David O'ConnellThe Rite (Riten)
March 22nd 2011 02:20
It’s difficult to believe the context in which Swedish audiences first witnessed Ingmar Bergman’s The Rite, a drama devised as a play but filmed for and first screening on TV in 1969, not long after the cinema release of his masterful Shame (1968). The film, through nine distinct scenes, is carried by four characters only: a trio of performers whose show is being scrutinised for its supposedly obscene content and Judge Abrahamson (Erik Hell), the official charged with delving into the case by questioning them collectively and then each in turn.
The troupe’s leader is the disconsolate Hans Winklemann (Gunnar Bjornstrand) a wearied soldier yearning for greener pastures. His fellow performers are his mentally unstable wife Thea (Ingrid Thulin) and Thea’s lover, the headstrong Sebastian Fisher (Anders Ek), a man with a dubious past that includes a stint behind bars. Thea, a delicate, highly-strung creature, is often overwhelmed by her neuroses to the point of irrational, uninhibited behaviour. Co-existing with her has become unbearable for Hans, his ambivalence towards her dalliance with Sebastian only intensifying as he bemoans this need to defend their performance.
With The Rite Bergman has continued his caustic, relentless assault on both critics of the time, whose attacks on him seemed more personal vendettas than objective criticism, and more generally on those who sought to reduce the range and impact of free artistic expression.
The Judge personifies the guilty parties and in him Bergman has deconstructed the establishment with a biting, unflattering profile of an odious man being devoured by inner demons. Ambrahamson is lecherous, repulsive - even to himself - profusely sweating, his skin unsightly, his words a hollow recitation of lofty standards mechanically applied to maintain some elusive conception of societal standard.
These delineations of personality in the officious Judge are extreme but so was Bergman’s need to retaliate against his antagonists through the medium of his art. The closest relation to The Rite amongst the Bergman canon is The Magician (1958), an equally potent drama in which a performance artist, Albert Emanuel Vogler (Max Von Sydow) – much like Winkleman – experiences a profound loss of faith in his work in the face of oppressive lawful forces questioning the integrity of an artist’s work.
Few milestone Bergman works exist without the accompaniment of cinematographer Sven Nykvist’s unflinching eye, his tight close-ups as recognisable as any component of the DNA of their long and fruitful collaborations. In Bergman’s world there is nowhere for his creations to hide, so penetrating is his gaze. And as ever, the cruelty of his assessments speaks brutally of his deep-seated pessimism, leaving an indelible impression of humanity tainted at its core. One moment, and a sexually frank one at that – which must have raised some eyes at the time - stands out for the startling ambiguity it creates in a crucial, heated instant.
Bjornstrand and Thulin were mainstays of the rotating Bergman ensemble; both gave remarkable characterisations again and again for the director and The Rite is another fine showcase of their talents. In particular this rates amongst Thulin strongest performances.
The Rite is another superb Bergman master-class, the film’s riveting content belying the necessarily minimal, spartan production design. Nearly every scene captivates, but none more so than the final sequence in which all four characters are enjoined, the profoundly distressed Judge compelled to ask the trio into his chambers in the early hours of the morning, following their latest performance, where they deliver a devastating excerpt from the show for a man flailing in spiritual and physical distress. Outstanding, visually compelling drama it may be, but for Bergman it also registers as metaphorical, sweet revenge.
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