User reviews

An intriguing sexually explicit and frank film about a number of different things, ranging from anti-censorship sentiments to neuroses, it is well directed by Ingmar Bergman, shot from interesting angles and making good use of close-ups, but still it is far off the level of Bergman's best work. The ideas are a bit all over the place and the film is too talkative for it to have much chance of establishing atmosphere. The events of the final ten or so minutes are contrived too, particularly concerning the main character. Either way, it makes an interesting enough watch, and if not for its cinematic virtues, at least for giving an idea of the very adult stuff allowed on Swedish television in 1969! Worthwhile for Bergman fans; others might want to try out a few of his other films before giving this a go.

... when all the world's a stage, performances established by surroundings in a cage, whose screens and makeup mask the cells of who we really are, unless threatened by authority and we leave the door ajar.

Make of it what you will, especially the end, somethings you might distil, before it takes you round a bend.

Coming in at 72 minutes, and with notable Bergman stalwarts Gunnar Bjornstrand, Anders Ek, and Ingrid Thulin, this made for TV conjuring will leave you scratching your chin and raising your eyebrows as bizarre events unfold and you wonder what on earth is going on. Suffice to say the imagination from the master director will once again have you as confused as ever, but the acting is outstanding.

While on tour in a European country, the actors Hans Winkelmann (Gunnar Björnstrand), his wife Thea Winkelmann (Ingrid Thulin) and his best friend Sebastian Fisher (Anders Ek) are charged of obscenities and sent to court. While interviewing the trio individually in his office, Judge Dr. Abrahamson (Erik Hell) challenges and discloses the feelings and troubles of the unstable personality of each one of them: Sebastian is an aggressive man with drinking problem and lover of Thea; Hans is a controlled wealthy man and leader of the company; and Thea is a fragile and vulnerable woman with mental disturbance. The judge pushes the emotions of the dysfunctional troupe to the edge and they propose a private exhibition of their play The Rite for his evaluation where the judge finds more than eroticism and obscenities.

I am a great fan of Ingmar Bergman, my director number one ever, I have already seen most of his movies, but "Riten" is not among my favorite ones. The claustrophobic and theatrical drama with actors playing actors is extremely well acted but is too experimental and Kafkaesque for my taste. Of course I recommend to any cinema lover to watch this film (I have seen it twice); but be prepared to see a very hermetic story without explanation for the final impressive sequence, open to the most different interpretations. I believe the greatest problem with me is that I have watched "Riten" out of the chronology of Bergman's filmography, since the DVD has been released only a couple of months ago in Brazil. In the future, I have the intention to see the movies of Bergman again in chronological sequence to try to follow and understand a little bit more his brilliant mind. My vote is six.

Title (Brazil): "O Rito" ("The Rite")

This is a somewhat odd and enigmatic film from Bergman; perhaps in keeping with many of the other films that he produced during the mid-to-late 1960's, and one that seems to be an extension of the artistic and psychological themes established in his more widely-acknowledged masterpiece, Persona (1966). Like that particular film, The Rite (1969) is a carefully structured drama built around a small cast of characters warring with one another in a close and claustrophobic environment that stresses the theatrical nature of the script. By refusing to extend on the material as many other filmmakers would when adapting one of their own works from stage to screen, Bergman creates a much tighter situation that gives the drama a stark, nightmarish quality that removes us completely from reality. Here, we are isolated with these characters, with all notion of the outside world or life beyond those drab, grey, minimalist locations having been removed completely, creating a void that overwhelms us.

The film also extends on some of the director's more recognisable themes, such as performance and persecution, with the idea of actors playing actors creating a performance that is not simply a part of the film, but also a comment upon it. It's perhaps a little clumsy in some places, especially compared to the aforementioned Persona, or indeed, similarly themed films like Hour of the Wolf (1966) and A Passion (1968); with the deeply enigmatic nature and theatrical presentation working towards an incredibly cold and uncomfortable atmosphere that never quite explains itself. I suppose this is a result of the short-running time and the fact that it was produced quickly and cheaply for Swedish television. However, it is still an incredibly bold piece of work, and one that definitely needs to be experienced by those with a real taste and admiration for the filmmaker; with the typically "Bergmanesque" themes and the strong performances and intense and troubling characterisations created by the cast making this a much more interesting and rewarding film than the brief plot outline might suggest.

The structure of the film is intended to somewhat distance us from the drama in a way that many of Bergman's better films would. Here, he uses chapter headings to disrupt the narrative; bringing to our attention the theatrical nature of the presentation and the artificiality of the world to, in effect, remove us from it. It works on a similar level to the self-reflexive interview sequences that punctuate the narrative of the previous A Passion, albeit, on a much more subtle level. Again, it is intended to add a further dimension to the film, but also to make the viewing process even more difficult. It also denies us a central character, with both the central government figure and the three performers all moving from hateful to sympathetic from one scene to the next. There are also at least two scenes that seem to be even further disconnected from reality. One such scene involves the youngest of the performers setting fire to his hotel room, lying back on his bed with his sunglasses on and staring up at the ceiling with a cool detachment as the room is engulfed by flames. It is never referred to or explained whether this scene actually takes place or if it is merely symbolic; though I suppose it could be read on an analytical level in regards to that particular character and his somewhat damaged and detached personality.

The second scene I won't go into, as it's one of the most important moments in the film. However, it is interesting how it sets up the atmosphere for that troubling and enigmatic finale, which again, is never fully explained and seems to sway the film away from the performers and more towards the self-appointed judge. There's a definite Kafka-like influence developed here, not only with the characters but with the situation that they find themselves in. So, we have a small group of characters put on trial for what we later learn are "obscenity charges", but the actual scenes between the judge and the performers seems to be much more cryptic and personal. If you're fond of the mind games and psychological role-playing developed in Persona then you should get a real thrill out of the five interview scenes that form the backbone of the film in question, with each character playing up to their own emotional strengths and weaknesses whilst finding themselves in this hopeless and incomprehensible situation.

Given the nature of the film I won't discuss the ending too much, though suffice to say it changes the way we look at those preceding scenes and seems to open up the narrative to further ideas of self-reflexive interpretation. So, we have the idea of a film within a film, or perhaps something more literal. Or is it a metaphor for the struggle of creativity in the face of government oppression. Indeed, at the time this film was made, Bergman was fighting his own battles against both theatre and cinema and how they were being developed back in Sweden at this particular time. It seems like he had lost faith in his audience and those who were paying for his work to be developed and these fears and anxieties are presented in the film alongside a rage of fury and aggression. For certain, this is a dark, troubling and enigmatic psychological piece that rewards patient viewers with a thought-provoking, Kafkaesque moral dilemma with room for personal interpretation.

Pros: 1. The aspect ratio of 1.33 : 1 and the usage of close-ups help add weight to the drama and tension, as it provides a more personal feel to the film. 2. There are no weak performances. Ingrid Thulin (Thea Winkelmann), Erik Hell (Judge Dr. Abrahamson), Gunnar Björnstrand (Hans Winkelmann) all deliver great performances. Anders Ek (Sebastian Fisher) in particular is phenomenal. 3. The dialogue is intense, well-written, and enthralling to listen to. 4. The rape scene is suitably uncomfortable and impactful to watch. 5. There is an appropriate insertion of an eerily disturbing and ominous score. 6. The last 12 minutes are captivating and serve as a satisfying end for Judge Dr. Abrahamson.

Cons: 1. The movie at times is a little too slow-paced, despite its relatively short run-time. 2. The editing and cutting is a little too abrupt at times.

Made for television during what is probably Bergman's most innovative period, around the same time as Persona, Shame, A Passion, and Cries and Whispers. Three actors, played by Bergman regulars Gunnar Bjornstrand, Anders Ek, and Ingrid Thulin, are brought up on an obscenities charge in an unnamed European country. A judge (Erik Hell) interviews them over a period of several days, first all together, and then each one separately. We also see scenes of the actors outside of these interviews interacting in pairs (never all three together). There is also a scene in which the judge visits a priest, in a re-enactment of a certain scene from The Seventh Seal, the one where Antonius Block confesses his chess strategy to death. Here, Bergman himself plays the priest/death (in the interview book Bergman on Bergman, he jokingly brags that he got paid extra for having a speaking part in the film). The film as a whole is difficult, as are the other films around this period. But it is an amazing film when taken scene for scene. It's a showcase for these amazing actors. Thulin, Bjornstrand, and Ek are amazing as these absolutely deranged characters. Ek plays the most arrogant person in the world, and he has a little problem with pyromania. Thulin, who is married to Bjornstrand but sleeps exclusively with Ek, has some serious mental problems (and a wig that makes her look like Anna Karina from Vivre sa vie). Her neuroses make Woody Allen seem relatively calm. Bjornstrand is a desperate character who wants to get away from his wife and her lover (also his best friend), but he's not sure if he can live without her. The Rite is actually quite graphic. There are a few very erotic scenes, and Thulin was never more desirable. In one scene, Ek asks Bjornstrand how he can bring Thulin to orgasm, and the description made me blush, of all people. The film would probably have been rated X in the United States. Needless to say, it would never appear on television! When it was originally broadcast, Bergman had a disclaimer placed before it telling everyone that they might want to read or go to the movies instead of watch The Rite! 9/10.

Made for television in the late 60s, The Rite is a very small film from Bergman. It's not just small in visual scope, but also small in narrative focus, which seriously limits its appeal.

I actually didn't really get the film at the end of the screening and did as I always do with these. I grabbed the book from the Criterion collection and read the essay on the film. I think the reason the movie's point passed me by while watching it, assuming the essay was correct, was because the film is all about actors and their art form interacting with the world.

I've had discussions recently about how inward focusing storytelling can have both expanded and limiting effects. I used Bergman as my example for how it can be expansive (the Silence trilogy is a great example of taking one man's inner questions and packaging them in ways that other people can understand), but I think The Rite could be a counterpoint from the same artist. An artist's issues with dealing with the real world, using their talents to forge their own place in it and fight against the forces attacking them, is oddly specific. I could imagine a story about that that would speak to a broader audience, generalizing the experience in ways that speak to people not focused on the very specific question, but Bergman makes no effort to do that. Instead of generalizing, he specifies, pushing away those not in the same spot.

Three actors are brought before a civil judge about charges around a performance of theirs. It's unclear what in the performance caused the meeting, but over a series of interviews and conversations, it becomes obvious that the performance itself is secondary. The judge wants to take part. The actors want to tear down the judge. It all culminates in a performance that includes quasi-religious ritual, nudity, and wooden phalluses, none of which is handled sexually. Bergman, being the intelligent storyteller he is, isn't creating empty spectacle, but the rite that ends the film really is in service to something that I cannot really get a grasp onto, at least on one viewing.

This is what trust in a director does. I don't think The Rite works as a film, but because Bergman has reached such highs before, I'm more than willing to give him the benefit of the doubt in certain ways. In fact, out of all the movies of his that I don't think really work (there are now a grand total of 4 out of the 26 I've watched), this one is the one I'm most willing to give another shot.

I'm one of those: Ingmar Bergman is a true artist, a great filmmaker who's connection with the brightness and deepest darkness of human nature, of faults with religion, with close relationships, horrors of the mind, dreams, was so strong that it's hard to believe that he made so much and didn't succumb sooner to his most dogged troubles- death. In the case of the Rite, it's basically an experiment. He has ten scenes, four actors (not counting himself in an uproarious cameo appearance/in-joke on the Seventh Seal as a priest), and a lot of sado-masochistic psychology to work with. There aren't quite as many monologues as in Persona, and not the same depth of a relationship ala Scenes From a Marriage. But for the most part, the Rite works well as another exploration of Bergman's into the frayed mindset of actors, the discombobulated circumstances they get themselves into personally that mucks them up in the real world. Only the theater is their strange refuge, might be the message here, if there is one.

One thing's for certain, among the many performances that Bergman stock-company members Bjornstrand and Thullin have given in past films (Winter Light maybe their best pairing), the Rite provides them some of their best work. It might be almost too easy considering the material- a married couple that is completely miserable, full of the kind of bile that is found in the worst boils- and brought to a more succinct point by the actor Anders Ek (who has also been in a couple other Bergman flicks, notably Seventh Seal as the Monk), who might be the most exhaustedly p-o'd actor one's ever seen. They're all on trial for some Kafkaesque reason by a judge (Erik Hell) who is making their nerves totally on edge with his insistence on all the 'facts' coming in. The scenes particularly with him and Thulin are explosive, and even shocking to a point, where as before there's been subtlety and insinuation.

As it stands, approximately 9/10ths of The Rite is close to vintage Bergman as one could hope for, coming out of a period in the 60s where he plunged into a deconstructionist approach that found him working at full-steam (Persona, Shame, and Hour of the Wolf are some of the most daring 'art-house' films ever conceived and executed), and considering this as just an exercise is nothing to sneeze at...That being said, there is that final scene in the office I can't get out of my head, and unlike other times with Bergman I'm not sure it's such a good thing. It's a turning-the-tables scene where the actors come in costumes and masks ala Eyes Wide Shut and freak the f*** out of the judge, and Hell (no pun intended) goes into a rant about how wrong he was and how he sees that he's just a lawyer who didn't want to do this and that and so on. And it just doesn't feel the same as the rest of the material in the film, an 'off' quality, despite (or in spite) of the fact that on its own it's a truly outrageous thing to see: the costumes are sado-masochism incarnate, with a certain appendage that is ridiculous, and a bowl of wine that is obvious symbolically.

Maybe someday if I re-watch the Rite I'll come to admire or find something else about the scene that works better, but for now it's the only thing that is really a bugger about what is otherwise an exemplary work of cinematic theater. If you can find it somewhere in your local video store (emphasis on 'video', it's not available on DVD), and are already head-deep in the master of Scandinavian motion pictures, it's worth it.

It's funny that I checked this out on the same day as PRISON (1949): having found that film stimulating (I'd been away from Bergman or Art-house cinema, for that matter, for a while) after going through several Bela Lugosi films of late, I then found myself quite worn-out intellectually by the time I was done with THE RITE - which only confirms my previously-held belief that Bergman (like his staunchest pupil, Woody Allen) is best taken in small doses!; actually, this factor also goes a long way in explaining why his 5-hour marathon SCENES FROM A MARRIAGE (1973) and AUTUMN SONATA (1978) have been gathering dust among my extensive "DVDs To Watch" pile for the last 3 years already!!

That is not to say that I didn't admire the film on an artistic level (the rating alone attests to that), though stylistically constrained by having originated in TV - but which actually suits its claustrophobic tone and compact plotting (the film is mercifully short at just 73 minutes). Still, the constant soul-searching (often descending into hysterics) is matched by no-holds-barred performances from a slim cast - which almost make it seem like a parody of the typical Bergman film: for one thing, the climactic re-enactment of the indecent 'rite' (for which a troupe of performers has been indicted before an outwardly tenacious judge, but who's ultimately revealed to be as angst-ridden as they are!) would be fairly risible - what with the male members of the trio sporting, for no obvious reason, huge black dildos as part of their costume - were it not for the hypnotic intensity of the mise-en-scene!!

Needless to say, despite my reservations about the director's work in general, I'll still be renting the titles I haven't watched from Tartan's "Bergman Collection" which the owner of my local DVD outlet has said are on the way...

Imagine that, in 1969, on BBC2, say, an experimental 'Play for Today' was featured, involving various acts of a drama that revolved around three very different actors who are interviewed very rigorously by a 'judge'.

There are various accusations highlighted and all become, or are, squirmingly intrusive, with many very personal subjects being quite explicitly examined. Add a documentary feeling use of static interview room/single set location and with uncomfortably close close-ups, in a rather unflattering greyish sort of black and white.

Considering these 'crimes' border on the uglier emotions and typically Bergman, the dialogue crackles with poetic starkness and honesty, then the Mary Whitehouse brigade of the day would have had a field day. My reference to this, is because The Rite was a drama made for Swedish TV, directed by Bergman and featuring some typically gritty and honest acting. I bet that the TV audience there would have been receptive and revelled in its clever psychotherapy and fascinating insight into human persona. Us Brits would only have seen the 'grubby' bits and blown them out of all proportion.

Whilst this 72minute drama looks odd and dated now - and the few other reviews around almost dismiss this work accordingly, it now comes out as a fascinating but intense montage of human condition and behaviour.

I think if Bergman had spent some more time and energy for making this movie, it could have become as good as most of his films. The scene when the judge interviews the wife, and the last scene when they are acting are incredible.

How come there isn't a single movie review for this one ..... The first thing that came to my mind after watching it was, did Bergman really hate Godard or not? Or was it simply a statement to put on airs in front of the press. The heroine's hairstyle, her profession, with the sub-paragraphs, and the way she handled the events in this one, all just reminded me of a movie "As You Like It" 1962 Godard.

I thoroughly enjoyed Bergman's grasp of the audio-visual, where the unreal ceases to serve as a true depiction and becomes utterly absurd (which reminds me of Godard).

What I really like about the burnt bed and final ritual images is that in the second half, the entire narrative becomes bizarre or fragmented (Godard again), but still maintains its ornamental beauty.

The plot: Traveling actors Hans (Gunnar Björnstrand), Sebastian (Anders Ek) and Thea (Ingrid Thulin) perform an act on stage (The Rite) supposedly involving nudity and having explicit sexual content. Hans is Thea's husband (and the impresario for the trio) and Sebastian is Thea's lover. A judge (Erik Hell) seems bent on stopping the supposedly obscene performance and interrogates each actor individually about The Rite and the nature of their relationship. The inquests result in twisted, corkscrewed interactions and the humiliation of the judge, humiliation being one of Bergman's trademarks. Finally, The Rite is performed in the judge's office and has, to say the least, unexpected results.

Bergman was an actor himself and lived his working life among actors, and it is not surprising he could write good dialogue for actors impersonating actors, even if the characters are mostly devoid of any redeeming quality. The judge, however, is a literary concoction and his methods bear no relation to any law practice ever known. To accept his character needs unhealthy doses of suspension of disbelief. The Rite seems mysterious and alluring until we see it performed, when it is revealed as an orgy of Gothic nonsense to the point of parody, sinister masks and all.

The actors do a credible job with their lines. Björnstrand plays his usual precise, punctilious and somewhat pedantic character and Ek takes good advantage of his strong screen presence although he is a bit over the top here and there. Thulin shows her usual excellence but her role includes some embarrassing moments, such as one where she emotes in smeared clown makeup (shades of Fellini?). Echoes of various Bergman movies can be heard, in particular The Magician (1958). But while the latter had in the end a rather positive message this one has none; if anything it shows a deep, pervading mistrust and contempt of humankind. In the end, the film leaves a bad aftertaste.

Rite, The (1969)

*** 1/2 (out of 4)

A judge (Erik Hell) asks three actors (Gunnar Bjornstrand, Anders Ek, Ingrid Thulin) to enter his chamber for individual questioning so he can determine whether their performance is obscene or not. While the play their acting in is the main reason for questioning, the three actors as well as the judge have other issues to deal with as well. This was the first film Ingmar Bergman made for television and I really wasn't expecting too much and was honestly shocked at how well the film worked considering there's no real story to deal with. The dialogue is wonderfully written and Bergman's bleak direction builds a nice little atmosphere. The rest of it is up to the four actors who all deliver very good performances. Bergman even appears in one scene playing a Priest. It's also rather funny to see what could be shown on Swedish television back in 1969. There's no way in hell this thing could play in America today let alone way back then.

Seven stars. This isn't essential Bergman by any means. But it's well worth watching for Bergman fans. The tiny cast (four speaking parts, with Bergman himself as a silent priest) and the staging show Bergman's connection to the theatre. But the way it's shot is pure art-house. Nothing but near shots to extreme close-ups. And all that intricate framing! Things like the shots of both Thulin and Bjornstrand (two Bergman regulars, going back to the early 50s, in absolutely knock-out performances) with Erik Hell's arms around them, coming down from above. Or the framing of the actors against the carefully chosen backgrounds in the backstage scene. Any one who comes into this thinking it's going to be a standard narrative film will be utterly lost by scene 2. It's a cinematic fable. Complete with a "moral" at the end. Bergman made this in 1969 (for TV! Think about that, given the costuming in the last scene), in the middle of a period when he was making genre pictures, and clearly wasn't sure of what he was up to. After the monumental (if flawed) Persona, he stumbled for about six years before he roared back with Cries and Whispers. This film fits squarely in with The Hour of the Wolf (gothic horror), Shame (Bergman does a war film) and The Passion of Anna (an experimental film about disintegrating relationships), as movies that strike me as experiments for Bergman to work out what he wants to do. So let's strip things down to the barest minimum -- four actors, no sets to speak of, no story in any obvious sense. Instead we get this Kafka-like situation, in which a group of artists are being questioned by an official about something in their show. No one ever talks about it directly. In fact, no one ever talks about ANYTHING directly. Even Abrahamson's confession just beats around the bush. And then we get that last scene. . . . 24 May 2024.

"I lack a declaration of faith and do not belong to any church. I have never needed any god or salvation or eternal life. I am my own god; I supply my own angels and demons. I exist on a stony beach, which lowers itself in waves toward a protective ocean. A dog barks; a child cries; the day sinks and becomes night. You can never scare me. No human being will ever be able to scare my ever again. I have a prayer that I repeat to myself in absolute stillness: May a wind come to stir up the ocean and the stifling twilight. May a bird come from the water out there and explode the silence with its call."

Enigmatic and yet mesmerizing, The Rite has three actors inextricably bound up in one another answering to a smug yet insecure functionary on charges that their performance is indecent. One of them, Hans (Gunnar Bjornstrand) is the sensible one and the leader, his wife Thea (Ingrid Thulin) is insecure and highly artistic, and their partner Sebastian (Anders Ek) is an irresponsible lecher, openly having an affair with Thea but unable to satisfy her sexually. The man judging them (Erik Hell) seems to enjoy needling them with deeply personal questions which are irrelevant to the matter at hand and humiliating to them, but privately he fears his own mortality.

The film originally aired over Swedish TV, and feels very much like a stage play, broken up into nine acts, all of which are interior. There is a symmetry to the work, which is laid out as follows:

Initial interview (Judge and all three actors) Hotel room (Thea and Sebastian) Individual interview (Judge and Sebastian) Confessional (Priest and Judge) Individual interview (Judge and Hans) Backstage (Thea and Hans) Individual interview (Judge and Thea) Meeting at the bar (Hans and Sebastian) Private performance (Judge and all three actors)

It's pretty clear that each of the three actors being questioned contain some element of Bergman's own persona, and each is tortured in his or her own way while being interviewed, just as the sensitive Bergman felt reprimanded and humiliated by administrators and critics. As he writes in Images My Life in Film, he had just ended his tenure as the head of the Royal Dramatic Theater, and his fury over the experience was channeled into this film. Bergman even puts himself in the position of being the priest who hears the judge's confession, which was also a nice littler inverted reference to The Seventh Seal.

Compare this line from Thea: "I'll tell you what a psychiatrist once told me. He said, 'You're not solid matter, you're a movement. You flow into others. They flow into you. Nothing's constant. When you realize this, your neurosis will go."

With Bergman's description of how he overcame his fear of death in real life: "That which had formerly been so enigmatic and frightening, namely, what might exist beyond this world, does not exist. Everything is of this world. Everything exists and happens inside us, and we flow into and out of one another. It's perfectly fine like that.

Here are a couple of other examples of the characters channeling the director, one from Sebastian: "I despise you, and I find your officiousness unbelievably ridiculous. Not bad to hobnob with three world-famous artists, your picture in the paper next to us. If feels good to pester us with humiliating questions under the pretense of decency and discretion. Pulling down our trousers and giving us a good spanking. I'll demand a judge who's on my level. You're unable to either understand or judge our work. You're dull!"

And another from Hans: "Is there something in me that invites humiliation? Really big artists are invulnerable, in their core, that is. I'm not one of them. My biggest fear is to be left alone."

Lastly, from Thea: "I play at ecstasy and talking to the holy virgin. Belief and unbelief. Defiance and doubt. It's all a game. But inside, I remain the same. Sometimes utterly tragic, sometimes exhilarated."

So it's fascinating to see these three aspects as depicted by Bergman, as inextricably intertwined and necessary for an artist to accomplish anything. As for the performance of the rite itself in the final act, it's not made clear, but it's a representation of an ancient Greek "elevation" ritual. Bergman writes:

"In ancient Greece, theater was inextricably tied to religious rituals. The audience arrived long before sunrise. At dawn the masked priests appeared. When the sun rose over the mountains, it illuminated the center of the stage, where a small altar was erected. The blood of a sacrificial animal was collected in a large vessel. One of the priests hid behind the others. He wore a golden mask, like that of a god. When the sun had risen even higher, two priests elevated the vessel at a precise moment, so that the audience could see the godly mask reflected in the blood. An orchestra of drums and pan flutes played, and the priests sang. After a few minutes the officiant lowered the vessel and drank the blood."

The Rite thus endures as a rebuke to critics and those who would constrain him as an artist, and also as performance being a ritual, sacred and a necessary communion in some ways, and yet humiliating in others. While the simplicity of the sets isn't going to blow anyone away, the depth for 72 minutes of television was impressive. I believe the top American shows at the time were Laugh-In and Gunsmoke.

A revelatory chamber piece, Bergman offers (as always) a snapshot of his psyche and once again astounds with his creativity. The cast is brilliant, each optimizing their voluminous talents in realizing this cathartic social commentary and autobiographical self analysis. Actors Thea (Ingrid Thulin), Sebastian (Anders Ek) and Hans (Gunnar Björnstrand) are sequestered in the offices of Judge Abrahamson (Erik Hell), who questions them about the play they have been performing, which has been accused of being obscene. As the judge interviews them separately and together, the three performers work through their considerable psycho-sexual baggage with each other, while collectively laying siege to the sensibilities of their authoritarian interrogator.

Well "The Rite" (1969, Riten, also known as "The Ritual" in the USA) totally baffled me. It was done as a television film in Sweden, thus is shorter than most Ingmar Bergman films. It was done soon after Bergman left an unhappy experience at the Royal Dramatic Theater in Stockholm. An observer also noted that at that time he had also fathered nine children by six different women. He had also had massive tax battles with Sweden. Bergman was a conflicted man, and said "More or less consciously I divided myself into three characters in the film."

Three highly successful actors in a traveling cabaret are before a judge in an unnamed country where they are being investigated for their act thought to be obscene. Sebastian (Anders Ek) is lecherous, a drunk, and on the edge of a nervous breakdown. He killed his former partner, but now has a sexual relationship with Thea (Ingrid Thulin), his former partner's widow. Thea is the current wife of Hans (Gunnar Björnstrand), the third member of the troupe. Thea is also unstable. Hans is the orderly one, but has his own demons. Judge Abramson (Erik Hell) who is interviewing them starts out cool as a cucumber but disintegrates himself as the film progresses through a series of scenes in an interview room, a hotel room, a confessional (where Ingmar Bergman has a bit part as a priest), etc.

I don't understand how any one can live with these dysfunctional parts of their personality.

The Rite describes an apparently (once) renowned acting trio - Hans, Sebastian, and Thea - facing a judicial inquiry over an obscenity charge. Told through a series of vignettes, the film initially offers a series of interesting character studies: Hans, the level-headed frontman of the troupe who has bottled up his personal sufferings; Thea, the neurotic wife with an erratic personality; Sebastian, a temperamental drunk having an affair with Thea; and, of course, the judge conducting the inquiry. These characters and the various overlapping relationships between and amongst them are revealed as the movie progresses.

But, the longer the film played, the less sense it made. Perhaps it's a commentary on the legal system and society's antiquated laws, outside forces attempting to humiliate and belittle the individual. Perhaps it's a critique of the creative process and art, a commentary on how commercial success can lead to inferior output and attempts to shock the senses simply to remain relevant. Or perhaps it's simply yet another Bergman movie featuring actors playing actors exploring intimate relationships, this time through a sort of love triangle.

No one talks in real life like Bergman's characters do, and accepting that his film creations all converse in on-the-nose philosophical dialogue seems to be a baseline requirement for watching and enjoying his cinema. Even accepting that premise, The Rite stands out for its pretentious script. Whatever this film was attempting to accomplish, it did not succeed. As the credits roll, the viewer certainly is not left in the tremors of the same quasi-religious ecstasy experienced by the judge.

1969's RITEN (The Rite) is one of the least known of Ingmar Bergman's films of the 1960s. Part of that is because the film was made for Swedish television instead of enjoying an international theatrical release. But another reason is that RITEN is markedly inferior to his other films of the time.

In an unnamed European country, a judge (Erik Hell) summons a traveling troupe of three actors to investigate whether the play they have brought to his community is pornographic. Two of the actors are overtly neurotic. Sebastian Fisher (Anders Ek) is prone to starting fires and afflicted by ill health. he is also glum and insulting. Thea Winkelmann (Ingrid Thulin) is wracked with existential anxiety, overly sensitive and feels suffocated by her surroundings. Hans Winkelmann (Gunnar Björkstrand) is the level-headed one who keeps the troupe together.

By the early mid-1960s Bergman had moved on from religious anxiety to an interest in human relationships and psychology. The three actors can be seen as different aspects of a single personality, and Bergman's comments on this in Images: My Life in Film are worth reading. More mysterious is their relationship to the judge, which dominates in the shocking last scene which I won't spoil here. The connection of drama to religious ritual in Ancient Greek is a theme. There is also some daring sexuality here: it's hard to imagine some of the scenes even in a theatrical release of the time, let alone television broadcast.

Why is this not among Bergman's best? Although the director had his trusted cameraman Sven Nykvist on hand, the cinematography nothing special: the elegantly planned long takes of other films are missing here, and some shots break off haphazardly. The concerns of the film are too repetitive after THE SILENCE, PERSONA and HOUR OF THE WOLF, and neither Hell nor Ek are pleasant to watch. Still, Björnstrand and Thulin give an engaging performance. Furthermore, I'm left wondering if there is an homage here to Bergman's colleague Jean-Luc Godard, as the film is divided into a series of tableaux (like Godard's VIVRE SA VIE) and Thulin wears a distinctly Anna Karina-like wig.

Having seen all of his films, this was the last on the list. Sadly, I found it lacking. It feels more like a play and a constricted one at that. The content being affected by location restrictions and budget. Essentially it's simply four characters in one setting interacting. Sometimes just two of the characters, others all four. Having this tight restraint has led to experimentations in the script, which this time, has pushed any sense of realism out the window, unlike many of his others films involving relationships. Of course he can make quality surrealistic films like the Seventh Seal but this feels forced and contrived. It's an experiment, in a capacity (television) that he was not that familiar with at the time. The concept of the separate Scenes is a good one, (and the only way to change to essentially the same setting with a different combination of characters) but it's all over the top and frankly, a bit ridiculous. Some of the Scenes work better than others, such as when the couple are in the dressing room after the show and she's having an emotional meltdown. This is more familiar male/female Bergman territory and it works. Not so, the rest. Naturally others may feel differently but with so many masterpieces and quality films in his career, this is one that doesn't make the grade. A worthy experiment but not surprised he moved back to features after this.