Through a Glass Darkly(1961)

A 1961 Swedish drama directed by Ingmar Bergman.

The film kicks off with Karin (Harriet Andersson), her husband Martin (Max von Sydow), her dad David (Gunnar Björnstrand), and her teenage brother Minus (Lars Passgård) splashing out of the Baltic Sea after a swim. They’re vacationing on Fårö, and the mood starts light—joking, fetching milk, setting fishing nets. But you can feel the tension brewing beneath the surface.

Karin’s fresh out of a mental hospital, grappling with schizophrenia. Martin, a doctor, is all tender concern but frustrated—she’s pulling away physically. David, a novelist, just got back from Switzerland, and he’s got this cold, self-absorbed vibe. Minus is a hormonal mess, craving affection and confused by Karin’s fragility. Early on, David and Martin chat about Karin’s “incurable” condition while untangling nets—classic Bergman, layering dread into the mundane.

Things escalate fast. Karin stumbles on David’s diary, where he’s dissected her illness for his next book. She’s crushed—he’s exploiting her pain. Meanwhile, Minus puts on a weird play he wrote, which David takes as a jab. Family dinner? More like a pressure cooker. Karin starts hearing voices, slipping into delusions. She lures Minus into an old shipwreck, and—brace yourself—they commit incest. Yeah, it’s dark. She’s all charm one minute, then lost in visions the next, thinking God’s calling her through the wallpaper.

The big unraveling hits when Karin has a breakdown. She’s in the attic, raving about God visiting her. Martin and David find her, and she describes God as a monstrous spider that tried to assault her. It’s chilling—her face, the cello music, Sven Nykvist’s stark cinematography. Martin sedates her, and a helicopter whisks her off to an asylum. No sugarcoating here—she’s gone, and it’s final.

Back home, David and Minus are left reeling. Minus, wrecked by guilt and despair, corners David: “I can’t live in this world anymore. Is there a God?” David, who’s been distant all film, finally opens up. He’d tried to kill himself in Switzerland—car off a cliff, but it stalled. That brush with death flipped a switch. He tells Minus love is real, tangible, and if love’s God, then Karin’s wrapped in it, even now. It’s a simple, almost forced epiphany, panned up to David’s solemn face. Minus, wide-eyed, whispers, “Papa talked to me,” and the screen fades to black—no end credits, just silence.