibsen or Strindberg. With F&A, Bergman turns his autobiography into a decidedly theatrical and definitive view of the necessity, the burn for creativity in a world slowly going mad.
However, the semiology and cinematic repercussions of this sentiment aren't immediately apparent here. With Persona, you knew as soon as film started rolling that you were in a screwed-up world of raging sexuality and an abyssal mental landscape of sexual cloudiness - there wasn't even a doubt. If you want to take Fanny & Alexander as merely a costume drama with a great screenplay, you can - Bergman allows you that luxury.
But what this astonishingly lovely DVD box set provides is a forum in which the film can make home video viewers understand the nuances that run underneath the film's dramatic narrative.
There will always be those who consider this picture a "sell-out," a last-ditch effort for the notoriously needy Bergman to get the world to embrace his elder-statesman caricature as cinema's greatest artiste, but let them be the suckers who pass this one up. Even if the film isn't your cup of tea, this Criterion box set is one of the greatest releases DVD has ever seen.
The Video: How Does The Disc Look?
The film's theatrical aspect ratio of 1.66:1 is presented in anamorphic video. Simply stated, this is one of the transfers Criterion will be remembered for. The presentation of Fanny and Alexander's Television Version is literally a thing of wonder. Like their work with Cries and Whispers, this lush, robust video transfer is enough to render every cineaste with a killer TV set speechless. Line quality is firm and solid, black levels are lovely, and color definition is outstandingly crisp and well-defined. Sure, there are a handful of flaws with the telecine print here - a speck of dust here, a notable strobing there - but all in all, this is a grade-A transfer. Well worth the wait.
The Audio: How Does The Disc Sound?
Mono, baby - all the way. Dialogue sounds fine and music is incorporated into the mix appropriately, but where Fanny and Alexander's video transfer is one for the record books, this audio mix is merely an encapsulation of what the film must have sounded like years ago. It doesn't detract by any means, but it doesn't stand out, either.
The theatrical version of the film has an English monaural track (dubbed), and English subtitles are, of course, included.
Supplements: What Goodies Are There?
This box set is broken up into three parts: The theatrical version of the film (one disc), the television version (two discs) and The Making of Fanny & Alexander (two discs).
The television version doesn't offer much in terms of extras, but what it houses is nonetheless impressive. A Bergman Tapestry is an excellent 40-minute documentary that involves interviews with Jorn Donnett, Katinka Farago, Anna Asp, and Peter Schildt (crew members) as well as actors Pernilla August, Ewa Froling, Bertil Guve, and Erland Josephson. There is so much material in this box set that some of the information presented here is necessarily redundant, but this contemporary look back at Bergman's swan song doesn't lack power in any way.
The theatrical version of the film is also thinly occupied with extras. We get a screen-specific audio commentary by Bergman biographer Peter Cowie, which is very similar in quality to his above-average commentaries on MGM's Bergman box set that was released earlier in 2004. Also included is Fanny & Alexander's theatrical trailer.
And while the documentary is a film in itself (it runs just under two hours), The Making of Fanny & Alexander - directed by Bergman - is an absolute necessity for any Bergman-file. Interspersed with diary-like text plates written by Bergman and incorporating tons of behind-the-scenes footage and the auteur's on-set symbolic intentions for his picture, this appendix of sorts to the Fanny & Alexander pantheon is wonderfully imperative.
Next up is Ingmar Bergman Bids Farewell to Film, an hour-long interview between the filmmaker and Nils Petter Sundgren that was originally broadcast on Swedish television in 1984. There are more excellent behind-the-scenes segments here and Bergman's perspectives on the verge of his impending retirement (made official in 2004 with his final stage play and TV movie) are, as usual, mesmerizing.
Also on this disc are a Stills And Costume Gallery and a look at some set models for the picture.
The second supplement disc contains what might just be the gem of this package: Video introductions to eleven of Bergman's films recorded for television in 2003. To see the master sitting in a screening room - shoes off - discussing these pictures with journalist Marie Nyterod . . . magical. We get intros to: Summer With Monika; Sawdust and Tinsel; A Lesson in Love; Smiles of a Summer Night; The Seventh Seal; Wild Strawberries; Through a Glass Darkly; Winter Light; The Silence; Cries and Whispers; and, Autumn Sonata.
And finally, to round it all off, we get trailers for Smiles of a Summer Night, The Seventh Seal, Through a Glass Darkly, Winter Light, The Silence, and Autumn Sonata.
Glorious.
Exclusive DVD-ROM Features: What happens when you pop the disc into your PC?
There are no DVD-ROM features on this DVD.
Final Thoughts
Those without a penchant for a five-hour Swedish melodrama may not dig this one, but anyone who has even the slightest interest in Bergman's swan song will find this DVD edition exemplary. The video transfer is one of the best in years, the sound mixes presented here are fine, and there are special features included that will keep you occupied for days. Criterion has offered Bergman fans a choice: either the theatrical-release three-hour version (which will run you $29.95) or a five-disc box set for $59.95. Go for the big one. You won't be sorry. Highly recommended.
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