I've said in a previous post, I do not like to read autobiographies and the same of filmmakers being the exception. Even then this can be troublesome. Sometimes you don't want to lose the impression you have of someone you deeply admire.

Ingmar Bergman is one of the most influential filmmakers of all-time. His films inspired so many prolific film directors, critics, and film students over the past 70 years that the man shed his mortal shell long ago — escaped his bound made of flesh and blood and ascended.

At least, that is what one would expect.

He's not a god. His entire life is full of insecurities. His decisions haven't always been perfect and thoughtful and he seemed to be as much confused about life as the next person. He's as much human and fragile as an everyman is. Now I see
his films are largely influenced by his own life.

I understand that people who are disinterested or indifferent towards the art of cinema may not care about this autobiography and even cinephiles may not like how a godlike figure is constantly being made earthbound by his very own hands.
So, reading The Magic Lantern can be an eye-opener.

What I found amusing is that there is a lot of remembrance of his time in theater. It felt amusing to me because I never really cared about his life in the theater and I thought his theater activities weren't that predominant in his life. I was wrong.
Comparing to that, he doesn't talk much about his film-life in it. Although if you're interested, you can read more about it in his other book 'My Life in Film'.

I saw Bergman's films as they are, found meanings within the bound of each film but after reading the autobiography I see them in a new light. I began to make the connections when and how the elements in his films were influenced by what. I also can see some of the artistic decisions he made in each of film I saw (about 20 or so of them).

Bergman suffered and lived through chronic illness, ran around like a lustful maniac — married four times, divorced in every case, and settled in the fifth one. Had many lovers throughout his life as well. Not what you'd call a life of commitment, I dare say.

He has been at the madhouse, high on anti-depressant drugs — passed the days in infirmity, in shame. Revered by the world, he's been booed on stage too!
He refused Oscar and Cannes as well. Not many people on earth can claim to do both.

His childhood felt quite regular, I wonder what that boy — regularly beaten by his priest father on the arse in the name of discipline — would think if he knew someday he'd rock the world.

He bared his most intimate memories in the book — his first infatuation, first masturbation, regrets, remorse, and after all the spiritual films he made, his disbelief. Every facade of Bergman is the open. I guess, that is the point of autobiography anyway.

I'd caution anyone interested in this through - do not look at this through your moral lense. Also do not make the mistake of mixing the personal life of an artist and his art. They are often intertwined, true, but are separate entities nonetheless.

An artist should always live through his/her work and work alone.