roseydoux:

Marine Vacth during the final scene of Jeune et Jolie (2013)

(Source: elsasexual)

hedoesntknowhowtolove:

Winter Light - Ingmar Bergman (1963)

(Source: hedoesntknowhowtolove-blog)

goodbyedragoninn:

Winter Light (dir. Ingmar Bergman)

speakingparts:

Nattvardsgästerna [Winter Light]
Ingmar Bergman 1963

(Source: facebook.com, via speakingparts)

tartarassamovieclub:

Ingmar Bergman on the set of Winter Light.

February 11, 1963 — Ingmar Bergman’s Winter Light premieres in Sweden.

“Well, it was a difficult film, one of the hardest I’ve made so far. The audience has to work. It’s a progression from Through a Glass Darkly, and it in turn is carried forward to The Silence. The three stand together. My basic concern in making them was to dramatize the all-importance of communication, of the capacity for feeling. They are not concerned—as many critics have theorized—with God or His absence, but with the saving force of love. Most of the people in these three films are dead, completely dead. They don’t know how to love or to feel any emotions. They are lost because they can’t reach anyone outside of themselves.

"The man in Winter Light, the pastor, is nothing. He’s nearly dead, you understand. He’s almost completely cut off from everyone. The central character is the woman. She doesn’t believe in God, but she has strength; it’s the women who are strong. She can love. She can save with her love. Her problem is that she doesn’t know how to express this love. She’s ugly, clumsy. She smothers him, and he hates her for it and for her ugliness. But she finally learns how to love. Only at the end, when they’re in the empty church for the three o’clock service that has become perfectly meaningless for him, her prayer in a sense is answered: he responds to her love by going on with the service in that empty country church. It’s his own first step toward feeling, toward learning how to love. We’re not saved by God, but by love. That’s the most we can hope for.” — Ingmar Bergman, 1964

"I think I have made just one picture that I really like, and that is Winter Light. That is my only picture about which I feel that I have started here and ended there and that everything along the way has obeyed me. Everything is exactly as I wanted to have it, in every second of this picture. I couldn’t make this picture today; it’s impossible; but I saw it a few weeks ago together with a friend and I was very satisfied.” — Ingmar Bergman, 1972

(Source: strangewood)

veronikazakonjsek:

Winter Light (1963) by Ingmar Bergman.

(Source: mickeymouseshit)

tayshathefilmgeek:

ingmar bergman & gunnar björnstrand on the set of winter light

wedgeypage:

Nattvardsgästerna [Winter light] - Ingmar Bergman - 1963

(Source: dhallorum)

katuytiepo:

Winter Light, 1963. Dir. Ingmar Bergman

ingmarbergman-rare:

With Gunnar Bjornstrand on the set of Winter Light 1963

(via )

theparisreview:

Winter trees cough like old men
about death’s white nightmares
while the rain talks in Latin.
They cough about the sobbing tragic
ash, they bind valises for leaving,
they darken—and in the chill
of frost from the sun, the lungs
bristle to see coffins hidden
in the dry capes of kings.

—Eugenio Montego, “Winter Trees Cough Like Old Men” (translated from Spanish by Kirk Nesset)
Art Credit Joseph Mallord William Turner, “A Ruined Gateway”

(via hymne-a-la-beaute)

theparisreview:

          She knew if she loved him she could make him
happy, but she didn’t. Or she did, but it sank
into itself like a hole and curled up content.
Surrounded by the blur of her own movements, the
thought of making him happy was very dear to her.
She moved it from place to place, a surprise she
never opened. She slept alone at night, soul of
a naked priest in her sweet body. Small soft hands,
a bread of desire rising in her stomach. When she
lay down with the man she loved and didn’t, the
man opened and opened. Inside him an acrobat
tumbled over death. And walked thin wires with
nothing above or below. She cried, he was so
beautiful in his scarlet tights and white face
the size of a dime.

—Jayne Anne Phillips, “Happy”
Art Credit Nikolaos Gyzis, The soul of the artist, 1897

(via hymne-a-la-beaute)