DARK ATTRACTION
Types of darkness in cinematographic art
Tribute to Ingmar Bergman
Recently, I did something unreasonable. I tried to reason that which is beyond reason: analyze and classify sources of acting performance in my essay ‘Emoting Chakras’. I opined there are four chakras that actors channel their emotions through: ‘The Head’ that is all about mind and control, ‘The Heart’ empathy and feelings, ‘The Gut’ rawness of instincts, and ‘The Erogenous’ deep passion with purpose. Actors and actresses can tap into more than one chakra, opening and closing, learning or forgetting, expanding and extending as they go along.
Watching Bergman’s Persona recently, I asked myself why is it that I am attracted to his darkness while being utterly repelled by the darkness of some other authors. This led me to an idea to analyze and classify ‘darkness’ as a form of artistic expression — the same way I did with acting performance. Here are my thoughts.
I watched ‘Persona’ dozens of times and each time I was able to discover something new between the countless layers of Bergman’s storytelling. More importantly, each time I was touched and inspired in a new way. As a hopeless optimist, I like the stories where a poor boy becomes a ballet dancer (‘Billy Eliot’), or Native American escapes into freedom by breaking a window with a washbasin (‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’), or Benjamin Braddock steals bride from the wedding ceremony (‘The Graduate’). Even though Bergman’s movies are dark, his darkness enlightens me (or is the darkness dark if it brings the light?). While there are many other ‘dark authors’ I like, Bergman is probably the most important one. All the same, there is a number of incredibly talented authors whose darkness I don’t like to see, like Lars Von Trier for example. While every physical pain pains the same, darkness comes in different shades. So, I asked myself, what are the types of darkness manifested in masterpieces of film art or in art generally?
After seeing many films created by Ingmar Bergman, my best interpretation is that his darkness arises from a struggle between ‘persona’ and the ‘shadow’, the light and the dark or ultimately, the fear of death.
Sometimes this is expressed as a close encounter with death like in ‘The Seventh Seal’ or anticipation of death, like in ‘Wild Strawberries’, or is otherwise hidden in more complex stories. To better understand his darkness, one should consider the circumstances of his childhood.
As he wrote in his autobiography ‘Laterna Magica’, growing up he was locked up in dark closets for mishaps such as wetting himself: While father preached away in the pulpit and the congregation prayed, sang, or listened. Ingmar carries his fears from early childhood like Jesus carried his cross.
Importantly, he described his relationship with the church in the following way: I devoted my interest to the church’s mysterious world of low arches, thick walls, the smell of eternity, the colored sunlight quivering above the strangest vegetation of medieval paintings and carved figures on ceilings and walls. There was everything that one’s imagination could desire — angels, saints, dragons, prophets, devils, humans.
Allegedly, Bergman was not religious. I wonder why? Maybe because God didn’t help him when he was locked in the dark closet and needed him the most.
Bergman doesn’t hesitate to share his fear and darkness with us. However, he doesn’t do it to transfer his negative energy onto a viewer. On the contrary, he is exposing his vulnerability and asking for help while at the same time extending his hand, asking questions, offering answers, and inviting us to overcome the fears together. When we add to this magnetic pull of his visual poetry along with the seductive appeal of his storytelling, it is clear why we are left so irresistibly drawn to his art. From here I started comparing other ‘dark’ filmmakers to discern any important characteristics that could explain the nature of darkness in cinematographic art.
Of course, any attempt to analyze and classify art is in itself futile. Perhaps that’s exactly what makes it worth trying.
Classification of darkness
Darkness cannot be measured. Darkness cannot be classified. Every darkness is always the same and every darkness is different. Darkness is absolute. It doesn’t have an end, but it has a beginning. It doesn’t have logic, but it has a meaning. Although we can’t understand darkness, we can try to demystify it. To explain darkness, we need to understand where it is coming from and what is it made of. I call this the ‘source of darkness’ and the ‘makeup of darkness’.
The Makeup of Darkness
The same way that black absorbs all the colors, darkness in cinematographic art is made of the entire spectrum of emotions. Using their own mix of emotions, ‘dark’ authors add different layers of meaning, changing the way story feels and creating an unexpected after-glow that lingers behind after the darkness is gone.
For example, a ‘dark’ author that I adore besides Bergman is Andrei Tarkovsky. His type of darkness is nothing like Bergman’s. In addition to his very unique ‘visual poetry’ his type of darkness is made of the elements of a higher power. Tarkovsky himself was a deeply religious person. For him, even in the darkest of the darks, there is always something else — above and beyond — which transforms darkness into hope. If not in this world then certainly somewhere else. Similarly, Akira Kurosawa offers a very different kind of darkness. For him, the darkness is always wrapped in the dignity and pride of his characters. This was especially true in the case of Toshiro Mifune, his favorite actor who played the roles of samurai.
Even in Film Noir, there is always a touch of something that gives new meaning to the darkness. As an example, it could be the brutality and strength of the characters from the ‘Hard-Boiled’ novels and ‘Black Mask’ magazine.
Sometimes it is the bright moment that happens if not in the present or future, then in the past: like a picture of a rosebud in the mind of dying Mr. Kane.
In some ways, Bergman’s ‘Persona’ reminds me of Polansky’s ‘The Tenant’.
The character played by Polansky begins to identify himself with the previous tenant who lived in that same apartment and tried to commit suicide. It’s a long process of getting into another person’s mind. A similar process happened to Alma: I don’t want to be like you, she cries desperately. But unlike Bergman, Polansky’s dark movies (Repulsion, Cul-de-Sac…) contain a sense of artistic distance and even hidden humor. Even Bunuel has ‘dark’ movies (An Andalusian Dog, Age of Gold, The Exterminating Angel…) made up of his own emotional blend that adds a unique feel to his darkness.
Some of these could perhaps be attributed to Surrealism itself, marked by the symbolism of dream-like images, humor, or a sense of purity, like in ‘Viridiana’. The innocence of young Viridiana’s character is similar to the virgin girl from Bergman’s ‘The Virgin Spring’. In both movies, purity prevails over darkness, even when it loses. While purity loses on the screen, it continues to live on in the audience’s minds. Isn’t that what art is all about?
What all of them have in common is a tiny glimmer of light shining from the dark — disguised as faith, hope, pride, or unexpected laughter — feeding of that darkness until it slowly turns it into something else. Or, in beautiful Bergman’s mind: the place where the innocence is killed, becomes a spring of new life. (‘The Virgin Spring’)
In the same way that the lotus flower needs mud in order to thrive, the light needs darkness to shine bright. The purpose of darkness is nothing else but to give way to the light. Like a caterpillar that becomes a butterfly, it is only in the transformation that ugly becomes beautiful, bad becomes good, or dark becomes light.
It is exactly in that transformation of darkness and not the darkness itself that I find myself captivated by it.
The next question I asked myself is where is the darkness coming from? (like the question where actors’ energy is coming from). I found two sources — social darkness and personal darkness.
The Sources of Darkness
There are two ways to enter the darkness: ‘Social darkness’ which comes from the general mood in the social environment, and ‘Personal darkness’, coming from the individual world and personal problems.
Social darkness is connected to the general atmosphere in society. It can be a feeling of desperation between the two WW in Germany which resulted in two movements: Kammerspielfilm and German Expressionism. It can also be a temporary crisis like the Great Depression in the US reflected in Film Noir in the 1930s. Sometimes such a crisis felt never-ending with little chance for resolution like in the Soviet-era where plenty of ‘dark waves’ occurred in cinema (Poland, Yugoslavia, Czechoslovakia…).
Personal darkness doesn’t need to be connected to the environment, money, or general mood in society. That’s why it doesn’t come in waves but individual sparks. It can be sorrow, a hard childhood, illness, mental issues, drug addiction… Jean Vigo (French Poetic Realism) had an extremely difficult childhood. As a young filmmaker, he got tuberculosis and died at the age of 29. With such a tragic story it wouldn’t make a difference if he lived in the beautiful Provence or Azure coast. When Tarkovsky managed to leave the SSSR, he didn’t become instantly happy. He lived in foreign countries, cut out from his roots, ill, and with no possibility of seeing his son who stayed in Russia.
This is why ‘Nostalgia’ and ‘The Sacrifice’ are equally dark as his Soviet masterpieces. Bergman, Von Trier, Haneke are all coming from rich democracies. Their pain is not provoked by hunger or the absence of a roof above their heads. There is something much deeper than poverty.
This brings us to Lars Von Trier. I wrote that I don’t like his movies, even though I think he is an incredibly talented director. But, before him, I would like to mention his role model — Michael Haneke. Despite the darkness, most of his movies have some positive or at least humane messages.
Movies like ‘The White Ribbon’ or ‘Amour’ or ‘Piano Teacher’ or ‘Happy End’ or many others make us ask deep questions and look for the answers to make a world a better place. The only film of his I don’t like is ‘Benny’s Video’. This is the kind of story I wish to erase from my memory. In a few of his pieces, it feels as he simply wanted to let his darkness out, purge it, pass it on — as raw and ugly as it comes — unadulterated darkness void of any meaning. I don’t know about others, but I don’t need that.
Such an approach, very rare for Haneke, is typical for Lars Von Trier, especially in his late films like ‘Antichrist’ and ‘Nymphomaniac’.
I am not suggesting that Trier’s movies don’t have a message. It’s just that his desire to rid himself of pain makes any message pale in comparison. Watching his movies feels as if he simply needed to shake off his pain with little consideration for what happens with his darkness when it reaches the world. For him, the art is a therapy: the release of a wild animal he can’t hold in his backyard anymore. Here I leave room for disagreement. Each masterpiece evokes different feelings in us. Trier’s power can’t be denied.
But we can argue that Bergman is releasing his darkness in a similar way. So, what is the difference that makes me adore Bergman and avoid Von Trier at all costs? I can ‘hear’ Lars is telling me: I have a pain, I am scared, I am possessed by darkness. I am full of it. Please take it. I don’t want it. He is worse than the energy thief. He doesn’t only suck out the positive energy: He is releasing his own toxic darkness and negative energy into the world. If making movies is a therapy for him, I don’t want to be his therapist. On the other side, I can ‘hear’ Bergman telling me: I am afraid my friend. I am scared to death of death. I am scared of darkness and I need help. But I guess you are scared too. I think we share common fears, especially from dying. Let’s talk about it. Let’s help each other and understand each other. Let’s hold our hands and get through the darkness and pain together. Bergman doesn’t look for a therapist. He is searching for a friend to fight against the fear. Yes, I would like to be his friend.
Epilogue
Darkness in movies can be individual and collective. Collective darkness follows social sentiment and creates movements in society. It lasts as long as the crisis lasts. Personal darkness is circumstantial. It is born out of the intricate conditions of personal lives. It can occur anytime and anywhere. As such, it is unpredictable.
Each of them can be ‘transformed’ through the use of humor, religion, irony, brutality, dignity, strength, love, hope… It is important to note that any expression of darkness for the sake of darkness, fails to answer the question — why? In which case it cannot be considered an ‘art’ and therefore not subject of this contemplation.
In the very end, I wanted to see if my theory of ‘Emoting Chakras’ could be applied to directing. I asked myself if directors have their versions of ‘creative’ chakras and if yes, what are they? If acting is coming from the head, heart, guts, and genitals, as I freely guessed, where is Bergman’s artistic expression coming from? I believe his source must be even deeper than erogenous. It’s coming directly from the Universe. He is a conductor, medium, translator, or messenger of the Universe. This transcends human powers and goes far beyond. As I am writing this, I try to name an actor with the same power but sadly no one is coming to mind. I am trying to think of other artists, even scientists. Few names with such a cosmic power come to mind: Mozart, Leonardo De Vinci, Marie Curie, Nikola Tesla Stephen Hawking, or Carl Sagan. But communication with the Universe is a two-way street. Thomas S. Elliot asked a question in his love poem: Do I dare to disturb the Universe? Oh, yes. These guys do.
Mister Bergman, you belong among them with your powers of the Universe. I hope I will meet you among the stars, Maestro. I have some questions for you. See you someday, somewhere in the light.
