Miscellaneous Musings

July 20, 2024
 
On a Missed Opportunity in a “Classic”
 

From 1973 to 1974, the divorce rate in Sweden rose from 2% to 3.3%, a bump many people have attributed to Scenes from a Marriage, Ingrid Bergman’s searing portrait of a failing couple. This is unsurprising. After all, throughout history, movies have cause a rise in the adoption of certain breeds of dogs, the purchase of clownfish, trips to the farthest regions of the globe, and increased sales of previously underselling candy and drinks. It seems logical then that movies would have the power to make viewers reflect on their own lives and question both their place in it and the views they have long held, one of which was that marriage was literally till death do us part.
 
So, what was it that so stirred and disturbed viewers about it? First, a little history. Scenes from a Marriage started out as a six-part miniseries for Swedish television, with each part representing a stage in the re-evaluation of a marriage. When writing it, Bergman is said to have drawn from his own marriages, as well as that of his parents, whom he said he witnessed violently clashing on at least one occasion. The series weekly ran from April 11, 1973 to May 1, 1973, and its audience was said to be mainly woman. The series was then condensed into a film that runs just under three hours, and it is that version that received overwhelming international acclaim in 1974.
 
The first part of both the film and the series begins with a celebration of the type of marriage that it was assumed both men and women wanted. A local reporter is interviewing Marianne and Johan, who have been married for ten years, about…well, it’s not actually clear why they’re being interviewed. Sure, they’re successful and attractive, but they do not seem particularly important to society. Marianne is a divorce lawyer, but so little of the film focuses on that aspect of her life that you could be forgiven for thinking that it’s just another nine-to-five job. The interview focuses on their apparent marital bliss, yet if you watch closely, there are signs of a façade. The body language is tense – when the camera stops clicking, the hand-holding ceases immediately, and while Marianne struggles to express herself, Johan seems more interested in talking about himself than the family. Their children appear briefly for photos, but disappear the moment they have finished playing their roles. Curiously, in the miniseries, after the interview, the interviewer peeks into another room and sees clothes and toys strewn everywhere, a symbolic lifting of the veil.
 
After a long scene involving a dinner with some married friends for whom the term on the rocks seems an understatement, the film begins to explicitly reveal the tension that exists in Marianne and Johan’s relationship and how the marriage has survived partially by sweeping disagreements under the carpet and pretending that doing so makes them go away for good. This segment of the film, the second, exposes universal truths about the impact of childbirth on intimacy and the difficulty of rising in your career after family obligations multiply. In the third part, the affair hinted at in the first two parts is revealed, and we see just how devastating the revelation is to Marianne. We also understand for the first time just how eager Johan is to get out of the marriage.
 
Scenes from a Marriage has been called one of the greatest films of all time by a number of critics. It is a sentiment I do not share, and the reasons for this all have to do with the second half of the film/series. In the fourth part, Johan returns after a year’s absence. At dinner at his old home, he flirts with Marianne while also talking about the problems with his present girlfriend – an age-old, only partially successful seduction technique. For her part, Marianne (in a relationship in the miniseries, but not in the movie) flirts back, but more importantly brings up the issue of divorce. In the end, they sleep together, but neglect to advance the divorce. In other words, he gets what he wants, and she is once again abandoned.
 
The problem with the fourth section is that it begins to make the couple less relatable. Neither of them appears to have any qualms about cheating on someone, and there is little to explain why their bond is as strong as it is after a full year of growth, self-evaluation, and separation. At least it ends as it should, with the re-exposure of Johan as the lying cheat he is, and as Johan drives away, I imagine viewers will find themselves thinking that Marianne has finally learned her lesson. Sadly, this does not turn out to be the case, for in the fifth section of the film, Marianne makes decisions that are not just completely out of character, but that continue the film’s drive to strip her of her likeability. Think about this: Marianne apparently goes to Johan’s office with two things in mind: signing their divorce papers and sleeping with him again to prove to herself that she is over him. And once again, she is in a relationship with someone else when she does this. He goes along with it of course, and afterwards Marianne returns to the issue at hand, divorce. Thus begins the darkest part of the film, a sequence in which Johan’s sudden hesitance leads to violence. The escalation shocks them both, and at the end of the segment, the documents are signed, and every flicker of love has been extinguished.
 
This is where the film should end. The marriage is over. We have seen how ignoring a partner’s needs, not being truthful about marital problems, and not doing what is necessary to keep connections strong can lead to estrangement, loneliness, and even brutality. We have seen how hate can build and aggressiveness can become more likely. And we have seen the final moments of their marriage. Here is where Bergman could have had the movie fade to black and the credits roll.
 
Only that’s not what happens. Instead, we get the final segment. Years have passed, and each member of the former couple has remarried. But here’s the kicker. At some point, they bumped into each other in a movie theater and began what we learn is a rather imperfect and not-entirely satisfying affair. Now imagine that you were watching this on television back in 1973. You would have had a week to digest the jarring conclusion of the fifth part, and you would have been more likely to accept the image of Marianne running behind a tree to steal a kiss with the man who had roughed her up the previous week. In the theatrical version, the viewer is given just seconds – seconds to go from thank goodness that’s over to what? I hope they work it out this time?
 
By continuing the story, the film becomes less about the dissolution of a marriage than an expose on weak individuals whom fate seems intent to keep bringing together in an effort to deprive them of happiness. When the film ended, I did not feel relieved they were together again. Instead, I was filled with disappointment, not just for the characters who seem to have something against joy, but for the weakening of a film whose message had been so strong. It is simply true that some marriage falls apart and cannot be reconciled, but by continuing Marianne and Johan’s story, the divorce loses its power. It does not set anyone free, and any new love or discovery in an inconvenience, a mistake that can be rectified easily with infidelity. It also sends an odd message about domestic violence, seemingly suggesting that time can change a brute into a romantic if you’re just willing to give him a second chance. It’s a terrible message, and it severely weakens an otherwise powerful film. It did enable Bergman to make a sequel, though, so there’s that I guess.