While connecting the big commercial "revenge" hits of Liam Neeson to the auteur Ingmar Bergman may seem to be a huge stretch, a viewing of Bergman's 1960 arthouse classic "The Virgin Spring" may change your mind. Max Von Sydow, always a presence in Bergman films, is the antecedent for Bronson, Eastwood, and all the others who violently violate the famed "strong, silent type" archetype to leave the villainous trembling with fear. Bergman's film is both engrossing in its character construction and shocking in its narrative, but not because of Von Sydow. The heavy burden of turning a folk song into a film falls upon the women he uses.
The legend of Per Töre, who lost seven daughters to seven brutal criminal assaults/murders, was always a fascinating storyline to Bergman. In school, he thought it would make a good opera. However, Bergman was not drawn to violence or sensationalism (as another branch of more exploitative "revenge" films would be). Bergman saw Per Töre's incalculable loss as a means to study the impact of guilt on the human psyche. Using Ulla Isaksson as his screenwriter, her devout childhood and success in writing medieval novels gave voice to the females on screen.
Opening with the dark-haired servant Ingeri stirring the fire and praying to Odin for revenge is a bleak way to display such animalistic behavior. Yet 13th-century Sweden was still at odds with the new interest in Christianity and the pagan beliefs that preceded it. Gunnel Lindblom plays Ingeri like a savage; she communicates everything with her eyes. Her contempt for her "foster sister" Karin (Birgitta Peterson) is painfully obvious, even if her pregnancy is not. These shifting details are what draw you closer to the women in "The Virgin Spring."
Even before we see Karin for the first time, we are exposed to her sleeping late or being sick. It is the jealous Ingeri who mentions that she was dancing with every man who asked her the night before. In the lens of cinematographer Sven Nyqvist (his first film with Bergman), the first vision of Karin is virginal. As she awakens to her mother, the loving Mareta (Birgitta Valberg,) we see their contrasts. Mareta is bound tightly in her clothes, with no visible hair and only her face showing. On the other hand, Karin wants to wear her most glorious gown and her hair down. In addition to this, Karin is also skillfully manipulative of both father and mother.
Naturally, Bergman will put Ingeri and Karin on the road together. The predictability of this mission is not a trope or canned plot point; it is there to recall other perilous journeys dating back to Homer and forward to Joseph Conrad. It is also there for Bergman to first meet our expectations and then subvert them. While they are alone on this ride to bring candles to church, they immediately fall apart. Karin slaps Ingeri and leaves her behind in an awful place with the most lecherous man. While we have seen Ingeri perhaps practicing some rudimentary version of the dark arts (for instance, placing a toad in the bread for their journey, where the creature often signifies the devil), it is hard not to be sympathetic to her as she must escape a wretched lurching man. Bergman draws us deeper into Isaksson's story and even uses some crosscut footage of Ingeri running away to make us feel disassociated, too.
Riding on her own, Karin is confronted by three road-weary grifters posing as starving brothers. While Karin has been saccharine-sweet to her parents, petulant and mean to Ingeri, she immediately displays the true spark of kindness to this trio of slithering thieves. Bergman and Nyqvist sit them down upon a blanket for a lengthy, unbroken shot as Karin gracefully shares her meal with them. While we know that they are preying on her true lack of knowledge and experience, you are forced to watch every action and reaction you can.
What follows is truly revolting, but as Bergman and screenwriter Isaksson have provided this large palette of elaborately drawn female characters – it is hard to look away. As Bergman begins to demonstrate how guilt chips away at the humanity of its characters, the Shakespearian loss of innocence is more about the questioning of morals and beliefs than straight revenge. "The Virgin Spring" takes no enjoyment in any of the crimes on screen, they are only present to capture reality – even if you are left in stunned silence.
