Despite an excellent, unaffected performance by Pernilla August, Private Confessions can't escape its melodramatic premise of adultery and redemption. Written by the King of Existentialism, the film (or shall I say mini-series) is structured along five conversations, though they do not follow any chronology, which has become a cool trick to use for many young screenwriters (fragmented chronology) but Bergman uses it as memory. The writing is as intense and honest as any other Bergman film, but without much plot, tends to be long-winded. Longtime Bergman collaborators Liv Ullman and cinematographer Sven Nyvist focus on close-ups and a stationary camera to get their message across, adding to the lack of mobility in the script. After two hours of Swedish mope (not necessarily a bad thing because where else is it more appropriate) [Sorry Martin!], the wistful ending seems forced. Great scene near the end, though, where a hymn gives way to vomiting. In conclusion, a movie for Bergman fanatics (especially since the story is autobiographical) like me and for people having affairs -- not like me.
Review of Private Confessions
