Watched on Blu-Ray

In the (early) autumn of his career, and perhaps at the peak of his own creativity, Ingmar Bergman is so intense and stirring; even for an empathetic filmmaker like him, "Höstsonaten" is already quite a powerful, lasting and sometimes grueling piece of cinema. That is not crushed under its own heaviness, although the light at the end of the tunnel is only the hypocritical twilight, into which again secretly, quietly and silently slips away, as if it had all been just a bad dream.

The death of her life partner causes a reunion of the star pianist Charlotte (Ingrid Bergman in her last feature film) and her daughters, after more than 7 years. Eva (Liv Ullmann) herself is surprised that this time Mom does deign to pay a flying visit, and can hardly conceal her joy and simultaneous tension over the unexpected, dearly longed-for and yet secretly dreaded visit. Nor should she have to, because what could be more beautiful than the womb of her own mother? "Do you think I'm grown up?" she asks her husband Viktor (Halvar Björk in the role of the slightly outsider narrator). This is precisely what "Höstsonaten" addresses, first in passing and later in unexpected (if it weren't for Bergman), drastic dissection, whose simple scenario tackles a complex subject area virtually "overnight", as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It lets you look deep into human abysses, or rather pushes into them in free fall, generating a power and emotional impact that you have to be careful not to forget to breathe.

Already at the deceptively harmonious greeting of mother and daughter, it bubbles under the surface violently, without Bergman would have to emphasize this too clearly. For despite warm words and a presumably even serious smile here and there, the hierarchical relationship and the emotional distance resonate in every syllable; it runs as a subtext through every moment until the vow of silence is finally broken and everything that has long been swept under the same table is revealed. A confrontation between mother and daughter, no longer long overdue but already far too late, that nothing can repair; the damage done resembles a field of debris and reveals itself more and more to the soon shocked viewer by the minute. In its quintessence, "Höstsonaten" deals with abuse and the accompanying destruction of any primal trust, which cripples a young person into an unstable wreck. It is about the indiscriminateness of being a child (and remaining one forever) and the responsibility of a mother to fulfill this role. Not only through nice, distant and polite superficialities, behind which partly hides a merciless disinterest and an almost pathological egomania. But also the inability of an honest discussion with oneself, one's own feelings, the past and the countless mistakes committed, some of which remain eternally unforgivable even in the case of a sincere effort.

A longing plea for maternal affection turns into a night of bare knives with deep stab wounds, from which - as always - is fled at dawn. Not from the accuser Eva, not from the vegetating eyesore Helena, but only from one's own reflection, which one tries to excuse in schizoid monologues, while the psycho-somatic back pain ensures sleepless nights. The previously self-set pinpricks, the subliminally implied feelings of guilt and inferiority complexes strike back with all the pent-up rage. Tearfully (not to be confused with maudlinly), the charade that has been spasmodically maintained for years crumbles into the shambles that was never anything else. The showdown between Ingrid Bergman and Liv Ullmann - captured by Sven Nykvist with captivating precision and almost voyeuristically expressive in every detail - is self-sacrificing acting of the highest order and more thrilling, more involving than any thriller, more impressive than any blockbuster CGI thunderstorm, more abysmal than any horror film. Bergman has mastered human cinema like no other, and his "Höstsonaten" is, even by his standards, an outstanding piece of work that you first have to swallow, but - and this is the true art - you still enjoy every moment of it. It's uncanny how one can manage that.