“Persona” (1966) is a complex work among Ingmar Bergman’s most creative filmmaking phase, which effectively commenced with the Faith Trilogy—“Through a Glass Darkly” (1961), “Winter Light” (1963), and “The Silence” (1963). Film professor and historian Thomas Elsaesser said, “…writing about Persona has been for film critics and scholars what climbing Mount Everest is for mountaineers: the ultimate professional challenge.” Despite being under 90 minutes, “Persona,” the minimalist psychological drama, twists and bends reality to offer an artistically haunting depiction of human frailty and incomprehensible cruelty.
Bergman’s regular actors, Liv Ullmann and Bibi Andersson, powerfully embodied the two female characters at its center. The characters’ existential doubt and expression of despair at the nothingness of life still possess the power to arouse fear. While “Silence of God” is a pivotal theme in Bergman’s previous masterpieces, “Persona” more or less deals with the art’s inability to provide solace for the human soul and showcases the self-destruction of an artist through hypocrisy and cruelty. Our lives are made up of assuming various personae depending upon the circumstances. What happens when one is made aware of the absurdity of adapting to different personae in everyday life? Does the enforced silence to combat this private existential crisis offer comfort from the onslaught of reality, or does it facilitate the circuitous journey to feelings of emptiness?
“Persona” is one of the profoundly influential films in cinema history. Apart from its perplexing avant-garde flourishes, the themes of duality, identity, and the self have influenced films like “3 Women” (1977), “Mulholland Drive” (2001), “Black Swan” (2010), and “Melancholia” (2011). Now, let’s look at the narrative events of “Persona” and its possible meaning. Spoilers Ahead.
Persona (1966) Plot Explained:
The Illusion of Reality in Bergman’s “Persona”
“Persona” opens with a projector showing a series of disparate images (a projector lamp comes to life), including images from the birth of cinema (a silent slapstick comedy), a spider, a crucifixion, and the slaughter of a lamb. These imageries can be interpreted as Bergman laying bare the artifice and illusory nature of cinema, produced through light and machines. Yet, on a subconscious level, like the spectacled boy who reaches out to the blurring and transforming faces on the screen, we try to grasp the truth or reality beyond the illusion.
The central narrative revolves around a young nurse, Alma (Bibi Andersson), who is assigned by a doctor (Margaretha Krook) to care for stage actress Elisabet Vogler (Liv Ullmann). The doctor explains that during the middle of her last performance of Electra, Elisabet voluntarily became mute and persisted with her vow of silence for months. The medical results are clear: Elisabet is mentally and physically healthy. It’s also hinted that the condition is not stress-induced but rather the result of willpower.
What Drives Elisabet’s Rejection of Identity and Conventional Security?
Twenty-five-year-old Alma introduces herself to Elisabet. Alma mentions that she is engaged, and her mother also worked as a nurse. Of course, Elisabet remains unresponsive. When the doctor questions Alma regarding her first impression, the young nurse says she isn’t mentally equipped to care for Elisabet. She feels the actress needs a more experienced nurse. Alma also points out that Elisabet’s decision to not communicate is a conscious decision, indicating her great mental strength. The nurse discerns she isn’t as mentally strong as the person she is supposed to care for.
Nevertheless, Alma tends to Elisabet at the hospital. When she switches on a play on the radio, Elisabet suddenly laughs, possibly amused by the actress’ articulation. But Elisabet suddenly switches off the radio as if ashamed of her lively reaction. However, Alma assuages Elisabet, expressing her admiration for art and artists. Throughout “Persona,” Bergman breaks the fourth wall, making the characters look directly at or address the camera. In one such instance, we see Alma speaking to herself (while facing the camera) about her predetermined future: her marriage with Karl-Henrik, the possibility of having two kids, doing a job she enjoys, and finding a sense of security in such a life. But before going to sleep, Alma wonders what’s wrong with Elisabet. What makes her reject the feeling of security in the familiar and the predestined?
Is Elisabet’s Silence a Rejection of Life’s Facades?
In the hospital, Elisabet is restless and unable to sleep. On the TV, she watches the images of a monk’s self-immolation during the Vietnam War. It profoundly distresses her as she cowers in the room’s one corner. The following day, Alma reads a letter Elisabet received from her husband. The husband harbors guilt, wondering whether it is his actions that have led to Elisabet’s silence. He has also sent a picture of their son (a boy), but Elisabet tears up the photograph. Later, the doctor advises Elisabet to leave the hospital and move to her summer house, a cottage near the sea. The doctor’s monologue offers a nuanced perspective behind Elisabet’s silence.
The doctor comprehends that Elisabet is tired of playing parts, i.e., inhabiting persona upon persona. In fact, the notion of assuming various personae may seem absurd to an actress like Elisabet. Hence, the actress uses silence to conceal her identity and distance herself from life’s superficial facades. But the doctor also questions whether it is possible for Elisabet to maintain her silence. She says, “But reality is diabolical. Your hiding place isn’t watertight. Life trickles in from the outside, and you’re forced to react…” The doctor believes Elisabet’s move to the summer house with Nurse Alma will be like a retreat, where she can play this part as long as it holds an interest for her. The insightful monologue ends with the words, “Then you can leave it (the role), just as you’ve left other parts one by one.”
A Growing Bond: Unveiling Secrets in the Summer House
The narrative’s next chapter unfolds in the summer house (shot at Bergman’s home island of Faro). A voiceover describes Elisabet going for long walks, fishing excursions, occupying herself with letter writing, and cooking. Nurse Alma also enjoys the isolated stay in the countryside. The initial phase of the retreat is marked with joy as Alma freely speaks with Elisabet, and the actress, with a smile on her face, keenly listens to Alma’s confessions. Alma talks about old nurses living in a home and finds it fascinating to dedicate your life to something you strongly believe in. Alma also wants to hold on to something she sees as her life’s purpose. Elisabet seems to perceive Alma as a naive child with a cheery outlook on life.
Soon, the talk moves to love and relationships. Alma describes her first affair with a married man and the agony it caused. But in hindsight, to Alma, it all seems to belong to a dime store novel—nothing real. Alma is happy about Elisabet listening to her as the young nurse swears nobody ever listened to her. Alma speaks of a sisterly bond with Elisabet as Alma has grown up with seven elder brothers. When Alma mentions Karl-Henrik (the fiance), she isn’t sure it’s love but declares she has been faithful to him. But later that night, Alma’s confessions lead to some secrets being spilled out, and something about the dynamics between the two begins to evolve.
The Changing Dynamics between the Nurse and the Patient
The vividly expressive nurse recalls an event when she and Karl-Henrik rented a cottage by the seaside. One day, when Karl-Henrik went to town, Alma went to the beach on her own. She met with another girl, Katarina, from a nearby island. Wearing straw hats, they were sunbathing completely naked. Soon, Alma notices two figures hovering from above. It was a couple of boys hiding and peeking behind the rocks. When Alma says about the boys to Katarina, she is nonchalant about it.
Later, the daring one among the two boys came close and sat next to Katarina. Then, Katarina initiates an orgy of sorts. The boy, after finishing sexual intercourse with Katarina, is called by Alma. To a silent Elisabet with a cigarette in hand, Alma recounts how the boy sprayed his seed inside her before being able to stop him. The sex went on for another round as the other boy also came down and had oral sex with Katarina.
That night, Alma had sex with Karl-Henrik, which was never as good as before or since. Alma got pregnant. She had an abortion because they both didn’t want children at the time. As Elisabet listens, a teary-eyed Alma speaks of the guilt she carries, although the actions were her decision. Alma wonders aloud about the two halves of herself, foreshadowing the uglier battle of identities. Even in a drunken state, Alma’s musings on their identities continue. She speaks of how they look alike somehow, and she could be Elisabet if she tried, though it would be a much easier task for an actress like Elisabet to be Alma.
What Alma Finds in the Elisabet’s Unsealed Envelope?
What follows feels like something out of a dream for Alma. First, the nurse (and us) hear Elisabet saying, “Go to bed, or you’ll fall asleep at the table.” We don’t see Elisabet’s face as these words are uttered, so there’s a question of whether Alma imagined it. Then, we see Elisabet entering Alma’s room like a ghost, embracing Alma and caressing her face. They look right at the camera. The following day on the beach, when Alma asks Elisabet if she spoke to her the previous night or visited her in the room, Elisabet shakes her head to say ‘no.’
Later that morning, Alma drives to town to mail their letters. During the drive, Alma notices an unsealed envelope addressed to the doctor. Unable to curb her temptation, Alma reads the contents of the typed letter. In the letter, Elisabet mentions the ‘fun of studying Alma.’ She also mentions the orgy and the abortion and how Alma’s notions about life don’t correlate with her actions – a summation of Alma’s own words. This naturally makes Alma furious as the actress has assumed a position of power to conduct this supercilious study. The nurse sent to observe a patient has become an object of observation.
Does Elisabet’s Letter Undermine the Authenticity of Her Silence?
Elisabet writing a letter and casually revealing Alma’s secrets also raises the question of the actress’s purpose for the silence. As the doctor says in the monologue, didn’t Elisabet shut herself in ‘to not play any parts or make wrong gestures’? However, the communication in the form of a letter reveals something about the actress’ inherent persona. Restricting silence only to speech contradicts her stance of concealing the identity or the persona. At this point, Alma is overwhelmed by the strength of Elisabet’s silence. Whatever bond the nurse felt she developed with an eagerly listening actress now paves the way to resentment.
When a glass cup breaks in the cottage’s courtyard, Alma places a piece of broken glass in the courtyard and waits for Elisabet to cut her foot. After cutting her foot, Elisabet looks at Alma and seems to understand the glass piece was not an accident. The film in the projector tears and burns as if the disruption in the dynamics between the two individuals has caused it. An extreme close-up shot of an eye follows it, and as the camera keeps moving, we see the veins in the eyeball, as if in this next chapter of the narrative, the filmmaker is further trying to penetrate into his characters’ minds. Wearing a similar black attire to Elisabet, the following day, Alma is determined to extract a raw emotion out of Elisabet. First, Alma implores Elisabet to speak to her about simple, everyday things.
The True Emotional Reaction from Elisabet
As Elisabet keeps reading her book, Alma laments about her false understanding that great artists will be compassionate. Alma accuses Elisabet of using her for a purpose. Then, the nurse confesses that she read Elisabet’s letter to the doctor. While Elisabet tries to evade Alma, Alma gets increasingly furious, which leads to a minor altercation that results in Alma getting a bloody nose. Alma responds by threatening to scald Elisabet with boiling water but stops when Elisabet fearfully utters, “No, Don’t!” This is the first time we and Alma are certain Elisabet has spoken (out of mortal fear).
When Alma directs more of her resentful feelings towards Elisabet, the actress leaves the cottage. Alma breaks down and follows Elisabet around the beach, asking her forgiveness. But Elisabet’s facade of silence offers no comfort to Alma, who stays at the beach until the night before coming to the cottage. Later, Elisabet looks at the Stroop Report photograph of captured Polish Jews after the Warsaw Ghetto uprising (in 1943). The photo alongside the newsreel of the Buddhist monk’s self-immolation raises the question of whether the horrors of the world have made Elisabet retreat into her shell.
Persona (1966) Movie Ending Explained:
Does the Monologue Reveal Elisabet’s Struggle with Motherhood and Identity?
Alma hears a man calling for Elisabet. It is Elisabet’s husband, Mr. Vogler (Gunnar Bjornstrand), who identifies Alma as Elisabet despite the nurse trying to correct him. However, Alma soon embodies Elisabet as Elisabet herself remains a silent, detached observer. Alma’s warmth and gentle words soothe Mr. Vogler’s tormented self. Alma (as Elisabet) also inquires about their little boy and asks Mr. Vogler to buy him a toy. The tender feelings for each other lead to them having sex, as Elisabet is a silent witness to this reconciliation. But despite Mr. Vogler’s tight embrace, Alma says, “I’m cold and rotten and indifferent. It’s all just a sham and lies,” indicating insecurities and existential frustration eventually rise to the surface even as Alma plays the role of the compassionate Elisabet.
After Alma’s confrontation with Elisabet, we don’t get a clear sense of the passage of time, and we are uncertain about what’s real and what exists in the characters’ headspace. Later, Alma meets Elisabet to talk about the picture of the boy the actress tore up. What follows is a monologue that plays out twice. Alma might be the one speaking, but she narrates Elisabet’s story. It is the familiar story of many women who are compelled to adopt the persona of a caring mother. A comment about Elisabet’s lack of motherliness pushes her to get pregnant. Once she is pregnant, Elisabet regrets being tied down by responsibility and to perenially play the role of a happy mother. She has tried and failed with self-induced abortion and eventually had a boy.
Is Alma a Reflection of Elisabet’s Inner Conflict?
While Elisabet was conflicted by feelings of repulsion and guilt, she rejected the role of a mother. As Elisabet returned to the theater, the boy grew up under the care of relatives and a nanny. Nevertheless, the boy’s unconditional love for his mother intensified Elisabet’s suffering since she feared she couldn’t reciprocate it. The boy reaching in vain for his absent mother’s image on the screen in the prologue makes sense now. The first time the monologue unfolds, Bergman focuses on Elisabet’s face, whose left side is cloaked in the shadow. The words profoundly evoke feelings of shame in Elisabet. When the monologue plays out the second time, the focus is on Alma’s face, whose right side is cloaked in shadow.
However, the monologue ends this time with Alma adding, “No, I’m not like you. I’m sister Alma. I’m only here to help you.” With Alma asserting her identity as ‘sister Alma and not Elisabet Vogler,’ we see a spliced close-up shot of both women’s (left and right side) faces. They both come across as the equal halves of a whole. Perhaps Alma could be a figment of Elisabet’s mind as the actress has possibly embraced silence, being unable to get rid of the role of the mother.
After the monologue, Bergman showcases both their faces looking downward in silhouette, with Alma (in her nurse attire) saying, “I’ll never be like you. I change all the time. You can do what you want. You won’t get to time.” Again, Alma and Elisabet might be both halves of a single person, showcasing the identity crisis and duality as one persona tries to push the other – with all its insecurities and trepidation – deep into the subconscious.
Does “Persona” Blur the Reality in Its Exploration of the Self?
Or, they are two different characters, with Alma, having understood Elisabet’s fears and frustrations that lie beneath her seemingly benevolent and strong exterior, decisively moves away from the actress and, in the process, overcomes her own insecurities to gain a more balanced perspective. Bergman’s “Persona” is deliberately cloaked in obscurity, and there are no concrete answers. The final montage of Elisabet in a movie set and Alma leaving the island (in a bus) only complicates the narrative’s representation of reality.
The way the images fade on screen and the projector stops running, only seems to indicate that what we witnessed was an artificial construct of reality, emphasizing the futility of breaking into the characters’ reality. Overall, “Persona” is an endlessly fascinating and beautifully evasive film on the nature of identity, memories, and the self.
