Bergman Island’s Playful Exploration of Discontent
Mia Hansen-Løve has her work cut out for her. Centering a film on any particular director would be to walk a tightrope, let alone one as lofty as Ingmar Bergman. But Hansen-Løve doubles down and sets it on Farö Island, the location of many of Bergman’s most infamous works. Oh, and she tosses him into the title, too.
But it’s not a challenge, nor is it a loving homage. Bergman Island is something else entirely, something unique to Hansen-Løve in its exploration of relational frustration and artistic discontent. Bergman often seemed interested in what it meant to be human; Bergman Island wonders what it means to be a singular person.
Vicky Krieps and Tim Roth play Chris and Tony, married filmmakers each caught in the allure of Bergman and tied to him via craft, albeit in distinct ways. Tony wants to parse out what makes Bergman’s work so inescapable, displaying admiration and justification in equal measure. Chris isn’t interested in worshiping or defending Bergman—she just feels the heartbreaking depth of his films in her soul.
Tony and Chris split their stay between working on screenplays and exploring this haunted island, occasionally together, mostly apart. As they wind their way through words and Farö, fractures begin to reveal themselves. Feelings unexpressed, desires unfulfilled, career dreams that didn’t deliver all they promised, and the weariness of continued striving.
The film really picks up as Chris begins to tell Tony the story she’s currently working on. It, too, takes place on Farö and revolves around a woman confronted by relational disappointment and possibility. As Chris shares the story, Hansen-Løve cuts it into the film itself. Mia Wasikowska appears as Amy, a woman attending a friend’s wedding on Farö who stumbles into an old lover (Anders Danielsen Lie’s Joseph) and wrestles with hopes of rekindling the passion they lost.
Over the course of the film, Chris’ and Amy’s stories are given equal space, unfolding variations on themes of art, love, desire, and disappointment. Bergman Island thus becomes a film where life is refracted through art which is refracted through art once more. It’s tricky, layered, much like life is, much like long term relationships are. It’s not a puzzle to be solved. There’s no neat resolution, but there is space for maturity and growth.
The ending of Bergman Island is a soft revelation that brought me real surprise and joy. It’s not a true twist to be spoiled, but it’s a moment of playfulness that I hope each audience is able to encounter unawares, so I won’t say much other than that it reminded me of my favorite Kiarostami film.
Bergman Island paints a rare, interesting portrait of a marriage. Chris and Tony feel a discontentment rooted in many different places, and worsened by their struggle to communicate those feelings. But they don’t rupture and break apart, even though there are plenty of moments of doubt. It’s an intricate portrait that’s only dissatisfying to the extent that it feels real.
