I’m cold and there are wolves after me.

53. Wild Strawberries (Ingmar Bergman, 1957)

I’ve been trying to think of something funny, relevant, acerbic, or insightful to write about this film, and so far I am shooting blanks.

The plot is as follows: an old man, played by Victor Sjöström(who was a bitchin’ silent film director), travels with his daughter-in-law and some hitchhikers to the city to collect an honorary doctorate degree. Along the way he daydreams and is forced to confront how fucked his life is.

I guess that’s a function of being old: you dwell and reflect on the past, and the mistakes and what-went-wrongs especially.

This was the second Bergman film I watched after The Seventh Seal, and it’s a bit more uplifting, but that is as much a product of it not being set in the time of plague. It does probably have the most hopeful resolution of any Bergman film I’ve seen, in that the old man kind of comes to terms with his life, and regains a bit of what he had lost. But it’s still pretty much a bummer.

The poster’s a bummer too.

On filmaffinity.com I gave the film 7/10. Maybe I’ll start digging Bergman in my 60’s when I am filled with painful regret.

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