It was all pretty cruel. I understand that Bergman was portraying the coldness that comes from doubt but I was still pretty offended, even though it makes little sense to be offended by art.
Whether you subscribe to the idea that men should be strong for women - the men should have been somewhat more considerate of their wives.
I have had some situations in my own life that mirror the movie, and I have always tried to be strong, while also being thankful and encouraging the strength in the women in my life - my wife, my mother, my sisters, my daughters. I've also been thankful for the faithfulness and tenderness in the women in my life.
That's why what is happening in our society is so dangerous, as illustrated in the movie. Men are very fragile, when we break, we tend to completely shatter. Women are interesting in that way, they are often like the weary warrior, they keep limping along, impelled by some small but infinite inner strength.
Men need to be this way, instead of giving in to the shattering we often feel inwardly. If men do not break, we can be a strength to others and encouraging their own strength.
I'm reminded of the famous section of Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath:
They knew it would take a long time for the dust to settle out of the air.
In the morning the dust hung like fog, and the sun was as red as ripe new
blood. All day the dust sifted down from the sky, and the next day it
sifted down. An even blanket covered the earth. It settled on the corn,
piled up on the tops of the fence posts, piled up on the wires; it settled
on roofs, blanketed the weeds and trees. The people came out of their
houses and smelled the hot stinging air and covered their noses from it.
And the children came out of the houses, but they did not run or shout as
they would have done after a rain. Men stood by their fences and looked at
the ruined corn, drying fast now, only a little green showing through the
film of dust. The men were silent and they did not move often. And the
women came out of the houses to stand beside their men—to feel whether this
time the men would break. The women studied the men’s faces secretly, for
the corn could go, as long as something else remained. The children stood
near by, drawing figures in the dust with bare toes, and the children sent
exploring senses out to see whether men and women would break. The children
peeked at the faces of the men and women, and then drew careful lines in
the dust with their toes. Horses came to the watering troughs and nuzzled
the water to clear the surface dust. After a while the faces of the
watching men lost their bemused perplexity and became hard and angry and
resistant. Then the women knew that they were safe and that there was no
break. Then they asked, What’ll we do? And the men replied, I don’t know.
But it was all right. The women knew it was all right, and the watching
children knew it was all right. Women and children knew deep in themselves
that no misfortune was too great to bear if their men were whole. The women
went into the houses to their work, and the children began to play, but
cautiously at first. As the day went forward the sun became less red. It
flared down on the dust-blanketed land. The men sat in the doorways of
their houses; their hands were busy with sticks and little rocks. The men
sat still—thinking—figuring.
What hump?
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