An actress named Elisabeth (Liv Ullman) suddenly falls silent. She tired of playing roles, on stage, in life, no longer able to respond to the horrors and banalities of the world with idle politesse. Alma, her nurse (Bibi Andersson) is seemingly a chipper young woman, keeping up a stream of cheerful chatter as the two share a summer cottage. Eventually her good nature begins to elicit smiles and nods from her patient. But speaking into the void changes Alma more radically, especially after she recalls a hot sexual adventure (it is one of the movies’ great erotic tropes; you can see what happened even though the incident is recounted in purely verbal terms). Eventually, Alma turns into a version of Elisabeth, full of disgust and self-loathing. This story is presented as a film-within-an (unrealized)-film and it constitutes Bergman’s most austere masterpiece—his camera placements and editing have a simple rightness that belies the complex and enigmatic psychologies he is exploring. It is perhaps a movie none of us will ever fully understand, but the effort to do so is always at once unsettling and hypnotizing.
Friend Schickel, in his exemplary book The Disney Version, noted that Nelson Rockefeller, owner of Radio City Music Hall, chastised Walt Disney because every time the Music Hall showed a Disney cartoon feature, kids peed from fright so regularly that the seats had to be reupholstered. Such was the fear factor of Snow White, Bambi, Dumbo and this film in alerting children to the dangers of separation from a parent. Of all those primal horror homilies, Pinocchio is tops for its blending of the animator’s craft and a theme—that a child is not human until he can feel loss and act with spontaneous generosity—that can move viewers of every age, and for all ages. Now, for the first time since Steamboat Willie in 1928, traditional animation is dormant, replaced by the CGI geniuses at Pixar. I miss the greatness of the old format, which could persuasively mix barnyard critters with human motion and emotion. I wish, upon a star, that it could return.
Sue me, but I like Betty Draper/Francis as a character. The problem is that Mad Men doesn’t. Betty’s not the worst character on the show, but she’s probably the worst-served.