The nucleus of the Inyirum company, beyond every formal manifestation, is nourished by that electric and performative current that runs through the cinema of Ingmar Bergman.

 

His cinema has marked us so much since childhood that we now live it in an insidious way, as another type of private footprints that remain engraved forever.

 

From that depth, for us, Bergman is more than the best screenwriter in the world, and one of the greatest writers in history. It is more than a spectacular creator of images and filmmaker. His work is introduced in an unconscious and immediate way in each being that approaches it. And from there, our reality is transformed.

 

August Strindberg "Anything can happen. Everything is possible and probable. Time and space do not exist. On the fragile basis of reality, the imagination weaves its web and designs new forms, new destinies"

 

"Mythology as an experience is art," Joseph Campbell tells us in his monumental work The Masks of God, (1959). In this way, the images of his cinema lead us, without going through the reason (although that in Bergman seems impossible), directly, to the world of Myth and Magic. The here and now attached to his Theory, to his Being, makes us perceive the planes immediately and unconsciously, physical and sensory, directly addressing those innate mechanisms of liberation that Joseph Campbell spoke to explain the power of the rite from the times primitives, to those archetypes of the collective unconscious that Jung discovered to explain the inexplicable.

 

In Passion, for example, the isolation of the island, the desperate career of Max Von Sydow at the end of the work, the handkerchief in the mouth of the man who has committed suicide, the cry of his characters, the dead animals or stones hanging from a piece of wood moved by the wind, is at the height of the rites of any religion, any time.

 

In Cries and Whispers (Viskningar och Rop, 1972), Ingrid Thulin slits her vagina and rubs the blood over her teeth and mouth looking at her salacious and now frightened husband as a goddess-mother of jagged vagina. The rites of death, motherhood, ancestor and eternity in that sphere of mother-servant / daughter purity appear opposed to the passage of time and the disappearance of any hint of humanity behind the mask of the character, throughout the film in a way so violent, coherent and radical that it becomes one of the most physical exercises in the history of cinema.

 

In Silence (Tystnaden, 1963), the child dried by the mother transports us directly to those secret and perfect images of the myth of childhood. In Fanny and Alexander (the whole film is nothing more than the best approach to Mito and the Magic of Art history), the abandoned child, upstairs, huddled in the solitude of the attic, and the subsequent encounter with his mother, produces a deep, innate and unconscious identification, with the story, and more deeply, with the primitive myths of the mother and the rebirth that are lost in time.

 

The examples are infinite and that infinity is Persona.

 

The spectator, before a work by Bergman, feels, cries, is terrified, screams, searches, loses, transcends and transforms from his deepest senses, beyond, of reason and image. Commutes with the sacrifice of delivery that the author makes, he feels it as his own, as much as a spectator, as being belonging to a species. And from there, both from his self and from the collective, his emotion is profound, almost mystical.

 

Bergman's performativity, beyond any narrative, brings us closer, devours and recreates us in his being, in the Being. And the feeling of that communal belonging is so intense that it fascinates and snatches us away. This leads us to believe, although it may seem contradictory, that the performative structure of our work, with hardly any help from text, choreography or music, allows us to get closer to the work of Ingmar Bergman than other seemingly closer formats, such as cinema. or the theater, which, if they become a mere formality or a textual imitation of the master, is condemned to failure.

 

The complete work of Bergman, as a good performer, is a sacrifice of the Being, which is honestly, coherently and viscerally understood by all of us. The transformation of the spectator, in the here and now, when communicating with one of his works, is unconscious and immediate.

 

That is why many of Bergman's films are seen as authentic dreams that take us to that other place, magical, transcendent, distant, that humanity has searched for even before it was and that from time to time, (often thanks to art, others, to a human being in particular), we habit. Bergman, as a Great Priest.