Dear W:
Bergman's production of Witold Gombrowicz's modernist play Yvonne, Princess of Burgundia was even more extraordinary than The Bacchae, and quite different. A bigger, more sumptuous and colorful production on the main stage, it was a pitch-black farce à la Ubu Roi, played cartoonishly and with much physical comedy (the actors' timing was razor sharp). But in the last scene, in a quintessentially Bergmanesque coup de théâtre, it suddenly turns deadly serious and you leave the theater with chills running up and down your spine. Of course, all the actors (not just Erland Josephson!) were amazing. It is very sad to think (if I understand it correctly) these two plays are Bergman's last productions.
I am continually fascinated by the dual nature of Swedish culture -- the extraordinary control and precision of the week counter-balanced by the equally extraordinary relinquishment of that control (via alcohol) during the weekend. It is surely the perfect mirror for a country which, to a great extent, spends half its year in sunlight and the other half in darkness. Or, using the scheme Bergman has gotten down so well in both his film and theatre work, a pristinely beautiful and controlled surface which can be ripped open to reveal a nightmarishly dark and tumultuous emotional state of affairs underneath. Why, I'm not sure if I'm happy to be leaving or not.
In any case, see you post-Hungary.
Much love, Stan
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