Early Bergman
Eclipse Series 1 from the Criterion Collection
SRP: $69.95

A.J. Goldmann

In an age of dwindling retrospective cinemas and cinematheques, the Criterion Collection serves a vital purpose for the cinéphile, bringing out an eclectic array of classical and modern films in beautifully restored and packaged DVD sets. Though other art-house labels such as Kino, New Yorker Films and Facets are major player in the arthouse DVD market, Criterion has no rival as the crème-de-la-crème of DVD manufacturers. It’s not that the mainstream companies are incapable of producing similarly lavish and handsome packages (Warner has brought out some of their finest in deluxe editions), but no one company is so consistent with the quality of their releases. Now, Criterion has inaugurated a new DVD line called Eclipse, which showcases lesser-known works by major directors, unadorned by the special features that have become Criterion’s hallmark. For their first set, they’ve elected five early Bergman films.

When Eclipse was announced several months ago on the Criterion blog, one of the most enticing promises was that each disc would cost between $10 and $15 (a huge savings from Criterion’s usual $30-40 price tag). Early Bergman sells for $70. Unfortunately for those who don’t want to be so immersed in these early melodramas by a young auteur struggling to define his style, the discs are not available individually. Criterion has tracked down fine prints of the films, but has taken no pains to restore them.

The earliest addition to the set is 1944’s Torment, directed by Alf Sjöberg (best known for his 1951 version of “Miss Julie”), to which Bergman contributed an original screenplay, based loosely on his own hellish schoolboy experiences. This first dip into movies also provided Bergman an unlikely directing debut: he unexpectedly shot the film’s final scenes himself, after being requested to alter the bleak ending he had originally written.

Bergman’s proper directorial debut, Crisis (1946) is also the most overtly melodramatic tearjerker in the collection. This story of a country girl who is dragged away from her foster-mother by an extravagant aunt (who turns out to be the woman who birthed her), suffers from stilted narration and overly theatrical dialogue. As often in Bergman, characters soliloquize about life rather eloquently. At this stage in his career, though, Bergman hasn’t yet found a way to successfully integrate such raw psychological content into a narrative film.

1948’s Port of Call was Bergman’s first collaboration with cinematographer Gunner Fischer. Fischer would remain Bergman’s cinematographer throughout the 1950s and go on to photograph Wild Srawberries and The Seventh Seal. He brings a gritty, Rossillini-eque sensibility to this dark and sexually frank love story.

Bergman often writes his own material and so it is somewhat ironic that the most striking work in the box set is the only film here that Bergman didn’t author. Perhaps at this early stage in his career, he benefited from the remove that directing somebody else’s screenplay allowed him. Of the films included in the set, it is the least theatrical. Bergman employs distancing techniques, such as multiple (sometimes confusing) narratives told in flashback, to present this story of a disintegrating marriage. The opening sequence is remarkable for its stillness, and points the way to his later forays into quiet desperation, (see The Silence and Cries and Whispers).

The final film in the collection To Joy (1949) stars Stig Olin (the irascible and charming star of Crisis) as a mediocre violinist who is unable to accept the fact that he is simply second-rate. It features an incredibly mobile and fluid camera (courtesy, again, of Fischer) and is remarkable for how Bergman uses music – a crucial element in many of his later films.

One of the greatest pleasures about Criterion is their unpredictability. Criterion resists dogmatic canonizing tendencies, and names like Bergman and Fellini cohabit the list with Wes Anderson and Michael Bay. This eclectic mix of the elite, the cultish and the blockbuster is one of the collection’s biggest joys. It would be a shame if Eclipse means that fewer lesser-known films won’t be getting the “Criterion Treatment.”

As production at Criterion increases – the collection now includes nearly 400 titles – they’re are forever finding supplemental features with which to spice up their releases (often in two and three-disc sets). While Eclipse is something of an experiment at present (it will be interesting to learn what Criterion has in mind for their future releases), one thing is certain: it is a good argument for sometimes letting the film speak for itself.