- You wanted to see me, Doctor?
- Have you seen Mrs Vogler, Sister?

- No, not yet.
- Then I'll fill you in...

...and give you the reasons
why you're to care for her.

<i>Mrs Vogler is an actress, as you know,
and was performing in Electra.</i>

In the middle of the play she fell silent
and looked around as if in surprise.

She remained quiet for a minute.

Afterwards she excused herself by
saying she was overcome by laughter.

The next day the theatre rang and
asked if she'd forgotten her rehearsal.

When the housekeeper went in
she was still in bed.

She was awake but didn't
answer questions and didn't move.

She's been like this for three months
and been given every conceivable test.

The result is clear. She's perfectly
healthy, both mentally and physically.

It's not even a question
of some kind of hysterical reaction.

Any questions, Sister Alma?

No? Then you can go in to Mrs Vogler.

Good day, Mrs Vogler.
My name is Sister Alma.

I've been employed
to look after you for a while.

Perhaps I should tell you about myself.
I'm 25, engaged...

I got my nursing certificate
two years ago.

My parents have a farm. My mother
was also a nurse before she married.

I'll fetch the dinner tray.

It's fried liver and fruit salad.
It looks really good.

Do you want to raise your head?
Is it okay like that?

Sister Alma.
What's your first impression?

I don't know what to say, Doctor.

First her face looks soft, almost
childish. Then you see her eyes...

She's got such a severe look, I think.

- I don't know, I should...
- What were you thinking?

- I thought I should refuse the job.
- Did something frighten you?

No, but she should have a nurse
who's older and more experienced.

- Experienced in life. I may not cope.
- Cope?

Mentally.

If Mrs Vogler's silence and immobility
is the result of a decision...

-...it must be as she's seen as healthy.
- Well?

It's a decision that shows great mental
strength. Perhaps I'm not up to it.

You might like to see the dusk,
Mrs Vogler. I can draw them later.

Shall I turn on the radio?
There's a play, I think.

Forgive me, my darling.
Oh, you must forgive me.

I don't desire anything other
than your forgiveness.

What are you laughing at, Mrs Vogler?
Is it the actress that's funny?

What do you know about compassion?
What do you know?

What do you know about compassion?

I don't understand things like that,
Mrs Vogler.

I'm interested in film and theatre,
but I go so seldom.

I have enormous admiration
for artists.

I think art
has an enormous importance in life.

Especially for people
who have problems of some kind.

I shouldn't talk to you about things
like that. I'm skating on thin ice.

I'll see if I can find some music.

Is that good?

Good night, Mrs Vogler. Sleep well.

Damn!

It's strange.
You go around almost any old how.

Do almost any old thing.

I'll marry Karl-Henrik and we'll
have a few children that I'll raise.

All that is decided. It's inside of me.

It's nothing to ponder over.

It's a huge feeling of security.

Then I have a job that I like
and am happy with.

That's good too. But in another way.

But it's good... good.

It's good.

I wonder what's really wrong with her?

Elisabet Vogler...

Elisabet.

Would you like me to open the letter,
Mrs Vogler?

Shall I read it?

Shall I read it to you?

<i>ÑDear Elisabet: As I'm not allowed
to see you, I'm writing.ì</i>

<i>ÑIf you don't want to read my letter,
you can ignore it.ì</i>

<i>ÑI can't help seeking
this contact with youì -</i>

<i>- Ñas I'm tormented
by a constant question:ì</i>

<i>ÑHave I harmed you in some way?
Have I hurt you without knowing?ì</i>

<i>ÑHas some terrible misunderstanding
arisen between us?ì</i>

Should I really read any more?

<i>ÑAs far as I understood, we were
happy recently. We've never been...ì</i>

<i>Ñ...as close to one anotherì</i>

<i>ÑDo you remember saying: Now
I understand what marriage means?ì</i>

<i>ÑYou have taught me..ì
I can't see what's written here.</i>

<i>ÑYou have taught..ì Now I see...</i>

<i>ÑYou've taught me that we must see
each other as two anxious childrenì -</i>

<i>- Ñfilled with good will
and the best intentionsì</i>

<i>ÑBut gov..ì</i>

<i>Now I see it. ÑBut governed by forces
we only partially controlì</i>

<i>ÑDo you remember saying all of that?ì</i>

<i>ÑWe were walking in the woods
and you stopped and held my belt..ì</i>

There was a photograph
with the letter as well.

It's a photograph of your son.
I don't know if...

Would you like it, Mrs Vogler?

He looks awfully sweet.

I've been thinking, Elisabet. I don't
think you should remain at the hospital.

I think it's harmful.
As you don't want to go home -

- you and Sister Alma can move out
to my summer place by the sea. Hmm?

<i>Don't you think I understand?
The hopeless dream of being.</i>

<i>Not seeming, but being.</i>

Consious at every moment. Vigilant.

At the same time the chasm between
what you are to others and to yourself.

The feeling of vertigo and the constant
desire to at last be exposed.

To be seen through, cut down,
perhaps even annihilated.

Every tone of voice a lie, every gesture
a falsehood, every smile a grimace.

Commit suicide? Oh, no.

That's ugly. You don't do that.

But you can be immobile, you can
fall silent. Then at least you don't lie.

You can close yourself in,
shut yourself off.

Then you don't have to play roles,
show any faces or make false gestures.

You think...

But you see, reality is bloody-minded.
Your hideout isn't watertight.

Life seeps in everything.

You're forced to react.

No one asks if it's real or unreal,
if you're true or false.

It's only in the theatre the question
carries weight. Hardly even there.

I understand you, Elisabet. I understand
you're keeping silent, you're immobile.

That you've placed this lack of will
into a fantastic system.

I understand and admire you.

I think you should maintain this role
until it's played out.

Until it's no longer interesting.
Then you can leave it.

Just as you bit by bit
leave all your other roles.

Mrs Vogler and Sister Alma moved out
to the doctor's house in late summer.

The sojourn near the sea
had a favourable effect on the actress.

The apathy that had crippled her
in hospital yields to long walks -

- fishing trips, cooking,
letter writing and other diversions.

Sister Alma enjoys her rural seclusion
and takes utmost care of her patient.

Don't you know it's bad luck
to compare hands?

Elisabet? Can I read you something
from my book?

Or am I disturbing you? It says here:

<i>ÑAll the anxiety we bear with us,
all our thwarted dreamsì -</i>

<i>- Ñthe incomprehensible cruelty,
our fear of extinctionì -</i>

<i>- Ñthe painful insight
into our earthly conditionì -</i>

<i>- Ñhave slowly eroded our hope
of an other-wordly salvationì</i>

<i>ÑThe howl of our faith and doubt
against the darkness and silenceì -</i>

<i>- Ñis one of the most awful proofs
of our abandonmentì -</i>

<i>- Ñand our terrified,
unuttered knowledgeì</i>

Do you think it's like that?

I don't believe it.

Making changes...
The worst thing with me is I'm so lazy.

And then I get a bad conscience. Karl-
Henrik scolds me for lacking ambition.

He says I go around like a sleepwalker.
I think that's unfair.

I was best in my group with the exams.
But he probably means something else.

You know...

Oh, sorry. You know
what I sometimes think of?

At the hospital where I did my exam,
there's a home for old nurses.

Ones that have always been nurses,
lived for their work. Always in uniform.

They live in their small rooms. Imagine
devoting your whole life to something.

I mean, believing in something.
Accomplishing something.

Believing that one's life has a purpose.
I like things like that.

Sticking to one thing doggedly,
irrespective. I think one ought to.

Mean something to other people.
Don't you think so as well?

I know it sounds childish,
but I believe in it.

Goodness, it's raining a lot!

Oh, yes. He was married.
We had a relationship for five years.

Then he got tired, of course.

I was very much in love, that's for sure.
And he was the first.

I remember it all like a long torment.

Long periods of pain
and then short moments when...

I'm thinking of it as you've taught me
to smoke. He smoked loads.

Thinking of it afterwards,
it's really banal. A real pulp fiction.

In a strange way
it was never really real.

I don't know how to describe it.
At least, I was never quite real to him.

My pain was real, that's for sure.

Somehow it was is if it was part of it
in some nasty way.

As if that's how it was supposed to be.

Even the things we said to each other...

Many people have told me that
I'm a good listener. Funny, huh?

No one's ever bothered to listen to me.
Like you are now. You're listening.

I think you're the first person
who's listened to me.

It can't be interesting at all.
You could read a good book instead.

God, I'm going on.
You're not getting irritated?

It's so nice to talk.
It feels so nice and warm.

I feel like I've never felt
in my whole life.

I always wanted a sister.
I only have a load of brothers. Seven.

Funny, huh? Then I come along. I've
been surrounded by boys all my life.

I like boys. But you would know that
with all your experience as an actress.

I really like Karl-Henrik.
But, you know, you only love once.

I'm faithful to him. In my profession
there are opportunities, I can tell you.

Karl-Henrik and I had hired
a cottage by the sea.

It was June, we were all alone.

One day when Karl-Henrik had gone
into town, I went to the beach alone.

It was really nice and warm.

There was another girl there.
She lived on an island nearby -

- but had come over as our beach lay
to the south and was more relaxed.

So we lay beside one another
completely naked and sunbathed.

We slept a little, woke up,
and put on some oil.

We wore these hats on our heads,
you know, those cheap straw hats.

I had a blue ribbon around my hat.

I lay looking out from under the hat -

- glanced out at the landscape,
the sea and the sun.

It was so curious.

Suddenly I saw two figures jumping
about on the rocks above us.

They hid and peeped out
occasionally.

<i>ÑThere are two boys looking at usì,
I said to her. Her name was Katarina.</i>

<i>ÑWell, let them lookì, she said,
and turned on her back.</i>

It was such a strange feeling.

I wanted to run and put on
my costume, but I just lay still...

On my belly with my bum in the air,
totally unembarrassed, totally calm.

All the time I had Katarina beside me
with her breasts and thick thighs.

She just lay there
giggling a little to herself.

Then I saw the boys had come nearer.
They just stood looking at us.

I saw that they were terribly young.

Then one of them, the bravest one -

- he came up to us
and squatted down beside Katarina.

He pretended to be busy with his foot
and sat poking between his toes.

I felt totally strange.

Suddenly I heard Katarina say:

<i>ÑAren't you going
to come over here?ì</i>

Then she took his hand and helped
him take his jeans and shirt off.

Suddenly he was over her and she
helped him in and held his behind.

The other boy just sat on the slope
and watched.

I heard Katarina whisper in his ear
and laugh.

I had his face right next to me.

It was all red and swollen.

<i>Suddenly I turned over and said,
ÑAren't you going to come to me too?ì</i>

<i>Katarina said, ÑGo to her nowì.
And he pulled out of her and...</i>

...he fell over me, completely hard.
He took hold of one breast.

God, it hurt so much...

I was all ready somehow, I came
at once. Can you understand that?

<i>I was just going to tell him, ÑBe careful
so that I don't get pregnantì -</i>

- when he came. I felt...

I felt it like I'd never felt it before
how he sprayed his seed into me.

He gripped my shoulders and bent
backwards. I came over and over.

Katarina lay on her side looking
and she held him from behind.

When he came she embraced him
and made herself come with his hand.

And when she came she screamed
really loud.

Then all three of us started laughing.

We called the other boy sitting
on the slope. His name was Peter.

He came down all confused,
looking frozen in the sunshine.

Katarina unbuttoned his trousers
and started playing with him.

When he came
she took him in her mouth.

He bent down and started kissing her
on the back.

She turned around, took his head in
both hands and gave him her breast.

The other boy got so excited,
so he and I started again.

It was as nice as the first time.

Then we swam and parted. When I
came back, Karl-Henrik had returned.

We ate dinner together and drank
the red wine he had with him.

Then we slept together.

It's never been as good, before or since.
Can you understand that?

Then I fell pregnant, of course.

Karl-Henrik, who's studying medicine,
took me to a friend who aborted it.

We were both happy.
We didn't want any children.

Not just then, anyway.

It doesn't make sense.
None of it fits together.

Then you get a bad conscience over
small things. Can you understand?

What happens to everything
you believe in? Isn't it necessary?

Can you be one and the same person
at the same time?

I mean, was I two people...?
God, I'm being silly...

I don't have any reason
to start snivelling, anyway.

Wait, I'm going to fetch a tissue.

It's nearly morning...
and it's still raining.

Imagine, I've been talking in a stream.
I've talked and you've listened to me.

How boring for you. Of what interest
can my life be to you?

One should be like you.

You know what I thought
when I saw your film that night?

When I came home I saw myself
in the mirror and thought: we're alike.

Don't misunderstand me, you're much
prettier, but we are alike in a way.

I think I could turn myself into you.
If I made a real effort.

I mean inside.

You could turn yourself into me
just like that.

Although your soul would be much
too big. It would stick out everywhere!

You should go to bed now. Otherwise
you'll fall asleep at the table.

No, I must go to bed.
Otherwise I'll fall asleep at the table.

That would be
a little too uncomfortable.

Good night.

Listen, Elisabet...

Did you speak to me last night?

Were you in my room last night?

Shall I take your mail as well?

Can I have a taste?

Bye.

My dear: I'd always like to live
like this. This silence, living cut off -

- this feeling of the battered soul
finally beginning to straighten out.

Alma's spoiling me
in the most moving manner.

I think, by the way, that she's enjoying
herself and is quite taken with me -

- even smitten in an unconscious and
delightful way. It's fun studying her.

Sometimes she cries over past sins -

- an episodic orgy with a totally
strange boy followed by an abortion.

She complains that her notions of life
don't accord with her actions.

I see you're reading a play? That's
a healthy sign, I'll tell the doctor.

Don't you think we should leave soon?
I'm starting to miss town.

Aren't you?

Would you like to make me
really happy?

I know it's a sacrifice,
but I need your help right now.

It's nothing dangerous.
But I want you to talk to me.

Doesn't have to be special.
Anything, what we're having for dinner -

- or if you think the water's cold after
the storm. If it's too cold to swim.

We only need to talk a few minutes.
One minute.

You can read from your book.
Just say a few words.

I must try not to get angry. You
remain silent and that's your business.

But now I need you to talk to me.

My dear woman,
can't you say just a single word?

I knew you'd refuse.
You can't know how I feel.

I always thought great artists felt
great compassion for other people.

That they created from a sense of
great sympathy and a need to help.

That was stupid of me.

You've used me. Now that you don't
need me you just throw me away.

Yes, I hear very well how it sounds,
how false it sounds!

You've used me, now you're
discarding me. Every word!

And then these glasses!

You've really hurt me. You've
laughed at me behind my back.

I read the letter you sent to the doctor.

Just think, it wasn't sealed!
And I read it thoroughly!

You got me to talk. You got me to
tell you things I've never told anyone.

And you hand it on.
What a study, huh?! You're not...

You're going to talk now! If you've got
anything to say, you're bloody well...

No, stop it!

You were really scared now, huh?

For a second you were
genuinely scared, not so?

A genuine fear of death, huh?
Alma's gone crazy, you thought.

What kind of person are you, really?

Or do you think like this:
I'll remember that face.

That tone of voice, that expression. I'll
give you something you won't forget!

You're laughing, are you?

It's not so simple for me.
Not so funny, either.

But you've always got your laugh.

Must it be like this?

Is it really important not to lie,
to speak the truth -

- to talk with a genuine tone of voice?

Can one live at all
without talking freely?

Lie and deviate and evade things.

Isn't it better to allow yourself
to be lazy and sloppy, untruthful?

Maybe you become a little better if
you just let yourself be what you are.

No, you don't understand. You don't
understand what I'm saying.

You are inaccessible.

They said you were mentally healthy,
but your madness is the worst.

You're acting healthy. You do it
so well everyone believes you.

Everyone except me,
because I know how rotten you are.

What am I doing?

Elisabet! Elisabet, forgive me.

I behaved like an idiot,
don't know what got into me.

I'm here to help you.
Then there was that awful letter.

I was so disappointed.
You asked me to talk about myself.

It was nice, you looked so understanding,
I'd drunk a lot...

It was so nice to talk about it all.

I was also flattered that a great actress
cared to listen to me.

Somehow I thought it would be nice
if it was of some use to you.

But it's terrible, isn't it?
Sheer exhibitionism.

Elisabet, I want you to forgive me.

I like you so much,
you mean so much to me.

I've learned so much from you,
I don't want to part as enemies.

You don't want to forgive me.
You're too proud!

You won't lower yourself
because you don't need to!

I won't, I won't...!

We don't talk... don't listen...
understand...

- Elisabet?
- What means should... to enable...

When you sleep your face is slack.

Your mouth is swollen and ugly.

You have a nasty wrinkle
on your forehead.

You smell of sleep and tears.

I can see the pulse on your throat.

You have a scar you normally cover
with make-up.

Elisabet!

He's calling again.

I'll find out what he wants from us.

Out here, far away in our loneliness.

Elisabet?

Elisabet? Sorry if I frightened you.

- I'm not Elisabet.
- I don't have any demands.

I didn't want to disturb you.
Don't you think I understand?

The doctor explained
a number of things to me.

The most difficult thing is explaining
to the little boy. I'm doing my best.

There is something that lies deeper,
that is hard to catch sight of.

You love someone, or more correctly,
say you love someone, it's...

It's understandable.
Tangible as words are, that is.

Mr Vogler, I'm not your wife.

You are also loved.
You build a little fellowship.

It generates security. You see
the possibility of enduring, not so?

How can I say everything I've thought
without losing my way, boring you?

I love you, as much as I did before.

No, don't be so anxious, my darling.
We have one another.

We have faith,
know each other's thoughts.

We love one another.
It's true isn't it?

It's the effort that's most important,
not what we achieve. Isn't it?

To see each other as children.
Tormented, helpless, lonely children.

- Elisabet.
- Tell the boy that I'm coming soon.

Mummy's been sick,
but she's longing for her little boy.

Remember to buy a present for him.
From Mummy, don't forget.

You know I feel
such tenderness for you.

It's difficult to bear.

I don't know what to do
with my tenderness.

I live from your tenderness.

Elisabet, do you like being with me?
Is it nice?

- You're a wonderful lover. You know.
- My darling...

Anaethetise me... throw me away!

No, I can't, I can't take any more!

Leave me alone!
It's shame, it's all shame!

Leave me alone!
I'm cold and rotten and indifferent!

It's all just lies and imitation,
all of it!

Elisabet, what have you got there?

What are you hiding
under your hand? Let me see.

It's the photo of your little boy.
The one you tore up.

We must talk about that.

Tell me about it, Elisabet.

Then I will.

It was one night at a party, isn't
that so? It got late and quite rowdy.

Towards morning
someone in the group said:

<i>ÑElisabet, you virtually have it all in
your armoury as a woman and artistì</i>

<i>ÑBut you lack motherlinessì</i>

You laughed
because you thought it sounded silly.

But after a while you noticed
you thought about what he'd said.

You became more and more worried.
You let your husband impregnate you.

You wanted to be a mother.

When you realized it was definite,
you became frightened.

Frightened of responsibility, of being
tied down, of leaving the theatre.

Frightened of pain, of dying,
frightened of your body swelling up.

But you played the role. The role
of a happy, young, expectant mother.

<i>Everyone said, Ñlsn't she beautiful?
She's never been so beautifulì</i>

Meanwhile you tried to abort the foetus
several times.

But you failed.

When you saw it was irreversible,
you started to hate the baby.

And you wished it would be stillborn.

You wished the baby would be dead.

You wished for a dead baby.

It was a difficult and long delivery.

You were in agony for days. Finally
the baby was delivered with forceps.

You looked with disgust and terror
at your squealing baby and whispered:

<i>ÑCan't you die soon? Can't you die?ì</i>

But he survived.

The boy screamed day and night.

And you hated him. You were scared,
you had a bad conscience.

Finally the boy was taken care of
by relatives and a nanny.

You could get up from your sickbed
and return to the theatre.

But the suffering wasn't over.

The boy was gripped by a massive
and unfathomable love for his mother.

You defend yourself.
You defend yourself in despair.

You feel you can't return it.
So you try, and you try...

But there are only cruel and clumsy
meetings between you.

You can't do it.
You're cold and indifferent.

He looks at you.
He loves you and he's so gentle.

You want to hit him
because he doesn't leave you alone.

You think he's disgusting
with his thick mouth and ugly body.

His moist and pleading eyes.
He's disgusting and you're scared.

What are you hiding
under your hand? Let me see.

It's the photo of your little boy.
The one you tore up.

We must talk about it.

Tell me about it, Elisabet.

Then I will.

It was one night at a party,
isn't that right?

It got late and quite rowdy.

Towards morning
someone in the group said:

<i>ÑElisabet, you virtually have it all in
your armoury as a woman and artistì</i>

<i>ÑBut you lack motherlinessì</i>

You laughed
because you thought it sounded silly.

But after a while you noticed
you thought about what he'd said.

You became more and more worried.
You let your husband impregnate you.

You wanted to be a mother.

When you realized it was definite,
you became frightened.

Frightened of responsibility, of being
tied down, of leaving the theatre.

Frightened of pain, of dying,
frightened of your body swelling up.

But you played the role. The role
of a happy, young, expectant mother.

<i>Everyone said, Ñlsn't she beautiful?
She's never been so beautifulì</i>

Meanwhile you tried to abort the foetus
several times.

But you failed.

When you saw it was irreversible...

...you started to hate the baby.

And you wished it would be stillborn.

You wished the baby would be dead.

You wished for a dead baby.

The delivery was difficult and long.

You were in agony for days. Finally
the baby was delivered with forceps.

You looked with disgust and terror
at your squealing baby and whispered:

<i>ÑCan't you die soon? Can't you die?ì</i>

The boy screamed day and night.
And you hated him.

You were scared,
you had a bad conscience.

Finally the boy was taken care of
by relatives and a nanny.

You could get up from your sickbed
and return to the theatre.

But the suffering wasn't over.

The boy was gripped by a massive
and unfathomable love for his mother.

You defend yourself in despair.
You feel you can't return it.

So you try, and you try...

But there are only cruel and clumsy
meetings between you.

You can't do it.
You're cold and indifferent.

He looks at you.
He loves you and he's so gentle.

You want to hit him
because he doesn't leave you alone.

You think he's disgusting
with his thick mouth and ugly body.

His moist and pleading eyes.
He's disgusting and you're scared.

No!

I'm not like you. I don't feel like you.

I'm Sister Alma,
I'm just here to help you.

I'm not Elisabet Vogler.
You are Elisabet Vogler.

I would like to have...

I love...

I haven't...

I've learnt quite a lot.

We'll see how long I hold out.

I'll never be like you, never.
I change all the time.

You can do what you like,
you won't get to me anyhow.

Saying doesn't help.
Cut a candle.

A kind of otherness.
Not now, no. No, no.

Warning and out of time.
Unforeseen.

When it was supposed to occur,
it didn't occur and so failure.

Yourself where you are.
But I should do it.

Not inwards, no...
Say collect and advise others...

The disconsolate, perhaps...

Take, yes... but what is closest...?

What's it called...? No, no, no...

Us, we, me, I...

Many words and such nausea...
Incomprehensible pain. The throw...

Try and listen to me now.
Repeat after me.

Nothing...

Nothing. No, nothing...

Nothing.

That's it. That's good.
That's how it should be.

Translation: Alexander Keiller
Subtitling International