Ingrid Bergman Centennial

Today marks the 100th anniversary of Ingrid Bergman’s birth. Born on August 29, 1915 in Stockholm, Sweden, Bergman was orphaned by the age of 12. She later said of herself, “I was the shyest human ever invented, but I had a lion inside me that wouldn't shut up!" Interested in acting from a young age, she won a coveted spot at Stockholm’s Royal Dramatic Theater School but left after a year to take a chance with the movies.

Her first on-screen speaking role came in 1935 when she played a maid in Gustaf Molander’s Munkbrogreyen. A year later she made Intermezzo with Molander. Her performance, as a piano teacher who has an affair with a famed violinist, caught the eye of producer David O. Selznick who brought Bergman to America to make an English-language remake of the film.

Bergman was like a breath of fresh air in Hollywood. Refusing to submit herself to the makeovers most new actresses went through, she said no to changing her name, plucking her eyebrows, capping her teeth, or losing weight. She shunned make-up and high fashion off screen and indulged in her favourite discovery, American ice cream.

Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca (1942)

Bergman’s dedication to her craft won her the admiration of her peers—Selznick said, “Miss Bergman is the most completely conscientious actress with whom I have ever worked.”—while her natural beauty and talent won over American film audiences. She would go on to star in some of the top films of the 1940s including Casablanca (1942), For Whom the Bells Toll (1942), and Gaslight (1944), for which she won the first of three Oscars. She also made two films with Hitchcock at this time, Spellbound (1945) and Notorious (1946), my personal favourite. Bergman’s wholesome image, which was cultivated by the studio publicity machine, was cemented in the public’s mind when she played a nun in The Bells of Saint Mary (1945).

In her private life Bergman, who was married to Dr. Petter Lindström and had a daughter, Pia, conducted extramarital affairs including one with photographer Robert Capa. But it was her involvement with Italian director Roberto Rossellini that would change her career and life. Having seen a couple of his films, Bergman wrote a letter to Rossellini that said, "If you need a Swedish actress who speaks English very well, who has not forgotten her German, who is not very understandable in French and who in Italian knows Ti Amo, I am ready to come and make a film with you." She travelled to Italy to make Stromboli (1950) with him. During the filming the two fell in love and Bergman became pregnant. When the news broke the public turned on her, and she was even denounced on the floor of the US Senate.

Ingrid Bergman and Roberto Rossellini with their children at their home in Rome. Photo by Chim (1956)

After divorcing Lindström, Bergman and Rossellini were married in 1950. In addition to their son, they would have twin daughters, Isabella and Isotta Ingrid. Bergman continued working with Rossellini, making five more films together, but their marriage didn’t last and they divorced in 1957. Bergman would later marry Swedish theatrical producer Lars Schmidt (they remained married for 17 years until their divorce in 1975).

In 1956 Bergman returned to American screens in Anastasia playing the part of Anna, the woman suffering from amnesia who may or may not be the Russian Grand Duchess Anastasia. The film was a hit, and she won her second Oscar. Bergman's Hollywood exile was officially over when she appeared at the 1959 Academy Awards and received a standing ovation from the audience.

Bergman would continue to act in both films and on stage, winning a third Oscar in 1974 for best supporting actress for Murder on the Orient Express. In 1978 she made Autumn Sonata with the acclaimed director Ingmar Bergman. It was to be her last film. In 1982 she played her final role—Israeli Prime Minister Golda Meir in a television miniseries. She passed away later that year on her birthday. 

Ingrid Bergman. Photo by Richard Avedon (1961)

Ingrid Bergman's centennial is being celebrated in a variety of ways. Her image was chosen for the official Cannes Film Festival poster, there is a new documentary, Ingrid Bergman: In Her Own Words, and a book Ingrid Bergman: A Life in Pictures. Here in New York, MoMA is screening a selection of her films August 29-September 10, with many of them being introduced by her children (for more information, visit here). Over in Brooklyn, BAM is presenting a selection of her films September 13-29 and on September 12, Isabella Rossellini and Jeremy Irons will give a theatrical tribute to Bergman (for more information, visit here). 

Mark Morris' Spring

The Mark Morris Dance Group performing Spring, Spring, Spring (2013). Photo: Peg Skorpinski

Sunday I spent the afternoon doing one of my favourite things—watching the Mark Morris Dance Group perform. I am an unabashed fan of Morris and his company and love any opportunity to see them. This time it was a program at BAM that included two works I’d seen before—Crosswalk and Jenn and Spencer—and one that was making its New York premiere—Spring, Spring, Spring.

The first part of the program opened with Crosswalk. Set to Carl Maria von Weber’s 1816 Grand Duo Concertant for clarinet and piano, Op. 48, Crosswalk is a whimsical piece in which the dancers perform myriad movements from joyful leaps to somersaults to flapping their arms. One dancer even gets repeatedly knocked down. Towards the end, one of the women makes a running jump and is caught by the men who toss her up in the air and then carry off stage. It’s seamless and utterly delightful.

Jenn and Spencer (named for the two original dancers of the piece) is a duet set to Suite for Violin and Piano by Henry Cowell (1925). The two dancers (Jenn Weddel and Brandon Randolph) alternately grab for one another and push away, as if torn between desire and anger. It is the story of a relationship that ends with Jenn running off, leaving Spencer alone on the stage. Darkly beautiful, it's a perfect counterpoint to Crosswalk.

The second part of the program was the New York premiere of Spring, Spring, Spring, Morris’ version of The Rite of Spring, which Stravinsky originally created for Sergei Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes with choreography by Vaslav Nijinsky. When it was first performed in Paris in 1913 it was considered scandalous and caused fights to break out in the audience (allegedly objects were thrown at the performers as well).

While no fights broke out this time round, Morris did make a major departure from the original music by presenting a jazz interpretation performed live by the trio The Bad Plus (Morris’ works almost always includes live musical accompaniment). Spring, Spring, Spring begins with a darkened stage and the playing of a recording of the overture. The crashing sounds of a piano announce The Bad Plus and the arrival of the dancers.

The 15 dancers are dressed like idealized versions of flower children—the women in short, Grecian dresses with flowers in their hair and the bare-chested men in colourful pants and wreaths of vines on their heads. Together they weave in and out, sometimes holding hands and dancing in circles, reminiscent of folk dances. They break into groups and the women twirl like little girls at play. The men meanwhile leap like spirited woodland creatures, a nod perhaps to the original ballet.

The Rite of Spring is a story of a pagan ritual in which a virgin sacrifices herself by dancing to death. In Spring, Spring, Spring no one dies making it the ultimate reinterpretation. This is yet another work that I'm happy to see added to the Morris canon. 

One note about the venue, the Howard Gillman Opera House at BAM is gorgeous (it was designed in the teens by Herts and Tallant who created the New Amsterdam Theatre) but I caution anyone with a fear of heights about sitting in the balcony. I had a seat in the front and the steep incline had me thinking I was going to have an attack of vertigo while I walked down to my row. So if you're not good with heights, opt for a seat lower in the house when you go.

A Doll's House

Dominic Rowan and Hattie Morahan in A Doll's House.

Every now and then you see a performance that utterly engages your attention, one that draws you into the story and makes you unaware of everything else—the people sitting around you and the passing time.

This is what happened to me last month when I saw a production of Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House at BAM. In this often produced play from 1879, Nora Helmer (Hattie Morahan) is a middle-class wife and mother whose husband, Torvald (Dominic Rowan), is due for a promotion at his bank. On the surface things appear to be going well but unbeknownst to him, the wife who he treats like a child has a secret: a few years before when Torvald was ill, Nora borrowed money from a shady source (Nick Fletcher), forging a signature in the process, in order to take the family south for Torvald to recover. Now her fear of being found out is about to come true when the money lender tries to blackmail her. The result is the unveiling of truths and a realization for Nora about who she is and her place in the world.

I had seen many productions of the play before and was actually a little reluctant to see another. But I had heard good things about this production directed by Carrie Cracknell, which had originated in London at the Young Vic. And so off I went.

When Hattie Morahan first appeared on the stage, flitting around the room with Christmas presents and greedily gobbling up chocolates from a bag, I immediately leaned forward in my chair. And so I stayed for the remainder of the play, enthralled by an absolutely mesmerizing performance.

Throughout the play Morahan’s Nora is constantly changing. First there is Morahan's wonderful voice that goes from being high pitched and almost sing-song like to full-on throaty and flirty to downright steely. Then there is her appearance: one minute she appears to be a dainty and helpless little girl, the next she is a sultry grown woman, forever adapting her persona to suite the situation she's in.

She also has a way of taking command of a scene by her mere presence. Whether she is front and center, spinning around the floor dancing the tarantella, or sitting quietly on a bed exchanging stories with Kristine Linde (Caroline Martin), the focus is always on her.

A superb set by Ian McNeil, which allows the Helmer house to rotate 360 degrees, is used by Morahan to her advantage. She flies about the house from room to room, playfully chasing her children or hiding from her husband; she is the symbolic bird caught in a cage. As the play progresses, her flight becomes more frantic, giving the impression of someone spinning out of control.

In the final act of the play the truth about the loan is revealed, and Torvald explodes, accusing Nora of the cruelest things and swearing that she will never see her children again. When the blackmailer returns the note and the threat of exposure is gone, Torvald is ready to forgive and forget, reckoning that Nora, a silly woman, couldn’t have know any better. But Nora is a different woman from the one we met at the beginning of the play and announces that she is leaving him and the children so she can find out who she is. The bird is flying the coop.  

Morahan is absolutely electric in this scene. Finally calm and level-headed, Nora coolly tells Torvald that she has been just a doll for him to play with and that she has never had a chance to think for herself, to have her own opinions. She goes on to say that she doesn’t love him and that she realized that night, when he didn’t defend her, that he wasn’t the man she thought he was. With each pronouncement, you see Nora growing stronger, more confident in her actions while Torvald is stunned and confused. When Morahan turns to leave, her back ramrod straight, you know that Nora will somehow survive.

While the other members of the cast did a fine job in their roles, especially Dominic Rowan who was brilliant as Torvald, the play belongs to Morahan who, without a doubt, has created one of the best Noras in recent memory. I for one can’t wait to see what she does next.

Unfortunately, A Doll’s House has closed but there’s a short film by Carrie Cracknell, Nora, that is a response to the play that you can watch here.

All photos by Johan Persson.

Four Saints

Last summer I had to go to the Berkshires to see the Mark Morris Dance Group (MMDG) perform. This year, I had to merely cross the bridge to Brooklyn to see my favourite dance company.

For three nights, the MMDG performed at BAM along with the Mark Morris Dance Group Music Ensemble and the Trinity Choir, and I was lucky enough to get tickets for opening night. Even being sardined into tight seats in the balcony (which was so steep my fear of heights kicked in) was worth it to see them perform Four Saints in Three Acts and A Choral Fantasy.

Four Saints, an opera by Virgil Thomson with libretto by Gertrude Stein, revolves around two 16th century Spanish saints, Teresa of Avila and Ignatius of Loyola, and a dozen of their fellow saints. In Morris’ capable hands, it’s been condensed into an hour and filled with Spanish flair—flowers in hair, clapping of hands, twirling of skirts, steps taken directly from traditional Spanish dances—and a set designed by Maira Kalman, including a curtain that contains Stein’s words in Kalman’s signature handwriting. Dark this work is not. With lines like “If a magpie in the sky on the sky cannot cry if the pigeon on the grass alas can alas and to pass the pigeon on the grass alas…” (classic Stein), how could it be anything but pure joy?

Theresa and Ignacio, clad in white, lead their fellow saints in dance before the two are delivered up to heaven via a giant swing while all the time the wonderful sounds of the chorus drift up from the orchestra pit below. Michelle Yard as Theresa was especially compelling to watch. Unfortunately I read that she tore a calf muscle the next night. Ouch. 

The premiere piece of the evening was the shorter A Choral Fantasy, set to Beethoven’s “Fantasia in C minor for Piano, Chorus and Orchestra, Op. 80” (a piece that seems to give a hint of what was still to come—“Ode to Joy”). With the dancers this time decked out in jumpsuits and marching and falling into formation, the piece had a soldierly air about it, and I liked it.

The man himself, Mark Morris, came out at the end to take a bow—the perfect ending to a wonderful performance.

To find out more about the Mark Morris Dance Group, visit here.

Photo by Bill Cooper.