Now you are yourself, but not yourself

HOUR OF THE WOLF (1968)

Considering that Ingmar Bergman is better known for his agnostic dramas than he is for horror features, my interest was piqued when I discovered the Swedish director’s psychological thriller Hour of the Wolf. Not without its flair of drama and inner turmoil, we find Bergman at his most experimental, delving into expressionism reminisce of F.W. Murnau and Robert Wiene, yet retaining his patented surreal approach. One should be aware going into Hour of the Wolf that the film is anything but standard horror; Wolf is virtually devoid of the calculated “jump scenes” that contemporary horror films have taken a liking to. On the contrary, Bergman stages a painstaking study of an artist and his demons on the skirts of ominous surroundings.

According to Swedish folktales and even religious doctrines, “vargtimmen” – “the hour of the wolf” – is said to be the hour when most people die and are born, the hour between night and dawn and the hour when nightmares are most real. A nightmare in and of itself, Bergman's only true Gothic film pairs regulars Max von Sydow and Liv Ullmann as Johan and Alma Borg in two masterful performances. Johan is an insomniac painter who confides to his pregnant wife that he is being haunted by supernatural projections of past demons. These “demons” are viewed as Jungian archetypes unique to Borg, epitomizing his grueling life experiences. The plot is eventually launched into obscurity when Baron von Merkens (Erland Josephson) acquaints himself with the couple, summons them to his castle, and – climatically – reveals himself as one of Borg’s “cannibals”.

What’s so accessible about Hour of the Wolf is that it can be interpreted several ways. Customary in his body of work, Bergman’s Wolf presents a number of congruences; the baron’s phantom, for instance, is projected as a “spider-man”, which could tie in with Through a Glass Darkly where Karin’s “spider-god” denotes a cold, monstrous being. Perhaps the most powerful scene in the film is where Borg recalls a dream in which he bludgeons a young boy – who symbolizes homosexuality – to death. He also divulges repressed childhood memories, one regarding the time he was locked away in a dark closet believed to be inhabited by a small man who chewed off naughty children’s toes; this closet could represent Bergman’s own childhood torment. Eerily enough, Alma suffers from her own afflictions, later revealed to be horrors strongly pertaining to her husband.

Hour of the Wolf also represents a sort of landmark amongst Bergman’s technical achievements; I found the makeup and special effects to be quite ultramodern for the late 60s. The score, while a bit campy and maladroit, is effective in warning the audience that trouble is imminent. Arguably, Wolf can be viewed as an apologue concerning our internal demons, but judging from Alma’s apprehension – “is it true that a woman who lives a long time with a man eventually winds up being like that man?” – one could also deduce that Bergman is implying how long-term relationships can often stimulate an almost adverse melding of the minds.

8.5/10