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Bergman covers his childhood at a Lutheran parsonage in Sweden, and his early fascination with the mechanics of filmmaking -- the "magic lantern." He describes his failures and successes, his marriages, his love affair with muse Liv Ullman, and the many now-legendary figures that he dealt with in his illustrious career.
Ingmar Bergman creates atmospheric, riveting films full of emotion... which is the exact opposite of "The Magic Lantern." It's heavy in uninteresting details and bits of information -- Bergman lectures at length about Swedish taxes, but doesn't tell us about his feelings or his motivation.
And while people who write autobiographies are entitled to keep parts of their lives private, Bergman's lack of emotion carries over to his family. He barely mentions Ullman, and only includes one emotionless anecdote about their love affair. Their daughter Linn isn't mentioned at all. For that matter, none of his kids or wives are given much attention.
If one slogs through the swamp of boring details, there are a handful of interesting stories, involving people like Charlie Chaplin, Ingrid Bergman and Greta Garbo. But Bergman seems to be half asleep. There's little humor, pathos or anger in his writing -- it's flat. There's something wrong with a book when the most passionate anecdote is about Bergman and a cinematograph. It's no coincidence that Bergman calls this book "The Magic Lantern" -- filmmaking seems to be the only passion he can describe.
Ingmar Bergman is an excellent director, but as a writer he leaves something to be desired. "The Magic Lantern: An Autobiography" comes across as a distasteful duty he didn't pay much attention to, rather than a look into his mind and life. Dull and ponderous.