Bergman's knack of presenting unhappy people writhing painfully around in their own psychodramas is as stunningly efficient as ever in 1961's Through a Glass Darkly.
With the aloof patriarch, David (Gunnar Björnstrand) finally returning from overseas, a Swedish family get together at the family home. Unfortunately for them, this happens to be on the desolate, remote island of Faro. David is finishing off his new novel, and with it he's aspiring to greatness rather than his usual barrel loads of sales. His daughter, Karin (Harriet Andersson – in an extraordinary performance) has recently been released from a psychiatric hospital and is still shifting around the edges of sanity with what is, in his view, an incurable mental illness. And the youngest is experiencing an existential, or horomonally-driven, mindfuck of his own. Happy times then.
This all leaves an in-law, Karin's husband Martin (Max Von Sydow) with a lot on his plate. Especially when his wife starts hearing voices and seeing God. But Martin is a largely absent, or at least ineffectual, figure – it's the brother, Minus, who shares the brunt of her breakdown in the house. Minus is Karin's confidante – and with his self-professed hatred of females, it's a curious choice.
The saddest thing about the movie is the feeling that love isn't enough to save these people. The snake that eats its own tale, Ouroboros, seems a good metaphor for the situation – these people are introspective souls and are naturally isolated from their family, this introspection breeds an inability to externalise which leads them to be more introspective and more isolated from each other. The only thing that can exist in these conditions is unhappiness.
What is more is they all see the world through a glass darkly, and for not what it really is. With a spare, Bach soundtrack, austere but hair-raisingly good cinematography and a horribly brilliant sense of doom, you know this ain't going to end well.
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