Persona (1966)
★★★ — Persona (1966)
Persona (1966) is widely regarded as one of Ingmar Bergman’s masterpieces, and for good reason. Visually stark and psychologically intense, it centres on two women: a celebrated stage actress who has inexplicably stopped speaking, and her young nurse, who cares for her in an isolated seaside house. The film is anchored by two astonishing performances (Liv Ullmann and Bibi Andersson) whose subtle shifts in expression, tone, and presence carry entire scenes without dialogue. Their interplay is mesmerising, and the black-and-white cinematography, with its sharp contrasts and haunting close-ups, remains visually arresting decades later. The story explores identity, silence, and the porous boundaries between self and other, using dream logic and fragmented narrative to blur reality and projection. While thematically rich, the payoff itself is fairly predictable if you’re familiar with Bergman’s preoccupations: emotional withdrawal, existential dread, and the masks people wear to survive. What’s less defensible (and deeply troubling) is a monologue in which one character recounts a sexual encounter involving two underage boys. Delivered matter-of-factly, it’s presented as part of her psychological unraveling, but the scene lacks critical framing or consequence. How would we feel had a male character described a similar encounter with young girls, the reaction (both then and now) would be swift and damning. That scene casts a long shadow over an otherwise brilliant film in my opinion. It felt gross. Persona is brilliantly acted, visually groundbreaking, and intellectually ambitious, but its inclusion of that disturbing scene, without meaningful critique or context, significantly undermines its moral authority. It remains an important work of cinema, but not an unimpeachable one. Artistic genius doesn’t excuse ethical blind spots, especially when they echo real-world harm.
Rating: ★★★ | Year: 1966 | Watched: 2026-05-10
