Cries and Whispers review – Ingmar Bergman’s sickly, spectral masterpiece

Ingmar Bergman's Cries and Whispers is technically a colour film, but only really through the use of one. Much of the colour palette is rooted in the blacks and whites of the characters'  clothing, but remains smothered by the red that covers their stately manor home and the crimson fadeaways that Bergman uses to separate scenes and flashbacks. It is not (as my memory had tricked me into believing) a vibrant and lively red, but a deeply murderous and oppressive red. Apt for a story about three women caring and then mourning for a fourth in her final hours. Questions of mortality were a frequent concern of Bergman’s – and Cries and Whispers could well be his most sickly, spectral film.

Now celebrating 50 years since its initial release, the film’s power rests in the precision of Bergman’s craft, and his willingness to trust his actors and collaborators. Regular cinematographer Sven Nykvist lights the film – and in particular its faces – with breathtaking visual clarity. One early shot sees Maria (Liv Ullmann) hiding in the shadows, waiting for the doctor David (Erland Josephson), her face cleaved in half by the dark – conflicted, impassioned and guilt-ridden as a result of her half-hearted affair with David – the image reflecting her torn psychological state. Later, the camera lingers on an intense close-up of Maria as David describes in detail how her face has changed over the years, eviscerating her sense of self. Ullmann allows flickers of hope, despair and fear to flutter across her gaze. We must ask: has anyone possessed a more expressive pair of eyes in the history of cinema?

Agnes’ death may temporarily unite these women, but Bergman's film suggests that afterwards you are left only with guilt, regret, and the unknowability of the departed. That excoriating sense of self-hatred is leavened by the presence of servant Anna (Kari Sylwan) – treated with gentle disdain by the two sisters (and especially their husbands) – but clearly central to an emphatic, caring and sexual relationship between herself and Agnes.

The history of these pained, torn relationships exists in the interior of each actress’s close-ups, but is never outwardly stated for the good of the viewer. The unknowable depths of our protagonists are – as per the finality of death – ultimately unknowable. The final scenes, depicting all four in happier times enjoying a summer walk in the garden, are the only real moments of fresh air in a work otherwise smothered by the stench of jaundice and death. Few films have ever flown as close to capturing that atmosphere as Cries and Whispers.

Cries and Whispers is re-released in UK cinemas from 1 April.