Wild Strawberries Review: One of Bergman’s Finest

The synopsis of Wild Strawberries might seem straightforward, but Ingmar Bergman constructs a startling, poignant, and ambiguous portrait of old age and death.

Wild Strawberries is, as Isak puts it near the end, a “jumble of events”, a gargantuan, deeply detailed analysis of human existence that ranks alongside the best of Bergman’s stellar career.

The widowed and grumpy Isak sets out on a long car journey from Stockholm to Lund in order to receive an award bestowed to people who have had a doctorate for 50 years or more. Accompanying him is his daughter-in-law Marianne (Ingrid Thulin, Cries and Whispers); various hitchhikers join them along the ride, sparking dreams and memories from Isak’s past. This is where Wild Strawberries shines as a perfect showcase of Bergman’s skills as a filmmaker: it has the experimental visions and ambiguous viewpoints of Persona (although it’s never quite as mind-boggling as that film) as well as the striking dramatic realism of his other works, such as Scenes from a Marriage.

A life stung by coldness and distance to loved ones, such as his wife, hangs over Isak throughout the film. The original title of Wild Strawberries is Smultronstället, translating into “the wild strawberry patch”. The meaning of the title takes on an elevated meaning when Isak makes a detour to a house where he spent summers as a youth, which has such a patch. More abstractly, the Swedish phrase means a personal, hidden place that brings sentimental value. For Isak, this patch represents his more carefree childhood days, as well as a romance with a girl named Sara, who instead of Isak ultimately married his brother.

The structure of Wild Strawberries—it hops from memory to memory and back to reality with abandon—is a perfect reflection of Isak’s scattered, reminiscent mindset. Old pains and past joys stutter back to him in fits and starts, bolstered by Gunnar Fischer’s (The Seventh Seal)  marvellous cinematography that seems to both glow and ache with nostalgia, creating a tone that is both terrifying and comforting. At the centre of it all is Sjöström, who of course has a speaking role here, but whose experience as a silent film actor comes across in Isak’s many lonesome scenes of reflection. Sjöström initially gives us a character who is grumpy and unlikeable; by the end, we see through the flaws into a painful past peppered by happiness.

Wild Strawberries was released in the same year as The Seventh Seal (a similarly, if not even more, highly regarded Bergman film), and it is not surprising to read that it was written by the filmmaker in hospital. Unlike Sjöström and Isak, he was only in his forties, but the existential reflection that seeps into Wild Strawberries clearly stemmed from his prolonged treatment and stay. Perhaps most impressively, Bergman manages to portray both pain and peace in Isak’s life; the professor recognises and accepts regrets of his past, and finally finds closure as he nears the end. It is beautiful and bittersweet, and a skilled balancing act that is rare amongst not just filmmakers, but storytellers in general.

Wild Strawberries is now available to watch on digital and on demand.