Criterion Commentaries: “The Virgin Spring”
The Virgin Spring is Ingmar Bergman’s undervalued, visually arresting masterpiece from 1960. To what extent is it under appreciated? Despite winning the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film, Bergman himself always downplayed the film’s greatness. What’s more, on Flickchart the film currently ranks around 1200 globally; merely 93rd amongst all releases from The Criterion Collection.
It’s debatable why Bergman himself didn’t consider The Virgin Spring one of the high-water marks of his career, although the cornerstones of that canon – The Seventh Seal, Wild Strawberries, and Fanny and Alexander – tend to overshadow most films. It’s been argued that Bergman felt he imitated Kurosawa’s visual style too heavily, and that the film was deceitful in the sense that it’s depiction of God wasn’t flushed out – “spiritual jiggery-pokery,” as he later reflected (Bergman on Bergman). Another issue he may have had with the film was the reaction it garnered. Bergman’s films were typically better received outside of his native country, and yet despite the eventual Academy Award, with The Virgin Spring Bergman was put in the uncomfortable position of having to defend this film from censorship.
The film is an interpretation of a medieval ballad, and takes place in a world where faith is oscillating between Christianity and paganism. The film tells the story of the savage violation and murder of a young woman, Karin (Birgitta Pettersson), while on her way to church; followed by the ruthless revenge her father, Töre (Max von Sydow), exacts on the herdsmen responsible.
While today the depiction of the rape scene would no longer be considered shocking, in 1960 it caused a fervor throughout the United States and led to multiple shots being cut. In a letter Bergman wrote in defense of his directorial decisions, he points out the importance of contrasting the actions of the herdsmen with those of the father (included in The Criterion Collection booklet):
“I should like to point out that the rape sequence, in its mercilessness and detailed objectivity, corresponds to Master Töre’s administering of justice to the two malefactors, as well as – and this is of primary importance – to his bestial murder of the little boy. We must, in our very bowels and apart from the aesthetic judgment, take part in the two herdsmen’s crime, but we must also, in despair, witness the father’s evil deed.
“We must not hesitate in our portrayal of human degradation, even if, in our demand for truth, we must violate certain taboos.”
The beauty of The Virgin Spring – aside from Sven Nykvist’s cinematography – is the manner in which the film addresses such taboos. Instead of preaching answers, the film presents questions and allows viewers to draw their own conclusions. At the heart of the conflict is Töre exacting revenge upon the young boy, whom likewise lost his innocence when Karin lost hers; by killing him Töre’s sins are as grave as the herdsmen. Töre questions what type of God would idly watch as these atrocities are committed? How is man supposed to reconcile his natural impulses with the conflicting demands of spirituality?
Indeed, as Ang Lee muses in his DVD introduction to The Virgin Spring, the film offers a “microscope into humanity.” Perhaps that’s also the answer as to why the film remains relatively unappreciated: is it human nature to want answers – or more questions – when contemplating life’s great mysteries?
I saw this for the first time last September during a Criterion Collection viewing challenge. I knew its premise ahead of time, and kept putting it off. The violence is brutal, and both the attackers and onlooking sister are demonstrably excited by it, creating an atmosphere of near fetish. And yet, the camera is decidedly cold and uncaring; we see the attack, even in some closeups, but never do we feel as though anyone in the world cares what is happening, that we ourselves should merely observe.
It took me a few months to digest The Virgin Spring, and I suspect that’s a common reaction to this film, which may have accounted for Bergman’s disillusionment with it, especially in light of the relative ease with which so many other entries in his filmography found adoring audiences and favorable critics. In the film world, instant reaction is the only one that matters and The Virgin Spring is almost guaranteed to fail to elicit a favorable knee-jerk response. It needs time to germinate.
As an aside, I would say that I believe this features a much more fascinating discussion of God than the much-heralded Seventh Seal. Make no mistake; I have nothing but admiration and good will toward The Seventh Seal; it became an instant favorite for me. But I think that questioning one’s relationship with God because of one’s own suffering is a different kind of conversation than re-evaluating God because of the suffering of someone you love. Consider God is Love. What does it say about how strongly one loves another, that harm to that other causes one to question one’s relationship with Love? These are simple questions to ask, but worthy of answers from people far more enlightened than me.
It goes well beyond Tore’s vengeance, which would likely seem satisfactory to most viewers. We all like to believe that we would avenge our loved ones, and that it would be rewarding to do so. What The Virgin Spring dares to subject us to is the notion that vengeance is but one part of the aftermath of such a tragedy. Contrast this with Taken, where Liam Neeson sets out to rescue his daughter, takes down the bad guys, etc. Audiences ate that up with a spoon because it reflected their fantasies of how they imagine they would handle such a situation.
The Virgin Spring tells us that even if we did all that, the effects go much further and deeper. Whatever one calls it (justice or vengeance), it is not in itself a conclusion. Tore knows this in the end, when he abandons his pagan ways, as they have failed him. Is Christianity a purer source of answers? Not for me to say, but what matters is that Tore is so desperate to find a way out of his despair that he would turn his back on the only religious doctrine he had ever known. He chooses to explore the message of faith, hope and love instead of losing himself to the darkness. It sounds trite, obvious and easy, but it is not. We are privy only to Tore taking the first steps on his new journey. It would be fascinating to learn what became of him.