“You see it, God, you see it. The innocent child’s death and my revenge. You allowed it. I don’t understand you. Yet now I beg your forgiveness. I know no other way to be reconciled with my own hands. I know no other way to live.”
Based on a medieval sonnet, The Virgin Spring is a simple yet powerful film. Though retrospectively derided by director Ingmar Bergman (who believed it was too derivative of Kurosawa’s Rashomon), it is a haunting depiction of rape and revenge that remains evocative more than half a century after its release. While Bergman often tackled complex emotional, psychological, and intellectual themes in films like The Seventh Seal and Wild Strawberries, his tale here is straightforward; a violent and senseless act avenged by another one. The most shocking scenes—those of rape and murder—play as ultra-violent in the context of the film and its era, but will not likely offend modern sensibilities shaped by a cultural glorification of violence. The film was the inspiration for horror pioneer Wes Craven’s grindhouse debut feature, The Last House on the Left, a modernized remake that took much more delight in its drawn out depiction of rape.
Set in medieval Sweden, the story that Bergman sets out to tell is one of a young maiden, Karin (Birgitta Pettersson), who is sent to deliver candles to the church. She is accompanied by her pregnant servant girl, Ingeri (Gunnel Lindblom), a secret worshiper of Odin who is jealous of Karin. The two are presented as opposites; Karin is clothed in a magnificent dress sewn by fifteen seamstresses while Ingeri wears a dark dress of coarse cloth. From the family’s pastoral farm the two set out toward the church.
Early in their journey, Karin and Ingeri are separated when Ingeri becomes frightened and chooses to rest at a mill where a friendly if unsightly old man offers her a place to sit down. While Karin continues on, Ingeri comes to realize that the man is some sort of demon who promises her power in return for her the pleasures of her body. He pulls her close and shows her a box of relics that he has collected, including a severed finger. She flees in terror, eventually catching up to Karin but remaining hidden from view.
Traveling alone, Karin meets three herdsmen who claim to be brothers. Creepily, one of them is missing his tongue, and speaks in nasty guttural hisses, one of the others interpreting for him. Karin is amused by the mouth harp that one of the boys plays and invites them to share her lunch with her. The meal is pleasant, until Karin tries to leave the brothers and continue on her way to the church. In a surprisingly unflinching scene, the two older brothers pin Karin to the ground, rip her clothes off, and rape her. She rises and wanders around as if lost for a few moments, her whimpering cry the only sound we hear. She is subsequently murdered, half-buried, and abandoned, and her valuables are taken from her corpse.
At the farm, Karin’s father Töre (Max von Sydow) and mother Märeta (Birgitta Valberg) argue about her whereabouts. “She has stayed overnight without permission before,” Töre tells his wife. But Märeta is insatiable. They have had several children, but Karin is the only one still alive. She is Märeta’s last hope. Soon, the brothers show up at the farm, looking for shelter from the winter cold and potentially for work, unaware of the connection between the girl they murdered and the family from which they seek shelter. When they try to sell Karin’s expensive dress to Märeta, she retreats in horror to her husband, who digs through his chest to find his sword.
Before Töre can approach the herdsmen, Ingeri reveals herself and confesses that in her jealousy she had prayed for something terrible to befall Karin, and that she feels that she is responsible for her death. She recounts the event that she witnessed to Töre. Töre steels himself, and enters the room where the brothers are lodging for the night. There is no interrogation of the herdsmen as the furious father kills all three of the brothers. When they find Karin’s body in the woods, Töre falls on his knees and pleads with God for forgiveness, vowing to build a church on that very spot with his own hands. Upon lifting Karin’s corpse, the titular mountain spring begins gushing from where her body had lain.
Though the film lacks subtlety, it remains harrowing and poignant. Superficially, the violence is nothing to bat an eye at; but Bergman’s development of his characters, particularly Karin and Töre, makes the murders much more gut-wrenching than they would otherwise be. The simple farmers that open the film have an air of fundamental goodness and enjoyment of the bucolic lives they lead (with the exception of the jealous Ingeri); this positive outlook sets up the emotional devastation that the violence brings to the film. Karin believes that everyone is fundamentally decent, only to have her naïve worldview and trust of others lead to her death. Töre does not wish to hurt anyone and yet feels compelled to avenge his daughter’s murder by taking the lives of three men, and becomes tormented by the impossibility of making a right choice.
The most interesting lens through which to view the film is the competing allegiances to paganism and Christianity. There is a stark contrast between the reverence that the family exhibits for Jesus Christ—penance, Karin praying before the lunch she shares with her violators, the initial goal of delivering candles to the church—and the subtle pagan elements—fascination with fire and water, the brothers stomping on the candles that they find in Karin’s belonging. The costuming also clues us into the characters; Karin wears the beautiful dress while Ingeri is clad in a dark dress; Töre, who struggles with his Christian faith throughout the film, changes from modest dress to a flamboyant outfit when he is compelled to avenge his daughter’s death.
The careful attention to period detail is noteworthy as well. The sprawling farm and its buildings look ancient and well-worn; Karin uses still water as a mirror; and Töre carries his silverware around in a pouch on his belt. But these things are not emphasized. Instead, they are presented naturally, like similarly tasteful period dramas of that era.
Though it lacks the complexity of Bergman’s most masterful efforts, this emotionally resonant film is engrossing throughout.