For those who haven't seen it, much of the film is either oddly comical (the gangly old hotel porter, distorted even further by Bergman's insistence on a few wide-angle close ups) or brutally horrific (see opening paragraph.) Much is made of the sexual nature of the film, which must have been shocking when unleashed upon an unsuspecting public in 1963, but that seems fairly tame by today's standards. Far more shocking, however, is the extent to which Bergman pits the the two sisters (Thulin, Gunnel Lindblom) against each other.
I've often felt that Michael Haneke is, in a way, Bergman's heir, if for no other reason than the way he depicts human suffering (both emotional and physical) on screen, though in Haneke's work, the cruelty is, as often as not, inflicted upon relative strangers by relative strangers (the spotlessly clean, seemingly harmless young men who proceed to inflict physical and mental torture upon a family of three in Funny Games, or the almost complete loss of humanity we witness in Time of the Wolf.)
In Bergman's world, it's a bit different. Whether it's the "silence" between the two sisters in the film of the same name, the similar relationship (or lack thereof) between the cancer-stricken Agnes (Harriet Andersson), Maria (Liv Ullman) and Karen (Ingrid Thulin) in Cries and Whispers, or the literal silence that Liv Ullman imparts upon her be-friended nurse, Bibi Andersson, in Persona, it's almost always a case of "the closer they are, the greater they bear the brunt." Of course, in Persona, the "silence" can be interpreted as simply an extreme manifestation of existential crisis, and the two women as two parts of a larger whole, but you get the idea.
Yes, in this way, Haneke is Bergman's natural successor. And for this, he has, on occasion, been subject to the wrath of viewers, critics, academics, etc. The accusation often being that he experiences some perverse pleasure in having us watch his characters suffer over and over and over again.
In reality, Bergman, and by extension, Haneke (and we could add a few others to the list) are simply reminding us of our own failures (personal and collective), our own strained relationships (personal and societal) and the cruelty that we (personally and politically) inflict upon others. Then there is the "silence", the complete breakdown of communication, which can also be interpreted as indifference. It's perhaps not so surprising that Bergman intended to name his film, God's Silence. But in a world without God, which seems to be what Bergman believed at this point in his career, the title doesn't quite fit.
I disagreed with Jonathan Rosenbaum (whom I greatly admire) when he stated that, "these films are at times too self-absorbed to say much about the larger world" in his provocative and perhaps ill-timed "eulogy" (or, more appropriately, dyslogy) of Bergman, "Scenes from an Overrated Career." To me, that's like saying Tarkovsky's The Mirror is nothing more than an autobiography (not that that's necessarily a bad thing.)
No, Bergman, through his exploration of the self, seemed to have had a great deal to say about the world around him. Though not overtly political, (and at times, perhaps, a bit "self-absorbed") his films provide, as most great art does, a sort of mirror reflection, a way of seeing ourselves through the experiences, and sometimes tragedies, of others.
Reference: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/08/04/opinion/04jrosenbaum.html?pagewanted=2&_r=0
